Why I don’t regret a single rupee I gave away

Mili Pallath : An IT Engineer who also codes in words and paint brushes

The ceiling fan in her small two-room apartment is buzzing loudly, doing little to alleviate the sweltering heat outside. Champa, a middle-aged woman who operates a tiny cloth shop in a local area of Thane, Maharashtra, sits beneath the fan, sweating as she meticulously counts her earnings for the month.

Her face shows the strain of the heat and the stress, perhaps even more from the effort of maintaining a cheerful expression for her customers all day. She has organized the cash into neat piles and separated the coins on the teapoy table in her living room. After setting aside money for rent, electricity, her daughter Rupa’s college fees, home repairs, and an emergency fund, she finds she has a little left over. She drops a 500-rupee note into her piggy bank, a ritual she performs twice a month that her family and her best friend and neighbour, Swathi, are well aware of. The loudest noise comes from her husband, an alcoholic who frequently berates her for saving money for charity instead of giving it to him.

Just last week, Swathi remarked, “Champa Tai (aunty), why do you keep putting money in that charity box when your own roof leaks during the monsoon?” “What’s the point of giving away your hard-earned cash to people who will never pay you back?” Champa had just smiled at that thought before. Now, she was certain that Swathi would bring it up when they met for their evening stroll. After dinner, Champa stepped outside to meet Swathi, fully expecting the question to come up. They strolled for a bit before settling on a bench in a nearby park. Champa then said, “Let me explain why I don’t regret a single rupee I’ve donated, whether to charity or to those I know I won’t see again.”

She took a stroll down memory lane and recalled how, as a little girl, her parents once helped a tired traveller by sharing their food and clothes, dipping into their grocery budget. A few days later, her dad scored a great business deal, which he later learned was thanks to that traveller spreading the word about their kindness. “Watching them do good as I grew up really stuck with me.” Champa exclaimed. “I get that the traveller was probably a nice person, but Champa Tai (aunty), times have changed. People are selfish now and don’t help others,” Swathi interjected sharply.

Champa replied, “Back in school, I used to share my lunch with a hungry kid whose mom worked as a helper. Used to give my books and stationeries to other kids who couldn’t afford it. I saved up my pocket money to give to the flower lady outside the temple and to other beggars. They always blessed me.”

“So, does that really help you live better, fix your home, or improve your finances?”

Champa, understanding that her friend was just worried, calmly said, “Swathi, good deeds come back to you in ways you can’t even imagine. Trust me.” “Alright, I won’t argue anymore. It’s your money, and you can spend it however you want. I’m sorry for questioning you like this.”

As Champa made her way home after saying goodnight to her friend, she remembered how lending her sewing machine to a tailor for a few days helped her attract more customers, as the tailor recommended her shop to everyone. She also thought about how she had provided some free fabric for uniforms to a schoolmaster for underprivileged kids, and now many of those kids' parents came to her shop to buy uniforms.

Champa's reputation for generosity has spread throughout the neighbourhood, leading the vendors' association to offer her a bigger space for her shop in the marketplace. While it's true that not everyone has been supportive—some take her money without any intention of giving back—Champa firmly believes in giving without expecting anything in return. To her, giving with the hope of receiving something back is just a transaction, and that’s not the same thing.

She trusts that the charity box she provided to Manohar Kakaji, an elderly retired school headmaster, who runs a small home for the needy, is used wisely to improve the lives of the children there. This knowledge brings her great peace, even though she lives with a husband who often yells at her.

Swathi once pointed this out to Champa, saying, “Tai (aunty), you’re so kind and generous, yet Kaka (Uncle) (referring to Champa’s husband) acts like this. If generosity truly paid off, he would be the most understanding husband ever!” But he treats you poorly.

Champa just smiled and replied, “You know that bar he frequents? He talks badly about me there, but when people learn the truth about me, they show me kindness and support. I even get customers for my cloth shop from that place. The owner bought tablecloths and curtains from me.” “Isn’t that a win?” Champa chuckled. “Tai (aunty)! You always manage to see the good in everything. I really admire your outlook and wish you endless happiness,” Swathi said as she hugged Champa. Champa then recalled, “Remember when Rupa got seriously ill last year and we had to rush her to the hospital?”

“Yes, Tai (aunty).”

“I didn’t have to spend much because most of her treatment was covered through crowdfunding from generous people who donate to Manohar Kakaji’s home, along with contributions from vendors in the marketplace…everyone pitched in, and I got my child back.” “Don’t you think that’s a miracle?”

Champa paused. “I just shared what I could, whenever I could, because that’s what I learned… I never kept track of what I might get in return. But what came back to me when I needed it most, wasn’t just charity.”