The 'need' for money

Two women from Gujarat have just started to sell handicrafts at a traffic signal in Mumbai. The established system at this traffic signal is that everyone pays the man in charge a fixed amount every week. The man sends this money to the mafia which ensures that the peddlers, beggars and everyone else are protected from the police, municipality and the legal framework.

All three of them, the women and the man in charge, are sitting and discussing the terms and conditions.

“Everyone pays, weekly.”

“How much?” The elder of the two asks him, with partially veiled consternation.

“Peddlers selling small items like flowers etc. pay Rs. 50. You’re selling large handicrafts, dupattas, outfits and the like. For peddlers like you the rent is Rs. 80. Weekly.”

They appear taken aback.

“But ... we have to pay rent to our landlord.”

“And the raw materials costs us a pretty fortune”, murmurs the younger of the two, her clear face lined with worry.

The chap sitting to the right of the man in charge pats the man in charge on the shoulder.

“Let it go.”

“You let it go. I need the money.”

He looks back at the two women.

“Alright, pay Rs. 60 for the first two weeks till you settle in. After that it will be Rs. 80, like everyone else.”

A few days later, the eldest of the two women, who is incidentally rather good looking, walks up, with her sister, to the man in charge, and hands him a package. As he makes to open it,

“Not here. Open it later.”

“Why? Does it contain a bomb?”

“Its a gift. You allowed us two weeks of relief. We just wanted to thank you.”

Later that day, the two women are sitting and talking.

“How much did that gift cost you?” asks the younger of the two women.

“Its a traditional Gujjar outfit. I guess we would have gotten Rs. 200 for it.”

“So we earned ... ummm ... Rs. 20 per day for two weeks. Thats ... ummm ... Rs. 280!”

Her elder sister seemed unconcerned with all the mental maths.

“And we spent Rs. 200. That's not too bad”, continued the younger sister. “But, we needn’t have given the gift at all. Pure expenditure”, she sighed. “But then,” she said, taking heart again, “we might be offered many such future benefits.”

The elder sister had gotten up and was talking animatedly to a stray cow that had wandered near them.


*


Every time I interact with someone else, someone who’s not me, how am I to know who has benefited more from the interaction. Perhaps, out of a deluded sense of love and affection, I compromised more that I needed to. Perhaps I was taken advantage of. Or even if I think I got the upper hand, how do I know that I wasn’t wasting my time. I might have interacted with someone else much more profitably. Thoughts like these are bound to make you go mad. Or at the very least turn you into one of those shifty, cagey characters, always on the defensive and worried every second of the day.

But introduce money and the problem disappears. Now, each interaction can be measured using the lowest common denominator. Everyone’s content. Even the person who made lesser money. For he has something to work towards. An aim he can define to himself, and murmur contentedly every time he does something that gets him closer to it.

There can be love, affection and sex. But you won’t get lost in it as long as you remember the bottom line. Everything can be traded for money. And everyone wants money. All interactions can be clinically analysed (clinically, because it won’t matter who is analysing it, the results will be the same).

But that's not what I think. Obviously. I think that money just creates an illusion. For money is paper and not directly tradeable for happiness or anything else that I value (its much harder because I’m not even properly aware of what I value). So even if I paid more money than I think I will receive, I might have gotten something else instead. And so the problem persists and festers. Meanwhile, I think I’ll go join the girl and the cow.