Shweta

Emploitation We may drive cars worth fifty lakhs and live in homes priced in crores, yet still argue with a fruit seller over ten rupees. Not because it matters—but because we can. That small act says more about us than we like to admit. Maybe centuries of being exploited by kings, zamindars, and colonisers left us with a simple instinct: the moment power reaches us, we use it on someone else. Or maybe long servitude trained us to believe that dominating others, however mildly, is a form of freedom. The old bada saheb mindset never really disappeared. It just learned better manners. Today, we find ourselves passionately debating whether other human beings deserve basic dignity, safety, and a fair chance at living decently. And most people in these debates earn in lakhs every month. Try living on ₹20,000–₹30,000 a month. Rent. Food. School fees. Medicines. Fuel. Travel. Groceries. Clothes. Loans. Festivals. Parents. Emergencies. Everything has to fit. This is the reality for the people who clean our homes, guard our buildings, deliver our food, fix our leaks, repair our machines. People we depend on daily. Most earn even less than that. With no benefits. No security. No real future. The explanations come quickly. They aren’t educated enough. They aren’t skilled enough. They’d be jobless without this work. No one is forcing them. It’s demand and supply. They’re better off than before. Why don’t you pay them more? These arguments aren’t really about economics. They’re about comfort. About easing the guilt that comes from knowing the system works because it keeps someone else stuck. What’s more disturbing is that education—elite colleges, prestigious degrees, global exposure—hasn’t made us more humane. It has simply made us better at justifying taking more than our share. We’ve learned optimisation, negotiation, scaling. We haven’t learned restraint. This isn’t about a few bad people. It’s about a society that has normalised exploitation so thoroughly that it barely registers anymore. We praise efficiency without asking who absorbs its cost. We celebrate growth while ignoring who never moves forward. No argument will convince those unwilling to see this. The issue isn’t lack of data. It’s lack of empathy. Or worse, the deliberate refusal to imagine another life. Fixing this won’t come from one law or one debate. It will require a long, uncomfortable shift in values—what we teach, what we reward, and whom we admire. That kind of change takes time, if it happens at all. Until then, we’ll keep applauding exploiters, calling inequality progress, and mistaking personal comfort for collective success. And we’ll keep bargaining over ten rupees, pretending it’s just business.