A strange conversation got me thinking on the idea of envy, so I hope that my readers would bear with me as I begin with a personal anecdote.
Not too long ago, I took the decision to leave life in the big city, and shift for a year or so to a village in the Himalayan foothills, where the neighbours knew each other and shopkeepers felt secure in merely pulling down the shutters on their shops at night without locking them up. I was a regular customer at a small grocery store, and one day, I realised I had forgotten to pay for some milk I had purchased a few days back. Of course I had meant to, but I didn’t have change then, and the grocer smiled at me and told me to pay for it the next time. As expected, neither of us had remembered it, and about a week or so passed before I recalled the incident. After I sent the money to his account, I told the story to a group of my friends, and asked them what they would have done in this scenario.
I was expecting most of them to say that they would pay back the money as soon as they remembered, or else say that they wouldn’t, unless explicitly asked to by the grocer. You’d think there are only two options to act here, and most of them answered one way or another. One response, however, surprised me.
“Well, if it’s a small grocery store or I know that the grocer is a poor man, I would pay him back,” said one of my friends. “But if it’s one of those big supermarket chains, I wouldn’t,” she finished.
“Why would that matter?” I said, humouring her. I knew why, of course, but I wanted to hear it from her. I wanted to know the words she would use to justify herself.
“The poor man obviously needs the money,” she said.
“And the big store owner doesn’t? What if the owner of the big store is an honest and hard-working man too?” I asked.
“He’s richer, or he wouldn’t have a big store. Even if I didn’t pay him twenty rupees for the milk, it’s not like he would be ruined. His business hurts the smaller shop owners,” she said, shrugging.
Her answer bothered me, but I wasn’t able to articulate exactly why at that time.
In retrospect of course, I know exactly what I would have liked to say: “If someone is richer than others, why do you assume his wealth is acquired by theft, or otherwise unearned, rather than by honest or hard work? What about your own act of stealing? Even if his business hurts smaller shop owners, how do you justify your own act of stealing by making it look moral? And even if there is an inequality in the amount of money shop owners make, who made you the final arbiter of justice?”
Unfortunately, my friend is not alone in thinking in such ways. This is the symptom of a problem on a larger scale. A hatred towards the rich or the successful often disguises as compassion towards the poor and the dispossessed. Success reminds people that hierarchies exist. More so, it reminds them of their own failings. We are envious of winners.
I have another friend who has a really weird habit of hiding things. Not secrets, or things he is ashamed of, but good things. The news of a salary raise. Or a new phone he bought. At first, I thought it was out of some distorted sense of humility. You know how some people feel awkward at receiving compliments, I thought it was something like that. But I was wrong. He said that his parents taught him at a young age to hide things from others: anything that was a sign of wealth (a new toy, a new computer, a cell phone, etc.) or success (good grades, news of a promotion, etc.). It took me several conversations to get him to tweak it just the teensiest bit.
“There’s nothing wrong with winning. There’s nothing wrong with celebrating that victory with your friends and family,” I would say to him again and again.
Of course, one must not show off one’s achievements or possessions. One must not rub one’s own good fortune in someone else’s face, or make them feel bad about what they have. But one must be proud of the right things, of success, of victory, or else we run the risk of forgetting that victory is worth chasing after. Good things happen to us as a consequence of prayer or perseverance, and neither deserve to be hidden out of sight as something to be ashamed of. Should one feel reluctant in sharing good news with one’s friends, an introspection into the character of those assembled within one's sphere becomes imperative.
Envy is, perhaps, the most ubiquitous emotion, as well as being the least spoken about. Joy is shown: by the throw of hands in the air, by concealed smiles, by applause, by feasts and by celebration. Rage is vented: by passive aggressive remarks, in yells and threats, through profanity and streetfights. Even sorrow is expressed: with tears, or without, and most often in pregnant silences. As for fear, it makes itself known without the consent of its bearer.
But envy? No, we are too ashamed of envy to let it show on our face or in our words. But we are also protective of it; we guard it and feed it until it consumes us, one covetous longing at a time. Just like a parasite grows fat and strong by feeding on its own host.
Envy doesn’t want to be seen, no. So it uses disguise. It is a shape-shifter, and takes on many forms, some that transcend the individual and manifest on a social or political scale. Sometimes, it does betray itself, but it has walked cloaked among the ranks of morality, charity and compassion so long that we do not recognise it. In others, and especially in ourselves. Even if we do, we scarcely perceive it as dangerous.
Among the plethora of Indian superstitions, there's a star performer known as "nazar" – the evil eye that walks in uninvited to everyone’s success buffet. Indians have mastered the art of "nazar lagna" evasion techniques – from strategically drawing a black dot in kohl on a baby's forehead to hanging lemon-and-chilli combos on our car’s rear view mirror to ward off envy attacks, so ingrained is the belief that envy stalks every one of us all like a relentless enemy, but befriends no man. You would think envy hurts others more by creating an atmosphere of negativity, and driving a wedge between friends and kin. But envy also has a peculiar talent for turning people into performers in the grand circus of self-sabotage.
Picture this: you're scrolling through social media, and suddenly, envy sneaks in like the discontented fairy at Sleeping Beauty’s christening party. One minute, you are lying in your pyjamas all comfy, sipping hot chocolate, and the next minute, you have a full-blown fashion crisis because your neighbour apparently owns a wardrobe straight out of a magazine cover or because everyone except you seems to be going on week-long beach vacations. And let's not forget envy's magical touch on your inner monologue, convincing you that your colleague's promotion is the universe's way of confirming your secret identity as the office's unsung hero.
As we navigate this cosmic odyssey of life, weaving through its unpredictable twists of triumph and disappointment, riding the roller coaster of fortune's highs and lows, making unforeseen pit stops at the station of regret, and ultimately aiming for the serene destination of contentment, do you really want Envy as an unwelcome hitchhiker, comfortably settled in your passenger seat, incessantly grumbling about the entire journey? Surely, on such an expedition as this, a more satisfying companion can be found to share the ride.
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