The Trap We Walked Into
It had all started out so perfectly. We had the materials, the machinery, and a team of fresh-faced young men from the village, ready to build 1,250 poles. These weren’t just any poles; these were the backbones of our dream orchard, each one a lifeline for the 5,000 dragon fruit plants we planned to nurture. The raw materials arrived—cement, sand, steel—everything was set. And every single bit of it was expensive.
I wasn’t cutting any corners. The future of our farm rested on the strength of these poles. After all, it was my savings funding every concrete mix, every sack of cement. So, we treated the labour well. Food, water, shelter, regular tea breaks. They even got their beloved tobacco-based products to keep them going—anything to ensure they showed up and finished the day’s work. We even offered to share the cost of electric power from our generous neighbours, whose commercial line was the only source of uninterrupted power we had at that point. For two days, it seemed we had it all figured out. The sound of the concrete mixer humming, the team working in sync.
But on day three, they didn’t show up. Not a single soul.
Poles built from the scratch at Swasthya Ecofarm
And just like that, the dream hit a wall. “We want double the pay,” was the message that came through the grapevine. It wasn’t a negotiation. It was a demand. Can you imagine the audacity? After we had invested so much in getting everything set up—the materials, the machinery, even the tea and snacks! They knew they had us trapped. All that money spent, and they were banking on our desperation to protect the investment and get the job done.
Naïve as we were, we thought such tricks were reserved for the cutthroat world of the city. Surely, rural life would be more honest, right? Wrong. Very wrong. As it turns out, the only difference between city and village trickery is the backdrop of greenery.
Their assumption was that we, coming from Bangalore, had deep pockets. Maybe in their minds, we were earning money the way Bollywood villains do—fast cars, fast cash, and shady deals. What they didn’t know was that it was our hard-earned, sweat-and-tears savings funding this venture. That we, too, were just trying to build something honest, something real.
I was furious. Furious at them, at the situation, at the naivety that got us into it. And perhaps, just a little, at my dad and myself for not seeing this trap coming from a mile away. They had laid it out perfectly, and now they were squeezing us for everything they could get.
We returned to the negotiation table, offering 50% more than the original deal. But they wouldn’t budge. They wanted double, nothing less. Stalemate.
But then, just as despair was setting in, my dad pulled a rabbit out of his hat. We will see what that was in the next post.