In Agra, I met a Rickshaw driver within minutes of leaving our little oasis of a hotel. I was walking only a few blocks to buy some bananas when a young kid approached me, paralleling my walking with his riding. He wanted a fare and I finally told him I would give him 5 rupees (10 cents) to stop asking me for a fare. He was happy with that yet still really wanted to know the usual – "how old are you? Where are you from? Where are your children etc etc"  He was shocked to find out I was older than his parents and we started our conversation. I learned he was 15, had a mom and dad and three siblings. As the oldest child he was sent to work, had never attended school, and earned enough to keep his three younger siblings in school. He had definitely gotten the short straw. He worked for a big “boss” who owned the Rickshaw and when other more experienced drivers were around he was demoted to selling postcards and souvenir books outside the gate of the Taj Mahal. He had done that, on this same street, his entire life.

The next time we saw each other, Carrie was with me and she and Lucky, hit it off right away. I should note that Carrie, mother of three adult sons and a daughter, loves young boys and they love her. Everywhere we had been, she had fallen for the little boys and we had generously supported more than a few in our travels.

Over the course of the next few days, Lucky became our personal rickshaw driver, offering suggestions for trips every time we left the hotel. The competition is fierce for these kids so they all try to catch your eye or develop a repoire as there are far more rickshaws than customers. No work, no pay and probably some corporal punishment from the big “boss'.

Rickshaw driving is brutally hard. The temperature and humidity are extreme, the bikes are ancient, the smog thick and the traffic very dangerous. Add to that a malnourished, skinny skinny little 15 year old body and the work day is long and arduous.

After one particularly difficult journey, Carrie came up with the brilliant idea that we should buy Lucky some new clothes: her long experience in sales led her to believe that if he looked sharper and cleaner, he would attract more business.

We suggested to him that we wanted to buy him some clothes. That idea was somewhat lost in translation – he sensed it was something good but we didn’t understand that he had never had new clothes before so he had no idea where one would go to buy them. He first took us to a tourist palace – the place where the rickshaw and tuk tuk drivers get commission from sales. He came in with us and was through the door for about 10 seconds when the owner promptly had a fit that he had entered –the drivers just stay in the lot usually and someone from the store comes out and gives them a biscuit or a drink – the reaction of these shopkeepers to a rickshaw boy daring to enter their shop broke our hearts. First, they had no clothes in those shops that a 15 year old would wear, and second, he had never known what was inside. The caste system is very much alive here in India and the rules are very firm.

Feeling shot down but still sensing that something good might happen, we encouraged him to ask someone where local people buy their clothes. He was given instructions and away we went, winding through little lanes and through herds of meandering cows and past strange looks from locals who were wondering what kind of craziness was going on with this kid bringing two blonde women through the 'hood’. It wasn’t Lucky’s neighborhood so it was new to him as well.

Eventually we found a little shop where jeans and shirts were sold. The shops are not like ours: there is no room for display, you don’t see merchandise, just boxes and boxes of items on shelves. You ask and determine size and the boxes are opened and you get to see the content. If you don’t like what you see, a runner is summoned to go find more boxes from somewhere outside of the street. Carrie took over and told the shopkeeper we wanted jeans and a shirt for him. Lucky was somewhat apprehensive at this point as I think it was just too much to take in. Boxes of shirts were opened, we told him to choose and he clearly knew exactly what he had dreamed of. A long sleeve cotton shirt – black with blue stripes. Quite formal actually. Then the jeans started arriving by the armfuls, from kids who work for the shopkeeper. The shop guy was a bit of a p****and had a prickly attitude to match. He did not want Lucky to try anything on, insisted all the sizes were correct and tried to run the show. He was no match for Carrie who told him all items were going to be tried on and that she questioned his sizing as the kid was skinny skinny. Lucky’s excitement grew as he chose some items and tried them on. He told us he wanted us to choose but it was clear he had definite ideas. He kept trying on more and more designer jeans with Carrie the eternal mom, pinching and poking and measuring each choice for size and quality. This kid had never had this much attention in his life and he was loving it. We were loving it so much ourselves, we decided to buy two outfits – one from each of us. I was chatting up the shopkeeper and learned one of his son’s had died earlier this year and it was clear he was quite miserable. Once the choices were made and the kid was bursting beyond belief, we asked price. That’s when the bubble nearly burst. We had some idea of how much the items were going to be: most of the boxes had prices on them. Lucky loved all the items he had chosen, he had modeled them for us, and the fit was perfect: one shirt, one long sleeved t-shirt and two pairs of designer jeans with copious zippers and chains and doodads embellishing them. The grieving shopkeeper wrote down what we owed and it was about twice what was fair. We argued and poor Lucky told us no, no – let’s forget it, no problem, it is too much, let’s just get away - he was happy without the new clothes. The shopkeeper figured he had two rich ladies who he had the opportunity to take advantage. We attempted to negotiate and he hardly budged. The clothes were very expensive to begin with – around $70 – really, really expensive considering most men make $3 a day but we had agreed we would spend the extra money for really good quality and once in a lifetime cool stuff for this kid. This shopkeeper was trying to get around $140 out of us!!!!. Yikes! So…….we grabbed Lucky and put a Hex on the shopkeeper and headed down the street. By this time the street was already interested in the two white women and the rickshaw kid.

We went a few doors down – looked in, their seemed to be similar boxes on the shelves and started again. This shopkeeper was nice and kind and had far better energy. He did not have the same items but very similar and in the end we got two pair of super cool jeans – better than the first place, a similar shirt and a sweater Lucky fell in love with. The guy charged us the prices on the boxes and we all were very happy with our experience – especially Lucky. His legs nearly flew as he peddled us back through the winding streets, back towards the Taj – the greatest monument to Love and Loss in the world.