Skip to main content

Brain Pickpocketing

It was well intentioned but impulsive nonetheless. Would $5 be enough? Nah, lets make it 10. I keyed in the letters, my credit card details, scrolled down and clicked "Donate". Within a minute, I was $10 poorer, though somewhat happier. After all, had she not stated on her site that Donating equals to Loving?

Though just as an afterthought, maybe I should just make sure it went to the rightly deserved. So I googled her name, "Maria Popova" and clicked on the first Wiki link that came up. It started of with the usual introduction. From Bulgaria, started the website Brainpickings.org that had millions of readers monthly, writer for the Atlantic, Wired etc, once one of Forbes 30 under 30. Obviously someone who had started small and grew to be very influential through her website which I frequented now and then and whose articles would, often at confused and stressed junctures of my life, give me much emotional and spiritual relief. As she stated, it was a one woman show that strived to keep the website ad-free meaning she had to run on donations to keep the website up.

Scrolling further down, I came to the part that I was looking for. Criticism. Often as far as writers are concerned, especially her types, who simplified and quoted out of other books extensively, I would have expected more of the same oversimplification and plagiarism charges. However that was not the case. A journalist had found out that despite her claims of running purely on donations, she was in fact a beneficiary of Amazon's affiliate advertising (when if you click on a link to a book on her website and then end up on amazon.com and you end up buying the book, she gets a cut of the book from Amazon) that meant she probably earned at least another $200,000 annually. She had not disclosed this and been very defensive when asked about this. As the journalist pointed out, nothing wrong in making money this way, but do not do that while at the same time declaring you are totally ad-free and running on donations only.

Fuck! My $10. Two and a half kebabs of joy down the drain to support yet another hypocrite and scammer. I should have noticed something out of place the moment she solicited donations in terms of bitcoins. Happiness turned to disappointment as I became annoyed with myself for not having researched better before making that donation.

Though on second thoughts (or another way I could justify this huge mistake and make peace with it) was that I did not specifically donate to her but to the impact her work had on me. Yes as a person she might have had questionable values, but her talent at simplifying and quoting inspirational and moving sections from vast swathes of literature was undeniable. Plus they did have an impact one me that I was convinced enough to reach out for my wallet and part with my money. Same way millions of people across the world part with their money to religious guides and spiritual gurus. A lot of them are genuine scammers but they have made a positive difference in many of the people's lives with their messages. For the relief and peace these messages can bring, can you truly put a price? 

Not that I am encouraging everyone to fork out their money for such scammers. One could instead direct this cash in good spirit to organisations or people that need it more. In that way, you are passing on some of that positivity and helping where it is truly needed. However, the only question that I am struggling with is, can one really trust the advice of people in guiding our lives if they have questionable ethics in other aspects of their lives? The truth is, I don't know. To trust would be to accept the inherent flaws of being human even if you present yourself as an enlightened being, to understand that we do not all come in black and white, but in shades of grey and that excellence in one area does not necessarily means excellence in others and weakness in one area does not means weakness in all others. Question them remains, where do you draw the line?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Fool's Pride

I was rolling up the sleeve of my uniform, preparing for a call up that might never come, when I realised that somehow I was overcome by a strange sense of pride, a pride that wanted the length of my sleeve to be precise as I have always pictured in my mind. Any longer, I would look shabby. Any shorter, I would look amateur. Then I donned the green, tightened the velcro around my waist and looked in the mirror. It was just like before and the memories started flooding me. I never really liked it when I donned it for 2 years in a row. Then I was in a place where I detested the culture, the harsh discipline, the unreasonable demands and the lack of purpose in everything I did. But now that it was over, when I look back, it was perhaps the greatest time of my life. The suffering, the digging, the starving, the cold, the banter, the rowdiness, the jungle, the marches,the mountains, the food, the stories, the friendships, it was all worth the 2 years. A girl friend of mine once asked...

Clubbing

Somebody up there do not want me to club. It has been one experience that has eluded me despite my multiple visits, that has brought as much excitement as me sitting in a meditative pose.  This is all the more interesting because my intention was simply to get a feel of it, and not kickstart a career as a party animal, that would either way not work for a person who dared not even to dance in the shower. Perhaps  though, it is not the circumstances, but the person to blame. I should have known I was not the party kind the very first time I set off. As I was tying my shoe laces, my father would politely enquire where I was going to. “Going to club”, I responded. “What? Like a community club?”, he carried on. I am not the most superstitious of persons, but when you are about to do something, it has to start off on the right tone. There and then, my father set the expectations of me, and all the stamps I received on my waist before entering the club became but so...

Marriage and All That : Part 2

"How about I get married?" "Are you serious?" "Yea" "No really. If you are serious, I can start looking for one" "Uhh....Nah. I was just kidding" After a while, she stopped asking me if I were serious. Instead, she would laugh it off every time I suggested it, which was the original intention of my question. For me it was just comic relief, this idea of marriage that parents back in India would pester their children with once they reached just about where I was right now; young, working with a steady income and of totally no use at home. Though when she did ask me if I was serious, I do remember feeling a palpitation in my heart, the kind one gets when having to make a yuge decision (#trump2016 #makeamericagreatagain), knowing very well that she, along with an army of aunts, waited for my green light to start searching for a bride for the most promising of their nephews. A NRI (non residential Indian used to refer to the ...