It was not out of any saviour complex that I stopped to ask him if he was okay. A lady walking behind me did the same.
Now, try as we might, he was not at all coherent. The old man was evidently inebriated. He kept rambling about how he met with an accident, and the military dropped him off, and he needed to go to Embuldeniya. With no specific details and a fuel crisis resulting in hardly any transport on the roads, we were as lost as he was.
Now the man was all but crawling outside a pharmacy (the irony not lost on anyone I am sure), but neither the pharmacy owner nor the patrons paid him any mind.
Another passer-by handed him a bun to eat.
I told him I’d lift him up and place him on the steps of the pharmacy, since he obviously could not walk. He was afraid that I would let go and he would fall. I assured him I would not and helped him sit down. I asked the pharmacy owner if he had any objection, to which he then said no.
Now while walking away, making a mental note to check on him on the way back, I was riddled with shame and guilt for not being able to do more.
Shame for humanity as a whole. Guilt for only wishing I could have done more.
Not the first time I’ve witnessed the privileged and affluent, or even those of better social standing than the old, disgruntled, and confused man, just going about their everyday business like he did not even exist. I have been guilty of this also in my life.
A handful noticed and watched.
It was just two or three who made the effort to talk to him, offer any kindness, and at least see what could be done.
Naturally, without knowing the tall and short of his story, we could not just take him to a far-off location and drop him off in the middle of nowhere. Myriad are the cases where destitute old men and women are often on the streets begging for money, some chasing their narcotic demons and dragons looking for their next fix.
Yet these are miserably tragic times where, while all social classes are finding it difficult to cope, it is that much harder for those without the same opportunities, comforts, and luxuries that we have.
I have always personally obliged myself in helping stray animals, rescuing or adopting them off the streets in order to rehome them or to tend to them myself. To me animals have longer memories, a sense of loyalty, gratitude and appreciation for what’s done for them than people.
As of recently, I try to be more conscionable and mindful in making an effort to help, or to do something for people. This is harder to do, because it is an act of selflessness that must be undertaken without having any agendas, motives, or expectation of receiving anything in return.
Again, this isn’t me crippling myself in false modesty to find absolution in turning away from moral turpitude. This isn’t moral grandstanding or feigned saviour complex-flexing.
I do truly believe now more than ever, that before our little island can regain a semblance of normality, stability and balance – that we, the people, need to through this proverbial hell, high water, and hardship. Start by doing small things, little acts of kindness in any way we can. Not to brandish and gloat about it, rather to face our collective adversity by breaking the mould of indifference, shattering the festering nucleus of self-conceit and rising out of our predicament by being better human beings.
For, right now in Sri Lanka, the greatest currency we have is our very humanity, decency, and opportunity to lend a helping hand. Even if that means we might stumble while trying to do so.
(The writer is the frontman and lyricist of Stigmata, a creative consultant and brand strategist by profession, a self-published author and poet, thespian, animal rescuer, podcaster, and fitness enthusiast)
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication.