Sir, can I have a cigarette?" a lanky, red-skinned man asked me. I was waiting for a subway with a fear of being late for work. It would be the third warning from my robotic manager if I could not be on time today.

"I'm sorry, I don't have a cigarette," I said and moved forward.

"Thank you. Have a nice day!" he said. I was surprised. I never expected such a courteous response from a beggar.

I regretted ignoring his request and not even looking at his face. I could have looked at him and greeted him. His voice echoed throughout the day.

That evening, while returning from work, I stopped at the same area to see if the beggar was still there. I wanted to see into his eyes. I wanted to see through his eyes and know the feeling of being disrespected by people like me. Everyone passing him never looked into his eyes or heard his voice; they only heard.

There were other beggars, maybe not the right word to call them. They were poor, for sure, because they did not have money to buy food. They had no money to buy a cigarette or a cup of McDonald's coffee. But they had value as human beings.

One man said, "These people are lazy asses. They don't want to work. They are given allowances from the government, but they spend that free money to buy drugs and liquor."

It made me think for a while. Do all beggars get allowances from the government? In my home country, beggars are not given any allowances from the government. They are not even polite like the beggars here in downtown Edmonton. It was said that the beggars of Pasupathi temple are rich. They send their children to expensive private schools.

After ten to fifteen minutes, I went into the City mall to buy a coffee from Tim's. At the corner of the store, I noticed a man dozing on one of the chairs. I looked at him closely and recognized him by his red hoodie. I waited for him to wake up so that I could talk to him or buy him a cup of coffee. However, the man did not wake up. I sat on one of the chairs and sipped coffee, thinking about the man's life.

In the meantime, two security guards stretched protection gloves and stood in front of him in a proper defensive position.

I stood up and went to the counter to ask a lady who looked stressed if the gentleman had done anything wrong.

"He cannot sleep here. He can die," she said. Then she looked at me like a suspicious stranger. I stepped back and went to my earlier seat.

"Sir, can you leave here?" one of the security guards spoke.

"Excuse me, are you awake?" another security guard added.

The gentleman did not respond. He was snoring intermittently. I could see him dreaming of someone offering him a cigarette or a cup of coffee.

One of the guards, who was taller than the other, grabbed him by the arm and shook him gently. After a moment, he opened his eyelids and looked at them in a state of perplexity.

"Hurry up, collect your belongings, and leave the property," said the guard who was hanging both hands on the buckle of his belt and leaning forward.

The man grabbed his empty Tim Horton's cup, cigarette butts, and a grocery bag. Before leaving the store, he looked at the cashier and said, "Thank you."

The two security guards followed him until he left the mall. I also exited from another door and went close to the gentleman. This time, he didn't ask for a cigarette; instead, he was picking empty cans

of public spaces like the mall or the subway station, just because he doesn't fit the norm of what is considered acceptable?

These questions kept me awake for hours. I couldn't help but think about the man in the red hoodie and the other beggars I saw that day. They are often looked down upon by society, ignored, and even vilified. But what if we take a moment to see them as human beings with their own stories, struggles, and aspirations? What if we extend our compassion and offer them a helping hand instead of a judgmental stare or a dismissal?

As I lay in bed, I made a decision. The next time I see a beggar, I won't ignore them or walk away. I will look them in the eyes, greet them with respect, and offer them a small gesture of kindness, whether it's a dollar or a smile or a cup of coffee. It may not change their life, but it can certainly make their day a little brighter and remind them that they matter.

The next day, as I walked to the subway station, I saw a beggar sitting on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign that read "Anything Helps". I took a deep breath and walked towards him. He looked up at me with weary eyes, and I smiled at him.

"Good morning, sir. Can I buy you a coffee or a sandwich?" I said, extending my hand.

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, young man. That would be very kind of you."

I went to the nearest Tim Hortons and bought him a coffee and a bagel. When I returned to him, he thanked me and we started talking. His name was John, and he used to work as a construction worker until he got injured and couldn't work anymore. He lost his apartment, his savings, and his dignity. Now he relies on the kindness of strangers and the few dollars he gets from collecting cans and bottles.

As we talked, I realized that John was not just a beggar, but a person with a rich life experience, a sense of humor, and a desire to connect with others. He reminded me that we are all human beings, regardless of our status or circumstances, and that we can all learn from each other and help each other in small but meaningful ways.

When it was time for me to go to work, I said goodbye to John, promising to see him again soon. He smiled at me, and I felt a warmth in my heart that I had never felt before. I knew that I had made a difference in his life, and in mine.

From that day on, I made it a habit to acknowledge and help beggars whenever I could. I learned that a small act of kindness can have a big impact, not just on the person receiving it, but on the giver as well. It made me more compassionate, more grateful, and more aware of the diverse realities of the world we live in.

As I boarded the subway and headed to my work, I felt a sense of peace and purpose that I had never felt before. I knew that, even if I got a warning from my robotic manager, I had done something more important than meeting a deadline or fulfilling a task. I had connected with another human being, and that was worth more than anything else.