Madurai got me thinking about wealth.
Leaving Mamalapuram, my backpack was getting full and I knew that I needed to downsize so I left a gray sweater and a pair of green cargo pants at the hotel. For some reason, leaving behind those two pieces of clothing bothered me. A lot. I realized how addicted I am to my possessions, and how scared I am of losing the material things that I have.
Basically, I’m clinging to what little wealth I have, afraid to give anything away. I realized that I need to learn to let it go.
India is an interesting place to have wealth thoughts.
I expected full-blown poverty before I arrived, and there certainly is some of that, but the funny thing is that the poverty hasn’t bothered me as much as I expected it to. Maybe that’s because people here don’t seem any more unhappy than people in the United States.
I’m not sure why that is.
My friend, Julie, and I were talking about this supposed contradiction in Varanasi. We agreed that where we come from (the United States and Australia) we’ve both met people with loads of money who are depressed, hate their jobs, and are generally miserable. One hypothesis that we drew is that maybe money really doesn’t buy happiness (as long as we have enough money to fulfill our basic needs like food and shelter).
Maybe it’s because Indians are more family-focused than Americans. Or maybe it’s because Indians are generally more religious and/or spiritual. Maybe it’s because, although it’s crowded, there isn’t as much of that “rat race” mentality here. It’s OK to stop what you’re doing and to spend a few hours drinking Chai with a friend you’ve just met (as opposed to America where that kind of behavior might be considered lazy).
This observance made me hopeful. In the past I’ve always wanted to “save the world.” Now my view has changed. I’m still a humanitarian, but I believe that the western world could learn a thing or two from the developing world.
There’s only been one time on this trip so far when the wealth discrepancy affected me. It was when we hired a cycle rickshaw driver to take us back to our hotel. The guy was old, and he looked tired. The rickshaw moved along at a slow pace. And it was hot outside.
The guy said he’d take us back to our hotel for 30 rupee, which is about $0.75 USD.
After a few minutes in the cycle rickshaw, I started feeling like an ass. I couldn’t believe I was only paying this guy 75 cents to do this job.
Every time we reached a hill on the road, he’d either have to stop and push the cycle rickshaw up the hill from the back or else he’d have to take a foot off one of the pedals so that he could put 100% of his weight on the other pedal.
Pulling me around town was no easy job.
He was barefoot, and his feet were dusty, cracked, and callused. For some reason, they reminded me of elephant hooves.
When we reached our destination, I handed the man 500 rupee (equivalent to $11 USD). I don’t even think that I was being a Good Samaritan. I think I was just trying to make myself feel a little less like a shit head.
I walked away without saying a word. After a few meters, I noticed that my friend, Manu, wasn’t at my side. I turned around to make sure I hadn’t lost her in the crowd. That’s when I saw the cycle rickshaw driver’s face. He was staring at the 500 rupee note, disbelieving.
His eyes were huge, and he was smiling, and looking at me, bowing his head in gratitude. The look on his face has stayed with me for months.
