Isn't it Ironic

I returned from yoga this morning in a rickshaw which cost 25 rupees (50 cents). I handed the driver a 50 rupee note, but as usual, he had no change. Early in the morning, rickshaw drivers have a hard time breaking even the smallest bills because they are just starting their shift and are usually empty handed except for a few coins. It's only over the course of the day that they stockpile tens and twenties and fifties. By the end of the day, change isn't a problem. But, at 8 in the morning, it is.

We tried to get change from three passersby, but no luck. And no shops had opened yet. Finally, from inside the rickshaw, I see a woman in a sari stop and pull her coin purse from the inner folds around her waist. I couldn't see her face because of the curved roof of the rickshaw, but she started counting out tens to hand to me.

I ducked my face down to thank her, and there was my trash lady--the woman who comes every morning to collect my waste, a position very low on the totem poll in terms of caste and position in Indian society; even the maid that cleans my apartment balks at taking out the trash. And, yet,here was my trash woman loaning me money--or at least, helping me out. I could see that this was about all the money she had in her soiled change pouch, but she willingly gave it, without knowing or caring who was in the rickshaw.