A Slap in the Face

Christopher and I took an overnight train from Agra where the Taj Mahal is located to Varanasi. Our train, running on what the locals call India time, was two hours late. Because the station wan outside of Agra, few of the locals had regular contact with white boys from America. This gave us the opportunity to spend two hour being stared at and to have children beg us constantly for money. At first the kids were cute, and my heart went out to them. I wanted so badly to give them money, but I know that once you do there will be hundreds more with their hands out.
There was one boy who was especially persistent and my annoyance with him was growing. After about ten minutes of his begging me and not getting any response, a man, I assume his father, called him over. I was grateful that the father was teaching the boy some manners. Then the man slapped the boy across the face so hard that he was knocked back five or six feet. The boy ran off. I stood there in shock. I wanted to kick the shit out of the father; I wanted to hug the boy. I wanted vomit. Between the filthy train station and the shameless display of child abuse, I was left wanting a bath.