My Philanthropist

He always looked shabby, wore a khaki shirt and shorts and a pair of old dirty slippers. He used to be a regular folk. Came mostly on thursdays. He had a big bag, always looked stuffed, and his hair had started turning gray. He was unique. My grandmother used to give him some coins usually whenever he came. It was like, a decade back I guess, I used to be at her back when ever I see this guy - maybe I was scared. At the end of the day, I fell sad for the poor soul, I used to wonder why everyone was so heartless, can't they just help him, give him some more money, I used to feel bad, angry at my parents.

I was in a bus station, with some friends recently. Pondering about things. A girl and her mother came asked for some money. She looked lean and thin. No one responded, not even me and continues our endless talks. When you look back, what difference did it make, still why blame someone, my philanthropist.