The first three days in Bangalore, India are complete. Rachael and I have acclimated smoothly, learned how to navigate the city, and already had several impromptu conversations with rickshaw drivers. Just as expected, the food is swell, the weather warm but mild, and people are generally kind and helpful. Our biggest day one learning was how to cross a street. The city (country?) isn’t huge on crosswalks, lanes, or traffic laws. You just wait for a small gap and make a run for it, preferably with a nearby stranger. There is no jaywalking, only walking. What I didn’t expect is how much time I would spend thinking about money. How should I spend it? What does it mean to rickshaw drivers? How does it influence social interactions? Would the world be a better place if money didn’t exist? The primary mission of Three Wheels United, the host company, is to raise the incomes of rickshaw drivers by loaning them money to own their vehicles. Economic stability allows drivers to spend less time worrying about their next meal, and more time providing for their family. So naturally, our whole experience is centered around money. Who has it, where it’s being spent, and how to help drivers earn more (without scamming clueless Americans). I’ll give a bit of background before diving into the stories. First, Miller Center for Social Entrepreneurship is incredibly kind to us fellows; we receive a debit card to purchase everything we need while in the field. Hotels, food, transportation, all of it. Spending someone else’s money carries a different psychology than spending your own as a college student. (“Hey, let’s just get both appetizers!” “It doesn’t matter that we spend $4 instead of $2 on this rickshaw ride!”) Both Rachael and I are naturally pretty frugal, but it’s a freeing change to not analyze every dollar. On a broader scale, we both feel a certain responsibility to savor and learn from this experience. Second, the exchange rate in India is quite favorable, about 65 rupees per dollar. A main course at a restaurant might cost 300 or 400 rupees, or about $5 or $6. A 15-minute rickshaw ride costs about 70 rupees on a ride-sharing app. Most items are generally about one-third the price they would be in the U.S. We get to stay in a hotel with the breakfast pictured below. (Yes, it’s heaven) 1. “Only one store” Our first rickshaw experience came after visiting the botanical gardens, a pretty park to the south of our hotel. A man seemed quite eager to drive us, and we told him we wanted to visit the Bangalore palace. He didn’t speak the clearest English, but we eventually agreed he would take us there. He was saying something about gas or a store, but we made it clear that it was the palace that we desired. He fired up the engine, and zoomed around a roundabout. About 30 seconds later, he pulled into a clothing store, and told us that we had to go in and shop. We weren’t thrilled, but walked in and out of the store. He wouldn’t take us further, so we handed him 50 rupees and left. We later learned that the stores would give drivers gas tickets if they brought customers there that bought something. Later that night, we visited Commercial Street, an overwhelming neighborhood of shops (mostly clothing, mostly selling the same stuff). After finding a fruit peeler (for mangos) and eating dinner, we wanted a ride to the nearby MG Road area. A driver excitedly approached us and asked us where we wanted to go. “No stores,” Rachael firmly told him as we hopped in. He paused. “Only one store,” he responded. Was he planning to take us to more than one!!?!?!?!@? We walked the half mile on a noisy street instead, more out of spite than necessity. Our final driver of the night was much kinder. “I am not like that,” he said of the store-crazed drivers. 2. “Keep the change” Day two featured several more rickshaw rides, the first one to work. Our current hotel is about two miles from the hotel, a sizeable ride in morning traffic. One of the previous day’s rickshaw drivers was waiting outside the hotel and asked us where we wanted to go. We agreed to no stores, and offered 150 rupees. “300,” he responded. “It’s very far.” Fine. Later that day, we realized how badly we had been ripped off. Rosemary (our primary TWU connection, a late 20’s American leading the company’s business development) informed us that a ride that distance should be around 60-80 rupees, potentially a bit more for us being foreigners. How should we feel? Bad for getting ripped off? Good for supporting the local economy? Bad for wasting someone else’s money? Good for getting to work on the first day? Who knows!?! One of the funny parts about money is how emotions don’t scale with amounts. The injustice of being charged an extra $2 somehow outweighed that we accidentally booked the hotel for an extra night before we arrived, a disproportionately greater cost. Losing $2 and $2000 feels surprisingly similar. Emotions trump logic. After several hours of relaxed chatting in the office, Rachael and I were ready for an ethnographic adventure (aimlessly wandering around the city). We found a little “auto stand” (spot where rickshaw drivers wait) and asked if anyone spoke English. A younger guy said yes, and we asked him to take us to another neighborhood a good 45 minutes away. We agreed on 300 again, and sped off. We proceeded to have an excellent conversation with this man Niyatnath, learning all sorts of details about his life. He was 38, lived with his wife, two kids and eight other extended family members, had driven a rickshaw for six years and could make about 1400-1800 ($20-$27) for a long 12-hour day. We learned about his whole working career, his family’s jobs, when they went to the market, why he quit being a mechanic, and all the costs of renting his vehicle. After arriving at our destination, we gave him an extra dollar for his kindness and insight. Keep the change. 3. “It’s gone” Now in a new neighborhood called Jayanagar, we shopped around and paced the streets. I was looking for a new wallet, as my current one was tiny and couldn’t hold much cash. This wallet is only the second I’ve ever owned. The first lasted many years but was lost on the train right before flying to Europe last fall. I bought my current small one in Italy, and have kept it since. Rachael saw a little sponge she liked from a street vendor, and bought it for about 30 cents. We walked a few feet down the street, then she froze. She checked a pocket in her backpack. “I think I just got pickpocketed,” she said. It was certainly possible since the area was moderately crowded. She rummaged in her backpack and found her phone. Good. “Is your computer there?” Yes. Ok, here we go, I thought. Procedure. First. Text Spencer (Miller Center worker). Rachael sent the message. Next. Call bank to cancel card. I tried to call but it didn’t go through. We remained calm and amiable, but it was quite stressful. She looked again in her backpack in different pockets. Found it! … wheeeewwwwwwww. That was a close call. Text: “Never mind Spencer whoops.” Deep breath. Overall, the episode made us sufficiently paranoid enough to be careful. And threw some stressful conflict into the relationship, which we handled swimmingly. We continued onward, and I bought a new wallet from a street vendor for a whopping $3. Rachael found one too. Against all odds, we exited Jayanagar with two more wallets than we entered with. We celebrated at a mind-blowingly good restaurant in another hip area of town called Indiranagar. Cheers. 4. “I love driving” After dinner, we tried the Ola app (like Uber) to get us back to the hotel. Our driver was taking forever and his map pin wasn’t moving, so we cancelled and wandered around looking for a rickshaw. In Jayanagar, we had asked about 10 drivers if they spoke English and had no success. But here, the first driver we found happened to speak English. He worked for an Australian company and drove on nights and weekends to make some extra money. He told us he started work at 3:30 am, then finished at 1pm. He would nap in the afternoon, drive from 7pm-1am and do it again the next day. But what really stood out was his love for driving. “Some people spend Friday or Saturday watching television, I drive rickshaws instead,” he told us. I can see the appeal of rickshaw driving. It’s a bit like a video game: weaving in and out of traffic, squeezing between cars, sending friendly honks to each moped driver you nearly hit, revving the engine in any clear stretch of road. For this man, driving wasn’t a chore or even a necessity. It was his passion. He wasn’t out to scam tourists, he used the meter on his vehicle most of the time to offer reasonable prices. He did strategically drive near bars on weekend nights to earn more from drunk people, a method that allowed him to earn much more than some other drivers. But his love for driving was what shone through most clearly. Our experiences with money often feel transactional and extractive. The drivers see me as a tall American opportunity to make an extra dollar, and I pay them for their services. But each day, Rachael and I have gotten into long and fruitful conversations with drivers where we learn about them as people.
This morning on the way to work, we rode with a man Ahmed who had been driving for 40 years (!!!). He spoke of how much Bangalore had changed in that time, about his eight children, and about differences in university in India and the U.S. He earned just $8 per day despite working 12-14 hours. He spoke an incredible five languages, and had picked up English solely from his years of driving. Ahmed told us, “This is one of the longest conversations I’ve had with any rider. Most people don’t want to talk. You are very nice people.” I realized that the greatest gift we can give any driver is allowing them to be seen, and to feel that their story matters. We had agreed on a price of 150 rupees beforehand (about double what we could have paid), and as we exited the vehicle, Ahmed tried to give us back 50. He no longer saw us as a means to an end, and felt bad for the inflated rate. We of course refused this beautiful man’s request, and shook his hand before leaving to work. Money matters, it’s everywhere, and it will inform our whole summer of work. But the human connections and stories are what truly count.
3 Comments
Michelle Swanson
6/21/2019 06:46:56 am
I love you, your writing, your internal compass. You two take care now....and go forth and do good!
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Gavin
6/21/2019 07:02:20 am
Thanks Michelle! :)
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Gabi Hamm
6/23/2019 10:35:08 am
hey I'm a big fan. huge, actually. India sounds really cool, almost as cool as you and Rachael
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