A lesson in economics
Last week, I was talking to a good friend about the tenets of capitalism. The basic conclusion we arrived at was — if you’re on a ship that is sailing from point A to point B, it’s quite ungrateful to not appreciate it. Of course, this doesn’t mean that the ship can’t be improved. There are always areas to better upon and rooms to expand. Nothing man-made is perfect. We’ll never match the beauty of a cold pristine mountain or a cool summer drizzle. However, it’s interesting to note how we overlook so many glaring realities once we slip comfortable into our respective zones.
After settling in an ecosystem where our comfort is of prime significance, we tend to treat fellow humans as dispensable utilities. For example, your domestic help is as important to you as you are to your company and yet, you find it ridiculously difficult to evaluate her for the sheer amount of dependence you exhibit. If you take a leave at work, the company will still run just fine. If your maid goes AWOL, your life literally comes to a standstill. Despite such established facts, your bias might boil down to your status in the society. You obviously consider yourself at a more enviable position than a lady who earns far less than you do. In your head, she is no match to your self-attested class.
It’s all about money, isn’t it?
In the grand scheme of things, we are all dancing to the tune of somebody who is seated at a higher chair. Everybody is answerable to everybody else; even those who like to use the phrase “I am my own boss” because capitalism ensures that nobody escapes the maze. Everything is interconnected. If your maid doesn’t show up in the morning, you’ll not be screwed (psychologically, at least) but also affect the functioning of your office that particular day. All the cogs, big or small, got to run.
Speaking of which, my flip-flop’s strap broke when I was running down the stairs after Ranga (our dog) on Sunday. Being the traditional Indian that I am, I took it to the local cobbler after sunset. He stitched the broken end with a deftness best left to those who call themselves artists. He took less than 15 minutes to get the job done. I asked him how much am I supposed to pay. He said 10 bucks without even lifting his head up from his anvil.
Here’s when I got down on my haunches, looked him in the eyes and did what I don’t usually expect myself to do: try to make sense in public.
“10 rupees, that’s all?”
This is when he looks at me with confusion but nods anyway.
I am not good at math. It’s one of the main reasons why I had to quit engineering. But I did some mental math and was trying to understand how much can this man earn if he charges 10 bucks for 15 minutes of skilled labour. 40 bucks an hour? 320 bucks for 8 hours of dedicated work? Under this insufferable weather? How the hell is he ever going to leave that sunburned spot of his on the roadside? In other words, how can he beat the system? Needless to add, I got sentimental here and derived several corollaries on my own.
“Sirjee, this is not going to work. If you demand so low, how are you going to bargain?”
He appeared more confused than an Argentine fan during an ongoing World Cup group stage match.
“Start with 20 rupees no matter how small the task. If the person is willing to pay, good. If not, bring it down to 15.”
Finally, a smile broke.
“Look at the person and if he seems well off, stick to your ground. People with money splurge inside a mall but try to save once they are out of the mall. Don’t compromise because he is not going to go anywhere else. You’re the only cobbler in this neighbourhood and your work is very good.”
A coy body language reacts to words of appreciation.
I handed him what I thought was a fair charge for his work and left before saying, “If you’re not going to value your work, others won’t.”
“Haan.”
That’s Hindi for yes.
