Both could have been avoided easily enough of course, even though the first had stood immediately against the seat, albeit back turned to the main body of passengers.
And of course, you really don’t seek to continue documenting the beggars of the region; only they compelled so strongly.
A shaved head was all that was visible. Soiled parchment attire. Even from behind his years were easy enough to guess.
Unaccompanied, but man oh man! What was that?
Possibly something of his own composition. Prayers and passages from the Holy Book would have gone down well in the last days of Ramadan. This though did not sound like it.
Despite the low tone, the man was making himself audible over the clacketing and the traffic. Bent your ear well and truly. This was drawing up from deep down. Tantalizing snatches of rhythm.
If there were resistant faces showing among the passengers, no matter how stern, they were all ears for this man. The people on the back bench would have strained to capture.
Imbecilically, you leant out of your seat an hour later at the Warnet PC, straining as if to recapture.
The man was fasting of course. The Busker strata alternated fasting and starving; it was what gave them their depth of feeling.
Daily miracles of this sort pursued one in Tanah Abang. It was little wonder they believed in all kinds of things in these parts—transmigration of souls, astral travel, levitation. Communion with the dead, naturally.
The second encounter involved a lady at Sabang. Not really begging; not really on the job. Seeing the Bule stride by it was worth a shout.
A hand stretched out, smiling and expectant.
Woman was sitting on the dirty pavement beneath the shelf of a stall that had closed. Most of Sabang had closed days ago. Street lady; dirt poor. Living in the dirt.
Likely special; or at least disturbed, understandably. Indeterminate age.
In the quick she needed to be granted.
As usual, the notes were divided in the pocket either side of the wallet.
Did locals really walk these paths day by day without feeling the need to give? Having money themselves.
There were coins too in the pocket. Four came out on this occasion. Three Rp500s was judged sufficient; the Rp1000 could be kept back for the angkot perhaps.
Even before the coin was presented, the woman began shaking her head and calling in English, No!
In a child-like whine, calling.
The lady was not going to be treated so casually. No. No.
Impossible to argue the case when she was adamant, seated on the dirty pavement.
No meant no.
A Rp2000 brought a smile. That was better.
Only passing over were the hand and the misshapen fingers noticed. It was difficult for her to clutch and the note needed to be inserted between stubbed digits.
Tanah Abang, Jakarta
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