Money Honey

Last week I hosted a big wig from my old university. Her husband came too, and among the many…wise?.. things he said, he insisted: “In India it’s better to be rich than poor.”

I’m not rich. Far from it. But compared to the locals living in the villages that surround Auroville, I’m golden. The debt I carry doesn’t matter; I have free will and enough money I know I’ll never starve.

That said, many of the locals look at my fair skin and tell me lies to take my money. It’s disheartening and frustrating. Just the other day Monica and I were completely taken advantage of at a sunglass shop, where we didn’t know the prices and ended up paying 200rs more than we should have. Yes, it’s only 4€; yes, it means more to them than to us; but we will struggle day to day and we certainly don’t like being treated differently because of the color of skin. Reverse racism.

As the manager of two places, and thus the payer of two ammas, I often find myself in uncomfortable situations that test my morals. At Grace, the amma was sick one day but insisted on receiving money for her time off. It’s the habbit of the community to give the workers 12 sick days a year; she has already used all of hers, so I didn’t pay. It’s not my place, not even my money for her wages, and she works for several houses… so if we paid beyond the sick leave, what implications would it have for everyone else who employs her? Still, it broke my heart and I felt like a cruel colonizer.

Worse still is the situation at home. The day after arrival Raja took 1000rs of mine to lend to Vasentha. She promised to pay it back quickly. But she never did.

I kept asking her for it, and she kept insisting next week. My friends here told me I had to start cutting it from her wages, but that seemed so harsh… She wouldn’t have taken it from me, a person she likes and respects, without intending to pay it back—right? Plus, while 1000rs is a lot for me, I can survive without it. Can she? She needs it more than I do.

But today she asked me for 2000rs more. “Give it to me now, and I’ll pay you all 3000rs back next month.” She needs it to travel to a temple. I balked. “You’re kidding, right?”

I gave her her wages for the week, and she insisted on being paid more. “I was here yesterday,” she insisted. Doing what? “Tidying a little, you know.” She was doing her work, her laundry, collecting firewood and cashews for herself.

I lost it. Forget it. “Now you get paid only for the time you work here. No more coming at 11 and doing your stuff and expecting cash for it; you get paid only for the hours your work on the house and the land. You sign in when you arrive and when you leave, and you’re paid accordingly. You have tasks. Complete them and you’ll get a small bonus; don’t and you’ll get paid only for the time you’re active here. And starting next week I’m taking 100rs from your salary towards the 1000rs you owe me.”

She cried. She reminded me that her husband is an alcoholic and beats her. She insisted she’d pay me back. She had the Old Man do a special puja where I was asked to pick three items and the order in which I picked them had some special significance to them. But I didn’t yield. She’s not getting her loan, and she’s going to have to start working for her pay.

I felt like an asshole. I still do feel like one.

What to do? I’m earning a salary that reflects the local cost of living; I’m not a money bank for every woman with a sad story. I empathize but this isn’t sustainable.