As we turned to leave Akbar’s Tomb, our self-appointed guide cupped his hand before him, casting his eyes to the ground as a sign of respect, and uttering words under his breath.
We didn’t hear him at first, so we stepped closer.
“You happy, I happy?”
I felt awkward, so I gave him two hundred rupees, placing the money quickly in his hand and backing away.
He glanced down, and frowned. Then he looked up again, his eyes opening into a bigger plea as he reached his hands forward again.
They looked calloused and steady, open and waiting. There was no eagerness in his eyes, only longing that we’d given more.
This confused me, because he started leading us on this tour without ever asking for money, and he told us not to pay the people who covered our shoes and cursed at them when they pressed the issue.
“But you are Americans …”
America is a rich country. You are rich.”
I looked at the tour guide, then I looked away.