How My Job as a Cultural Prostitute Changed the Way I Think About Money
On white naiveté at Indian weddings.
It’s August 2014, and I’m 22 years old. The Airbus A380 just landed at New Delhi Airport. With a stolen flight blanket under my arm, I’m walking through the jet bridge. I’m about to start a new life.
It’s my first paid internship abroad, and I’m excited because I don’t know yet that breathing Delhi air is equal to smoking 44 cigarettes a day and that I’ll soon have the worst job of my life.
I’m still in this moment of excitement when I hop into an overpriced cab and drive towards my new home.
I think about my university friends. They landed exchange semesters and scholarships. I didn’t. I failed one exam and didn’t qualify for the application. Yet, I still wanted to live abroad.
I applied for 49 business internships around the world. I spent weeks on research, cover letters, and CV optimization. I was positive to find a job abroad that will pay my living costs.
Hiring managers weren’t as optimistic. Turns out my previous jobs as a mail carrier, metalworker, cleaning lady, and retail sales assistant didn’t qualify me for a consultancy internship.
