Warmth of a Smile Anonymous

My annual trips to Pakistan can be summarized with the use of a few basic words, including eating, sleeping, shopping, and complaining. If the car didn't have a fully-operating AC system, I'd curse the people and their lack of technological skills. If my foot accidentally stepped into a pile of garbage, I'd curse the homeless for not being able to keep their area clean. No matter what the situation, I'd always find a way to bring out the negativity in it.

It was a scorching, hot summer day in the city of Karachi, and aside from finding the nearest vendor selling bottled water imported from America, I had very little on my mind. Waiting for my mother in the car had become a very occurent activity, considering the never-ending purchasing of several different varieties of fabrics and trinkets from the local bazaars. I kept the window rolled down, and my eyes wandered around the dirty streets, from the rikshaw cars to the pastry stands. I inhaled the rich aroma of hot jalebi, realizing that the last things I ate were the luscious, yet slightly small mangoes my aunt grew in her backyard.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that I noticed a homeless, and very old-looking man, standing significantly close to my car....