Top Indian megacities have a modest football following. Or rather, a modest following for the top European clubs: the Big Four of England, Barca, Madrid, and so on. Often, say once every two or three weeks depending on the match, local fan clubs host live screenings, preferably at a bar or pub.
The idea is simple. Gathering somewhere to watch the match with your buddies is far more common in Europe, so it happens here too. And for this, fan clubs tie up with pubs.
There are two kinds of tie-ups. The first charges a cover or entry fee, for which the fan club usually arranges a small snack and drink for you, which you can enjoy, and obviously buy more of if you want. The second doesn’t charge any cover fee. But there’s a hidden implication: you will buy something.
I prefer to avoid the ones with a free entry fee.
When the entry fee is waived off, the pub still expects revenue. So waiters come to your table repeatedly, asking if you’d like to have something. Most of the time, I prefer a light snack and a cold drink, so saying no ten times gets a bit uncomfortable. Borderline irritating. (Not blaming them; they’ve accommodated fifty people hoping for some revenue.)
These obligatory arrangements make me uncomfortable elsewhere in life too. I actively try not to do things that might create an obligation for the other party.
This often comes in the form of an invitation, a gift, or something similar. For example, I recently sent some money to a relative for a festival. Within five minutes, I received a similar amount back. That was, to me, a completely obligatory transaction from their side. I had given them something, and suddenly they felt they had to give something back.
Anthropologist Marshall Sahlins distinguished between two types of reciprocity. One is generalised; another is obligatory.
Generalised reciprocity is when I do something for you - without an expectation of anything in return. Balanced reciprocity is a bit different. I give you something with an expectation that something of a similar value will be given to me.
The latter is still social, but it has a sense of accounting underneath it.
I prefer relationships that operate closer to generalised reciprocity. Gestures are good, if it is genuine. But when every gesture starts demanding an answering gesture, it starts to feel like a bookkeeping exercise.
What I’m trying to do is correct my course. When inviting someone or giving a gift, I run a small check: am I doing this because that person did it first? If yes, I tend to avoid it.
But, sadly, this is often treated as rudeness.
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