Though I don’t drive past this underpass every day, when I do, it makes me so incredibly sad. There, in the smoky, pollution filled mornings, amidst blaring car horns and the jingling of bike bells, are entire families, sleeping the sleep of the dead. All except the little girl and the old woman in this picture-they are the early risers.
I can’t help but to be humbled by the women and children who huddle together under tattered old blankets or in front of flames leaping out of old braizers in the cold Delhi morning trying to keep warm. I want so badly to help in some way, but all I can do is sit in the warmth of the car and stare, at entire families, laid out on the sidewalk.
As I sit there, for minutes on end waiting for the light to turn green, I am brought back to a sentiment that I often find myself repeating in my line of work: “there but for the grace of God go I.”