It’s monsoon season, but in Bangalore the rain is not debilitating as it is in other cities. It’s cloudy mostly every day, but only rains in the morning or evening, usually. And traffic seems to get a bit worse with the rain, but other than that, I find the rain to be cozy and cooling, and we can even wear a sweater when it rains! Love that! But this post isn’t about the weather, lovely as it is, but instead about our middle class family moving around the world to suddenly find ourselves members of the 1%.

Last Sunday we went to the zoo, which involved a 2 hour drive one-way in bad traffic, unappealing views out the window of soggy mounds of trash along the road-side, skinny cows meandering in and out of trash piles and the middle of the road, and exhausting complaints from my kids. But once we finally arrived, it was well worth the trip. We went on a safari in a dusty car with two Russian expats we were paired with by the zoo ticket booth staff, and had some great, close-up encounters with cute, furry-eared bears, sleepy-looking lions with gold wise eyes, and lounging tigers (pics on FB and Instagram). As we progressed on the drive we passed through gates to get to the next animal’s habitat. The gate operators seemed as interested in catching a glimpse of us as we were of catching a glimpse of a cobra in the brush. And this continued after the safari as we strolled around the zoo. Many zoo visitors stopped us to take our picture, well, not us so much as the kids. I was surprised that in Bangalore where there are so many expats that we would be of any interest, but we were quite a hit, especially Masan who posed theatrically for all the pictures. After awhile I told people it would cost 500 rupees for a photo opp with the kids, after all, the toilet, which was a traditional Indian hole in the ground cost money to use.

After the safari, we visited the butterfly conservatory, which was a lot like the Natural History Museum’s except that it was outside and no one seemed to care of you touched or even stepped on a butterfly. There were tons of butterflies landing on flowers and visitors alike. Both beautiful and mundane. At one point a zoo employee was in the process of letting newly hatched butterflies out of mesh baskets. He took one look at us and asked us to join him for a special tour of the butterfly hatching area. We were the only ones he invited back. Strange, but maybe it was because we had so many kids with us that we were asked. We walked into a small building with signs up all over reading, “Employees Only,” but the guide seemed to be cool with it so we continued to follow him and found ourselves in a mesh garden with tons of flowers, butterflies and butterfly eggs on the underside of leaves. The zoo employee (keeper?) went right into what was a very well-rehearsed speech about what we were seeing. Most of it I couldn’t catch because of his thick accent, but he was clearly an expert. At one point he wanted to wow us by putting a butterfly on Evie’s cheek. It fell right off to the ground, which is when we realized that it was dead and that there were quite a few dead butterflies on the ground. The zoo guy didn’t seem to find this distressing. Masan, Evie and Mia loved the experience of having butterflies flutter all around them, except that one time a butterfly landed on Mia’s shirt. At this point the zoo employee started his spiel about the cost of the fine he’d get for being caught with us back here being from 1000-2000 rupees (about $15-30 US), and I realized that he wanted a bribe. Of course. That’s why we were the only ones offered a behind-the-scenes tour—because of the way we look and because it’s assumed we are clueless. So we gave him a bribe. We may have been suckers but it was well worth it for the kids.

The Sunday before we had been leaving church when two women with babies strapped to their backs started urgently and incessantly asking us for money. I gave them food, but they wanted money. They practically got into the car with us. They were relentless and the girls were confused because at home we try to give to whoever asks us for money. But here apparently the people who beg for money are run by gangs and the babies are drugged to appear hungry and listless. And all the money goes to the gang leaders. So it’s a scam, and again, we were a target because of the assumptions made about us because of our skin color–that we are rich, that we are new, and are clueless about the scam.

Yesterday the cook made an amazing fish curry dish. I hugged her and told her how happy we are to have her cook for us. She seemed pleased, and then immediately started to ask me for more money. She said that we live too far away and that another expat family offered her 30,000 rupees and is only 2 km away from her house. She says she likes our family so it’s a hard decision. I told her that we love her cooking, but that it sounds like a great deal and she should really consider it. She also told me that her past employers paid for her daughter’s private school. Lately, she has only worked for expats and I have come to realize most expats’ companies pay for the cooks, housekeepers, drivers, etc. so they don’t typically mind paying much more than the going rate. Although Dan’s expat package through work is beyond generous, any help comes out of our pockets. We knew when we moved to India that we wanted to help however we can while we are here. Today Dan and his whole team volunteered at an organization for young adults with developmental disabilities. And I am looking into helping out at some children’s homes. But maybe paying more than the going rate for helpers and paying for their kids’ school tuition is also part of the deal. Like a tax for being wealthy expats in Bangalore.

I feel guilty for admitting this but it makes me angry that the cook that has only worked with us for 2 weeks is asking me to pay for her daughter’s private school education. My kids go to public charter school in the US. We lived in a walk-up rental. Dan has a good job, but we have one real income, 3 kids and are by no means wealthy. And yet, by Bangalore standards we are the 1%.

According to the driver, who I asked about this, we are seen as wealthy because of the color of our skin. People just assume. I find it interesting that in a way people, especially helpers, want us to flaunt our wealth. Our driver talks incessantly about his former employers who would spend 100,000 rupees on alcohol (about $1500 US), drove a Range Rover, had multiple houses back in the US and rented a 7 bedroom here in Bangalore with large quarters for the helpers. When he tells us all this on a daily basis, I laugh, and say that Dan is probably the least materialistic and ostentatious employer he will ever have, and although our housing allowance would have paid for a 7 bedroom, we choose a beautiful house with lots of light near Dan’s work so that he can see his kids instead of being stuck in traffic for hours a day.

So although we aren’t wealthy, and want to use this time we have in India to save up to be able to send the kids to college and possibly one day buy an apartment in the city (pipe dream I know), we also want to do some good. So that’s the rub. Everyone and their brother wants a piece, but how to dole it out and when to say no. I guess we will figure it out as we go.