A Local Encounter that Changed my Perspective - The Test of Human Worth

unraveltravel — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 10:17:12 GMT

I watched my driver angle his head out the window of the white sedan and negotiate a price, in his native Tamil, with a tour guide in Mamallapuram, India. Intricately clad figures in striking, interactive poses carved within the stone monuments were aesthetically satisfying, but they were voiceless to my ears. For the right rupees, the thin tour guide in free-flowing garb would summon the heroic tales of Hindu gods and goddesses from the ancient art.

In roughly polished English, the tour guide illuminated every moment of the monuments as if he created them himself, politely taking turns with other groups of eagle-eyed newcomers. Expecting me to be the typical tourist, he stopped after each story and asked, “Want a picture?” He immediately took my disposable camera to snap the repeating photo of me smiling and squinting next to each piece of important Indian history. He kept a fast pace in the furious midday heat, forcing my heavyset driver to lag behind. “The big man has trouble keeping up,” he laughed into the air.

?As is customary post-tour, he led me past the hazy beach waters bordering the monuments to the gift shops with handcrafted mementos. In one shop, nestled away from the others, he spoke extensively of the Kama Sutra-themed souvenirs that anchored the intimate space, from the heavy marble statues to the fragile bamboo wall hangings. He seemed excited, or perhaps he was trying to excite me, about the lascivious side of his India. I was tempted to take a bit of naughty home with me, but instead made the practical choice of postcards.

When his work was complete, he escorted me to the square where throngs of people chirped about the antique beauty. He insisted that my out-of-breath driver remain behind. He narrated, as was his talent, the stark reality of a tour guide’s life—it’s seasonal and sporadic and didn’t he deserve more for his family than what the driver negotiated with him? “I’m a gifted guide, no?” Gazing at the bills I pulled from my wallet, he preferred dollars to rupees. I stayed with his native currency, offering a few hundred more rupees than originally agreed upon. “Is this ok?” I uttered. I knew from his half head bobble it wasn’t ideal. “This is the best I can do,” I said with palpable sincerity, handing him his day’s paycheck. He accepted it with distant eyes.

Walking back to the car, I considered my reaction had I been the tour guide receiving money from him in the U.S. Did the sum of my money determine his worth?

My Scholarship entry - A local encounter that changed my life

unraveltravel — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 13:32:26 GMT

Is money a global form of communication? I asked myself that while waiting for the driver, in his native Tamil, to negotiate a price, on my behalf, with a tour guide in Mamallapuram, India. The tour guide needed my money, and I needed his knowledge. Intricately clad figures in striking, interactive poses carved within the monuments were aesthetically satisfying, but they were voiceless to my ear. The tour guide, a thin man in free-flowing garb, summoned from the stone art the stories of Hindu gods and goddesses. He used my disposable camera to snap the same photo of me smiling and squinting next to each piece of important Indian history.

Finally, we came upon the gift shop with handcrafted memories. The tour guide spoke extensively of the Kama Sutra-themed souvenirs, from the round marble statue to the bamboo wall hanging. He seemed excited, or perhaps he was trying to make me excited, about the lascivious side of his culture. I declined to make any purchases.

Throughout the tour, the driver, a heavyset man often out of breath (a feature the tour guide mocked), lagged behind us. When it came time for compensation, the tour guide escorted me to an open space, insisting that others, minus the driver, were nearby. I hesitated. He articulated his case for more money than what he and the driver discussed. First, he touted his touring abilities—his illumination of India for the ignorant. Then, he described the stark reality of a tour guide’s life—it’s seasonal and sporadic. I fixated on the original amount but agreed he was a gifted guide. He gazed at the unwilling bills I pulled from my wallet, preferring dollars to rupees. I gave him the rupees, a few hundred more than intended. I knew from his tone it was not what he wanted, but to a traveler on a tight budget it was something. I thanked him and walked back to the driver, worrying and wondering what he would have done had he received a tour from me in the United States. Did the sum of my money determine his worth?