Experiment #26: Bath Time

Yesterday morning, three unkempt, unwashed street children found their way into Manav Sadhna. Upon meeting them and asking their names, it was decided that the three of them deserved - and very much needed - a bath.

I was recruited to bathe the little girl, Preethi. Preethi was dressed in a bright red frock, caked with dust and stained from weeks of continuous wear. Her hair was decorated with fly-away leaves that stuck in her locks, stiff with dirt and sweat.

How to describe the experience of bathing a child? It's difficult to find words to describe the emotions associated with such a simple task.

Preethi's series of expressions may say it all. At first, she was shy, hiding her face behind the tulle frills of her frock. Even she, probably no older than 8 years, was able to comprehend the love and intimacy associated with washing someone else.

But after some coaxing along the lines of, "You are going to look just like a film star," she obliged, scurrying into the bathroom and shedding her clothes quickly into a pile in the corner.

I poured the icy water, refreshing in the stale Ahmedabad heat, over her head. She shut her eyes tightly and shivered comically, shocked by the temperature. Her mouth opened into a smile, reminding me of the way I feel when I bite into cold watermelon in the hot afternoons. It read, "This is just what I needed."

I scrubbed her skinny limbs with a bar of pink soap that she found great joy in rubbing on her face. When I rinsed her off, waves of brown water appeared on the white tile of the bathroom.

After dressing her in a fresh frock from the Manav Sadhna stash and plaiting her hair neatly, I asked Preethi if she'd like to see herself in the mirror.

"No."
"Why not?"
"If I'm clean, I won't be able to go begging."

Her cast her eyes down, showing concern in the way that children do, masked behind innocence and the desire to not add negativity into a situation. I wasn't sure how to respond.

"You look so beautiful."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Her eyes shot up to meet mine, carrying a look of great worry.

"Didi, give me 100 rupees, yeah?"
"100 rupees? What for?"
"My mother said I can't come back home until I beg and get 100 rupees."

Again, words eluded me.

"I'm sorry, I don't have 100 rupees to give you."

Both a truth and a mistruth. Street children who beg at the busy intersections always manage to stir up the burning sensation of guilt and helplessness in my gut, when they reach out their empty hands in my direction. One one hand, I want to help them - to give them something to make their childhoods less bleak. But on the other, my time at Manav Sadhna has given me the perspective to realize that giving money to a beggar is not adding value to his life. Instead of empowering him, it will encourage him to seek charity without doing hard work.

For Preethi, I had hoped that giving her a bath and a little bit of loving attention, would be one step in the direction of her future empowerment. But although my intention was to come from a space of love, for the beautiful girl (who really did end up looking like a little movie star), I'm afraid the immediate consequence of her new, clean self, was not to her liking.