Every day, many of us give our hard-earned money to beggars without thinking twice. We believe we are helping someone in need. But after what I see daily in my offices in Ambala and Zirakpur, and after recent news from Indore, I seriously question: are we truly helping the poor, or unknowingly supporting a well-organised begging business?
Both my offices are in busy, upscale areas on main roads. It is not just 10 or 15 people begging. Every morning, I see 50 to 100 beggars arriving together, not walking in from nearby slums but coming in groups on e-rickshaws and three-wheeler autos, almost like employees reporting for work.
They settle at fixed spots outside malls, cafes, traffic signals, and popular food chains. What shocks me more is seeing many of them eating branded fast food like McDonald’s and KFC while begging outside these places. This hardly looks like extreme poverty. Instead, it feels like a daily routine, a profession rather than desperation.
This personal experience now connects closely with a recent shocking case from Indore.
During an anti-begging drive in Sarafa Bazaar, officials rescued a man named Mangilal, who appeared to be a poor, physically disabled beggar. For years, people had dropped coins and notes into his lap out of sympathy. He earned around ₹400-₹500 a day just from begging.
But what authorities discovered later stunned everyone.
Mangilal was not poor at all. He turned out to be a crorepati.
He owns three houses, including a three-storey building, three autorickshaws that he rents out daily, and even a Maruti Suzuki Dzire. Shockingly, he had also received a government house under the Pradhan Mantri Awas Yojana meant for the truly needy.
The bigger twist was how he used the money he collected from begging.
Instead of spending it on survival, Mangilal invested it back into the Sarafa market. He lent cash to local traders on a daily or weekly basis and charged interest. Officials estimate he had loaned out ₹4 to ₹5 lakh and was earning between ₹1,000 to ₹2,000 every day from interest alone.
In simple words, begging was just the front. Money lending was the real business.
Authorities are now investigating his bank accounts and properties as part of Indore’s campaign to make the city beggar-free.
This case forces us to rethink our habits as citizens.
Of course, there are still many genuinely poor and helpless people who need support. But stories like Mangilal’s — and what many of us witness daily — show that many beggars are physically fit to work and have chosen begging as an easy way to earn an income.
When we blindly give money out of emotion, we may be reinforcing this system rather than solving the problem.
India talks about rising GDP, development, and progress. But when begging becomes a profitable profession with organised operations, it almost makes these claims seem like a joke.
Real help should come through proper rehabilitation, job opportunities, and government support systems, not by feeding a cycle in which begging becomes easier than working.
Maybe it’s time we stop giving money on the streets and support genuine charities and programs that help people stand on their own feet.
Because sometimes what appears to be poverty is actually a business in disguise. In both Indian and global media, we often highlight and criticise Pakistani beggars seen across the world, even calling Pakistan the “beggar capital of the world.” But this should serve as a wake-up call for us as well. We must stop encouraging professional begging and break this growing business model. If we fail to act now, we may soon find ourselves becoming the next global headline.
