To paraphrase prince -
Paint if you will a picture, of you and i in a car. It whizzes along on the sleek highway and gradually slows to a halt. Long lines of cars snake out from gates. Gates open every couple of seconds and the lines mover forward. You move into the shortest even though from long experience you know that it will take the most time. So much the better that you join the longest line. At least you will be prepared for the wait. the shortest line tantalizes you, but it never really delivers.
There is a man, dressed in rags. He is old. He has a bowl clutched in his hand and you cannot tell, but he might be blind. He stumbles from car to car, knocking on windows and peering pitifully into them. His face is screwed up into a grimace. You feel a rush of pity for him. Frantically you search in your pockets for a note or a coin of a denomination that is not too large. By the time you find it he has passed on. You unroll the window and gesture frantically at him. He has moved on to the next car and does not see you. The gates open and the car moves through it and gradually speeds up. You withdraw your hand and mutter to yourself - poor old man. And just like that it is forgotten.
We are selfish people, we indians. We are so inured to poverty and destitution that we turn a blind eye and we forget. Don't we have a duty to these people? We who are grossly overpaid to sit at desks and pretend to be Charlie or Belinda to please people of a different country, don't we have a duty towards these people who lead heir entire lives in misery and dirt?