In a shallow puddle a skinny dog drinks, surviving another day. I wander towards a small city park. A beggar sits slumped outside the gate. I pay 5 rupees to get in. He begs to feed himself, I pay to find some stillness away from the chaos of the streets. I circle the park, and glance up, noticing the apartments and homes that surround the park. Up on a window sill, I see a cat, sitting unafraid to fall and oblivious to its privilege. The beggar has no sill, he will always be on the wrong side of the pane. The line between have and have not is clear, but the questions as to its causes and solutions are as murky as the puddle that quenches the skinny dog. A fool believes himself to deserve “privilege”, and the beggar only knows his struggle. Our hearts often need tears to see and contemplate. I pause to take a breath, and with prayers I will never understand.