Growing up not rich
My family was the very definition of middle class - rich in education and culture, never going without basic needs; nevertheless, needing to watch our spending. My father was a doctor, the sort of person that is often rich, however, he chose to work in a low-paid job at a mission hospital and later, in a salaried position. So my mother always looked for bargains and made do with the second best choices.
We knew a lot of poor people - they worked in our houses, did all the manual labour that had to be done. But their clothes were worn, their speech was unrefined, they didn't sit on our furniture or eat out of our dishes, they were simply not "like us". No one actually said it - but in reality, they were considered a lesser type of person. So there was no question of ever comparing ourselves to them! That's how prosperous, entitled people like ourselves were defined as "not rich", because, funnily enough, it was perfectly fine to compare ourselves to the people with fancy houses and cars who were actually rich and could spend without thinking.
Although later in life I learned to wear our not-richness almost as a badge of honour - "we are too superior to care about riches" - as a kid, it sometimes caused me some heartache. My consciousness of not being rich showed up primarily in school, sometimes in subtle ways. In one school, most families got the school uniforms made by the school tailor. However, you were allowed to buy uniform skirts and blouses from an outside store where they were cheaper. Unfortunately, they were also a slightly different colour, made with a thinner material and had fewer pleats. Even the monogram on the shirt was a little off. No one ever said anything about it, but I always felt the difference. Then there were accessories, like felt pens (markers), that were expensive. The rich people bought entire sets with all colours of the rainbow, we would buy just a few basic colours.
Early in life, I had the mixed luck (it was a great school education-wise) to go to a fancy boarding school for a few years. The school was affiliated with my father's place of work - both belonged to the same American Methodist mission - and so he got a discount on the fees. Unfortunately, many of the students there were from rich families. While my parents gave me the monthly recommended 5 rupee pocket money (not a bad amount in those days, it could buy you 10 bags of potato chips for example), other kids had as much money as they wanted to spend. That caused me some discomfort on field trips, although, to be fair, my rich friends were always willing to share.
Now when I think about it, I feel thoroughly ashamed that I ever felt bad about being "poor". In which universe is having all your needs met abundantly considered being "not rich"? In a universe where a large majority can be so dehumanized and worthless that they simply don't exist in the milieu in which we the entitled live out our days. Now, when I hear about rich people's exploits, it makes me feel not diminished but nauseated. Now I know that, in comparison to the most of humanity, I am, undeservedly, exceedingly rich. It's all a matter of whom you compare yourself with.
We knew a lot of poor people - they worked in our houses, did all the manual labour that had to be done. But their clothes were worn, their speech was unrefined, they didn't sit on our furniture or eat out of our dishes, they were simply not "like us". No one actually said it - but in reality, they were considered a lesser type of person. So there was no question of ever comparing ourselves to them! That's how prosperous, entitled people like ourselves were defined as "not rich", because, funnily enough, it was perfectly fine to compare ourselves to the people with fancy houses and cars who were actually rich and could spend without thinking.
Although later in life I learned to wear our not-richness almost as a badge of honour - "we are too superior to care about riches" - as a kid, it sometimes caused me some heartache. My consciousness of not being rich showed up primarily in school, sometimes in subtle ways. In one school, most families got the school uniforms made by the school tailor. However, you were allowed to buy uniform skirts and blouses from an outside store where they were cheaper. Unfortunately, they were also a slightly different colour, made with a thinner material and had fewer pleats. Even the monogram on the shirt was a little off. No one ever said anything about it, but I always felt the difference. Then there were accessories, like felt pens (markers), that were expensive. The rich people bought entire sets with all colours of the rainbow, we would buy just a few basic colours.
Early in life, I had the mixed luck (it was a great school education-wise) to go to a fancy boarding school for a few years. The school was affiliated with my father's place of work - both belonged to the same American Methodist mission - and so he got a discount on the fees. Unfortunately, many of the students there were from rich families. While my parents gave me the monthly recommended 5 rupee pocket money (not a bad amount in those days, it could buy you 10 bags of potato chips for example), other kids had as much money as they wanted to spend. That caused me some discomfort on field trips, although, to be fair, my rich friends were always willing to share.
Now when I think about it, I feel thoroughly ashamed that I ever felt bad about being "poor". In which universe is having all your needs met abundantly considered being "not rich"? In a universe where a large majority can be so dehumanized and worthless that they simply don't exist in the milieu in which we the entitled live out our days. Now, when I hear about rich people's exploits, it makes me feel not diminished but nauseated. Now I know that, in comparison to the most of humanity, I am, undeservedly, exceedingly rich. It's all a matter of whom you compare yourself with.
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