God westerners suck! Greedy, whining little brats banging on about their first-world problems. If our forefathers could see us skulking around posting trolly reviews about how our i-phones won’t pick up Wi-Fi or how the local coffee emporium used full-fat by mistake they’ve give us the hiding we so richly deserve.
Never has this been brought home to me so clearly than by the conversation I had with a work colleague yesterday.
That he’s Indian is relevant.
We were talking about the process of testing software. We meandered. I asked what he did in his spare time.
‘My father left me some land. I get back whenever I can to check on the crops and oversee the harvest.’
‘How much land?’
’40 acres! If you owned 40 acres in England you’d be king.’ (I’m pretty sure that’s how it works).
‘In India it is not so big – We produce maybe 60,000 bags of rice per year – 50KG apiece – enough to support the 40 families who work for me.’
‘But you make a healthy profit?’
‘No, no profit, a small loss actually, but it is good to give back. When I am older I will travel home and become a farmer full-time. It is a divine trade. A doctor you need maybe once a year, but a farmer you need every day.’
I have two thoughts: 1. What a profound thing he is doing for his fellow man. 2. I want to beat him up. I am a whiny westerner and he’s making me feel bad. I must go and blog about my hurty tummy and have total strangers reassure me. (‘Cheer up! You are only part-turd’ MARTIN LIKES THIS).
‘You own land?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply, ‘not 40 acres, but a nice house, on a hill.’
‘And you live in this house with your wife and kids?’
‘No, I’m divorced – Not a pleasant experience – Gonna take a decade or so off.’
To do his response justice you need to imagine it spoken in a Punjabi accent: ‘That would be a mistake. You need to get a move on before the sperm shrivel up in your scrotum…’