If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know my view on street begging in Pakistan very well. What began as a simple call for help has changed into a job, run by an organized group that's tough and smart. I've written against it many times, asking for care and big changes. But recently, a kind reader pointed out some special cases to my "rules" in my DM. It made me think. For those of you who let my words guide what you do, I think it's time to look at this again. Today, I'm sharing a true story from my life. Not to get praise, but to show that even in this world run by groups like that, there are quiet people who really need our help.
This story is more than six months old now, and I didn't write about it then because I like to keep my help to others private and simple. I'm sharing it only because, in places like Pakistan where need mixes with work, I still follow my heart and make room for real cases when it feels right.
If you've read my earlier post, The Detriments of Begging/Charity, and it changed how you give. This next part is important. It adds to those thoughts without taking them away, bringing in the real details that life brings.
A Late-Night Meal in Ahsanabad: Ties to What I Know
Imagine this: A few months ago, around 1 a.m., my cousin and I are sitting at a basic hotel in Ahsanabad, eating beef curry and roti. It's been more than ten years since I first went there often. A place that's part of who I am. Ahsanabad is not the clean, wide area of Johar Town where I live. It has that rough, village feel, with real edges and true warmth.
These streets? They feel like old friends. I ride my bike through them easily, even though most of my family thinks I can't ride one at all. The main idea is, Ahsanabad feels close to me, like a door to the "outside world" I've seen more than in my safe home life. After all these years of going back and forth, I understand its patterns well. That includes the street beggars who work like experts.
My cousin that night? He's my closest one in the family. The kind where we help each other without thinking twice or saying no. We both try for better food (I'm always suggesting daal for his blood pressure; beef isn't good for it), but late-night wants take over.
Seeing Something Different: An Old Man in the Dark
In the middle of eating, my eyes go to the road. There he is: an old man like a grandfather, weak and careful in his walk. I watch him closely, thinking hard as always. My kind heart starting to feel it. He's holding a pair of kheri (those old-style Peshawari sandals) in his hands, like a quiet sign. Following him: two grandkids, a boy and girl under 10, dressed like normal middle-class kids in simple clothes. No look of the usual beggars here. Just regular people.
He tries to sell the sandals to some other tables, but at 1-2 a.m.? No one wants them. One man sends him away roughly. Head low, the old man turns, walking back the way he came, looking very sad.
"One minute, brother. I'll be right back," I say quietly to my cousin. Leaving my food, I follow him.
A Soft Welcome: Tea and Quiet Time Together
When I catch up, I say warmly, "Peace be upon you, Uncle." Close by, there is a shaky table and chairs. I guide him. And the kids. To sit down. He says no at first, but I say close: "Uncle, I'm like your son. Come, let's have a cup of tea together."
They sit, careful but starting to relax. I ask the kids: Tea for most, but the small girl? She doesn't like it. So, juice for her. Four cups ordered. As the smell comes up, I start talking. Soft and slow, making sure not to hurt their pride or make them feel bad.
Parts of a Secret Struggle: Sips That Show the Truth
Drinking slowly, their story comes out in small pieces. This is not a beggar who does it for a living. He's a kind, sick man from a normal middle-class family. At home, there is a sick family member, rent is late, and there is no food in the house. He used to have jobs, but old age took that. And his skin? A thick, wet rash like bad psoriasis that makes every small task hurt a lot.
By the end of the tea, I understand: Bad luck pushed him to try this one time. No group plan. Just to stay alive. And with time near 2 a.m., they look hungry. I order parathas (South Asian bread). I stay, talking easy, saying again: "Uncle, I'm like your son," to calm any worry.
The Giving: Codes, Money, and Strong Belief
Parathas hot, I text my cousin the amount to take from the bank. We share bank codes and cards like brothers. Full trust. His call comes fast (he's at a nearby table): "Brother, this amount? Are you okay?" I say back in our mixed English way. Hard for others to get: "You help strangers like this often. I keep money just for times like these. If not now, then when?"
He agrees, like always. They go off. Him and the neighbor. To the ATM machine, adding some from his own money. The car comes back; I take the cash, give it to him. "This is from your son, Uncle. A small gift. It's not enough for treatment, so share your EasyPaisa or JazzCash." (I planned to ask friends for more; people who trust what I say without second thoughts.) I get their account info.
With prayers behind them, they go into the night.
After That Time: Checks, Balance, and Real Limits
That night felt good, but we didn't stop. My friends checked: The house owner said yes to the late rent; more checks came after. We helped as much as we could. The truth is, we can't fix every problem or every person's life. Not theirs all the way, not the big struggles out there.
Why Tell This Now: Adding More to the Story
I never thought I'd write this in my blog. It was just for me, kept inside. But looking at The Detriments of Begging/Charity again, I saw a problem: It helps fight the bad system, but without the in-between parts, it might make hearts too hard. So, to be clear: I'm against beggars who do it as a job, the group making money from sadness. I hate turning help into a business.
But I don't turn away every person who asks. I just check with my heart and work for the true ones. Next time you read that post again, remember the special cases. Being smart is not about walls. It's about open views.
Background for People from Other Places: Looking into Pakistan's Begging World
For my readers from outside Pakistan, this might seem like far-away trouble. Let me explain: Kids born in beggar families start asking from inside their mom. Babies get drugs to stay quiet, body parts hurt on purpose for more money. They go to traffic lights, food places, schools, public spots. All day and night. No skills to show, just the same words: "Give for God's sake." Annoying? If you haven't seen it, try getting a burger and someone keeps touching you, saying that over and over.
To understand what I fight, watch these short YouTube videos (see them all. They show the problem I'm talking about):
- Pakistani Beggars at a Food Stall
- Fake Beggars Caught in Pakistan
- Organized Begging Tactics Exposed
- The Relentless Daily Hustle of Street Beggars
These are the big wave that hides the real people. But in between, good things still happen. Look for them. Do something about them.
Now you: Seen a real special case lately? Tell me in the comments. I read them all.
