The Indian Beggar by me?

I was sitting in my uncle’s car. It slowly moved forward, because of the congested traffic. It was daytime, in Delhi, India. It had been just three days since my families’ arrival to India for the summer, and my loving uncle decided to take us to the inner parts of the city, to show the vastness of Indian culture. It was second time in Delhi, and I was excited as I was interested.
Around me, I saw wide open stores and shops, supplying things from spices to Indian fried foods to silk saris and beautiful jewelry. It was crowded all around the car. People were walking all around the shops, the edges of the streets, everywhere. But what I was most interested with was the young boy at the edge of the street.
He was dirty, with nothing but a single rag covering his body, and a small shorts covering his legs.
He was carrying nothing but a black pot, old and with a handle sticking out from the top.
He was begging for food to a storeowner, who shooed him off.
But when he noticed me, he didn’t look anywhere else. He was slowly following the pace of our car.

“Quiet lively, isn’t it, Karan,” my uncle said to me, while I continued looking out the window. The boy was still looking at me.
“This traffic isn’t clearing up,” my father said in the front. My mother was looking at the clothing and souvenirs we had just purchased while we were at the Taj.

After about 5 minutes, I waved at the boy. He didn’t wave back. After a second, I saw his hand go up. I didn’t know what he was trying to do. Noises of honks and horns of buses and cars went around me. I smiled at him.

“What are you looking at?,” my mother asked.

“Ma, look, there’s a boy right there. He’s looking at me.”

She turned her head to look. The boy with the rag of a shirt still looking towards me.

“That’s so misfortunate,” my mother said.

“What?,” my uncle asked.

“There’s a lonely boy out there on the street. He looks hungry…do we have any food around here?”

My uncle looked out to see the kid also.

“You don’t understand. These beggars are everywhere. No matter how much we throw out, the problem just gets worse. You’ll go 10 meters from here, and you’ll see a dozen of them. Forget it”

My mother felt sympathetic for the boy, but for an instant. She returned to looking through her saris. I, on the other hand, looked around the shops and the open street ahead of me, trying to ignore the boy, like my uncle said.
Food stands were everywhere, selling Indian delicacies, and people eating and shopping and enjoying their lives. But the boy didn’t leave my field of vision. He was still following the pace of the car.

Just then, traffic cleared up. We began moving faster, and faster. The kid, stopped for a second at the end of the street, then surprisingly began running towards the car.
I looked in surprise.

“Mother look!,” I said.

She wasn’t paying attention. She was too busy talking with my father and uncle.

The boy kept running, faster and faster, trying to keep pace with the car, but eventually couldn’t keep up. He stopped at a distance. I thought I saw him cry a little while he was running. Maybe he wanted to play with me, maybe he wanted something to eat, but was afraid to ask at first.
By the time we passed the various shops, he was nothing but a spec of dust amongst the others.

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