15

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By now, Mohan and I are almost 

brothers in service; I am excited to 

be given a window of insight into the 

heart of a rickshaw driver, and Mohan 

is enthralled with our conversation 

about the need for good in the world, 

examples of meritorious acts, and the 

heroic experiment of my friend’s pay-

it-forward restaurant.

Soon enough, my fourteen-minute 

rickshaw ride comes to an end. It is 

time for me to pay for the ride.

“How much?”

He checks his meters and reads: 

“Twenty-three rupees.”

I look in my wallet and notice that 

I have exactly Rs. 240. That’s only ten 

rupees less than his daily turnover. 

Spontaneously, I say, “Mohanbhai, 

here’s 240 rupees. Will you drive  

your rickshaw in the pay-it-forward 

style, today?”

A moment of stunned silence.

I explain, “For the rest of the day, 

just drive the rickshaw as usual, but 

when it comes time to charge, tell your 

customers that someone else before 

them has paid their bill for them and 

if they want to continue the chain of 

kindness, they can contribute whatever 

they want. See what happens.”

Mohan is still awestruck. Shaking 

his head in disbelief, he says, “No sir, 

no sir. I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“No, no, sir. You don’t understand. 

I’m a terrible guy. How do you know I 

won’t just take the money and run?”

“About how much money do you 

make every day?”

“Oh, two hundred to three hundred 

rupees (about five dollars) daily. It’s 

really good.”

Throughout my travels, this is one 

thing I noticed—people with more 

money are more self-conscious about 

it. I can’t imagine any of my middle- or 

upper-class friends volunteering their 

exact salary information. Either they’ll 

fake it to pretend to be “successful,” or 

they’ll try to hide their net worth in 

fear that someone will somehow steal 

their jewels. For Mohan, though, it  

is two hundred-three hundred rupees 

a day.

Thus far, our conversation has been 

in the local language. And then, just 

out of nowhere, he says, “I am B-com 

graduate. I speak English.”

And then he reads a couple of the 

English billboards, happy to brag 

about his skills. A college grad driving 

a rickshaw? “Oh yeah, this way I take 

home a good salary for my family. 

Nothing else gives me that kind of 

security,” Mohan explains.

“How many people in your family?”

“Two daughters, one son and my 

wife,” he says with a smile, as he 

describes his loved ones.

On the face of it, Mohan’s red-

colored teeth, fake-looking, weird, 

yellow-dyed hair, big eyes, and tattered 

clothing present a daunting image. But 

in this conversation, we have entered 

another dimension of our realities.