You Walk Past It Every Day. Do You Actually See It?

When was the last time you really looked at the person selling you something?

Not the price, not the bargaining, not the change. The person.

I didn't, for years. Then one evening I stood outside a metro station in Delhi, waiting for a friend who was late, and for the first time I just watched.

What I saw when I finally looked

A vendor arranged and re-arranged the same pile of fruit, hoping the next rush of commuters would stop. A woman in a domestic worker's uniform walked past with a bag in each hand, already looking tired at the start of what I guessed was a long journey home. A man sat beside a stack of hand-painted clay pots, and in the whole time I watched, nobody asked him a single question about them.

None of them were asking for anything. They were working. And that's what stayed with me.

So here is the question I couldn't shake: if they're working this hard, why is the finish line so far away?

Poverty isn't only about money.

I used to think poverty meant one thing: not having enough money. The more I read, the more I realised that's only the surface.

Poverty can also look like:

• A child who leaves school because the family needs one more earner.

• One medical emergency that turns into years of debt.• No clean water, safe sanitation or cooking fuel at home.

• Feeling invisible, locked out of opportunities everyone else takes for granted.

Thinkers have argued for a long time that poverty is better understood as a lack of freedom than a lack of cash: the freedom to learn, stay healthy, be heard and shape your own life.

Amartya Sen called this the idea of "capabilities." Two people can earn the same and still live very different lives, depending on what that income can actually open up for them.

Seen this way, poverty is less like a number on a chart and more like a series of closed doors. Some are visible. Many aren't.

So, honestly: if we only measure what people earn, what are we failing to see?

Why there's a day for this at all I went down a small research rabbit hole and found that 17 October has a surprisingly human origin. It began in Paris in 1987, when people gathered to honour the victims of extreme poverty, and the United Nations later recognised the day. It started as an act of remembering, not as a policy.

The idea behind it is simple, and I find it oddly hopeful: poverty isn't a law of nature. It's the result of systems, and systems are built by people. Which means they can be rebuilt by people too.

It's also why "No Poverty" is Goal 1 of the UN's Sustainable Development Goals. Almost everything else on that list, from education to health to equality, struggles while people are trapped in deprivation.

The part where I had to look at myself I used to treat poverty as a topic for policymakers, economists and people with bigger platforms than mine. Something to be solved somewhere else, by someone else.

But the vendor, the worker and the potter aren't "somewhere else." They're on my route. They're part of my daily life, and I'd been moving through it on autopilot.

So what if the first step isn't a big one? What if it's just noticing?

Some people are already opening those doors

The next question I asked myself: is anyone actually fixing this, or is it all just talk?

It turns out students not much older than me are trying. While reading, I came across the work of Enactus ARSD, a student team at Atma Ram Sanatan Dharma College, University of Delhi. Their projects share one idea: give people skills and a market, not just sympathy.

• Project Kalakaari: Trains underprivileged women to make handmade products and sell them through stalls and online platforms, so the income is theirs.

• Project Srijan: Buys and promotes products from local gardeners and potters, helping them

reach customers and build steady livelihoods.

• Project Niramaya: Teaches skills and makes handmade soap, creating employment while

spreading affordable hygiene products and health awareness.

• Project Avni: Recycles waste and turns them into useful sustainable products while Provo livelihood to underprivileged communities.

None of it is flashy. But each project tries to open one closed door, through a skill, a customer or a steady income. It made me realise that "someone should do something" already had a quiet answer:

someone was.

Small things I'm trying (and you can too)

I'm not claiming this fixes anything on its own. But these are the things that felt real and doable:

1. Learn something. Read up on how thinkers define poverty beyond income. It's hard to care about a problem you can’t describe.

2. Buy local, buy fair. Choose the artisan, the street vendor, the small women-led business. That money reaches people directly.

3. Share a skill. Teach a class, help someone write a resume, show a neighbour how to use digital payments safely. It costs you an hour and can change someone's month.

4. Start a conversation. Ask the person at the stall how business is. Be curious. Treat them as a person, not a transaction.

One last question

Poverty won't end in a day, through one policy, or because of one person. It ends when ordinary people, especially young people, decide it's their problem too.

So this 17 October, I'm asking myself, and maybe you should ask yourself too:

Am I going to keep saying "someone should do something," or am I going to be that someone?

Next time you're at a metro station, a market or a traffic signal, take a few quiet minutes.

Look up. See who's there.

You might be surprised by what you've been walking past.