Flies were busy hovering. Not on the food spilt on the ground, but on his shoulders, on his empty hand. The sun beat him. The breeze from the Arabian sea cooled him. Loud voices from the nearby temple unmoved him. I watched the shadow slowly danced around him. His cane stood silently, loyally against the wall. He was the Blind Beggar on the sidewalk. Day in, day out . He sat on his spot in this busy sidewalk in Mumbai. Not taking much space. Occasionally, a ruppee would sing in his hand. Same flies hovered around him. Same loud voices accompanied him. Same breeze cooled him. This is the life of the Blind Beggar: "The Saint we dare not see."