The Test of Human Worth

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?