The Price of Happiness
June 23, 2009
My rickshaw driver gets into a trance when I buy mangoes. I always get them from the same sweet fruits seller, quite far away from my house. But this is where I have my habits. My fruits seller stocks the really excellent mangoes, Alphonso and Dussehri, rare yellow delights that make the summer bearable. Top quality mangoes are expensive, and a case of these is a common form of bribe.
However, my rickshaw driver has decided that I pay far too much for my mangoes. Indeed, I do. Happily so. As a result, everytime I get some, he takes me to some faraway ghetto next to a bus stand where a sad ragged cart pusher happens to sell mangoes too, at a third of the price. And a third of the taste. And probably worms.
How do you explain?
My great-grandfather used to say: “I cannot afford to buy cheap things”. I happily make his motto mine. According to my father, I take it a bit too far in the shoe department.
Well, I didn’t start it.