Pune, Maharashtra 1 November F.C. Road

Only in Maharashtra have I seen the men and boys of potraj beggar families whip themselves for money, absolving donors of their पाप, 'pop', or "sinful misdeeds."  Members of these families travel together, usually in three or four.  The lady--wife apparent--holds a baby swaddled close to her chest by cloth, like those that have become a hip, new accessory of modern moms.  Medieval as this may sound, these men, their boys and family are born into this walk of life.  You can always be sure this type of family is nearby when the low lull of a particular, constant drumbeat is heard with loud, intermittent cracks of a whip--they're coming back for another round I can hear--but this is business as usual.
I'm sipping a cold drink in the company of five hundred most proximate, middle-class देशीs, 'deshis', Indians, those--literally--"endowed with direction" or "of a country" in this land where I am विदेशी, 'videshi', "without direction" an "expat."  The proximal deshis are marrying themselves off at a "parichay," or "introduction" of particular caste members to one another.  Well, at least I know some people know they're not headed into a career of self-flagellation.
The potraj men and boys of are adorned by a colorful skirt-like waistband comprised of blue, purple, red, or various other bright colored strips of fabric dulled by dust worn over patterned, baggy pants.  Their rhythmic step is highlighted by bells that add to the clamor of drum and air-piercing crack of the whip.  On the men's and boys' forehead, shoulders, and gaunt, concave chests red powder, tilak, is smeared marking them of their god.  The women wear a sari, and usually carry what I assume to be the family possessions on their head.  I've never given them money, but maybe someday now I will, as describing them in words, adorning them and their vocation with language, reveals them to a self beyond the immediacy of judgment, yielding a chuckle and a smile.
Back Street Boys' "I want it that way" begins to be piped out of the speakers; the beggar family drums away--mere meters constantly separate insurmountable distance between all walks of life, everywhere.