What happens when you stop giving
Engineers give the way they ship: pilots, dashboards, scale. Children's needs recur, and the damage is done by a gift that stops. The first question is about the month after.
Engineers give the way they ship. We like a pilot, a dashboard, a plan to scale, and a clean end date. The children I support do not have needs shaped like that. School fees come every term. Meals come every day. Transport to a school across town costs the same in the month a donor loses interest as in the month they found it. For a need that recurs, the harm is rarely done by a gift being too small. It is done by a gift stopping, and the giver is usually not there to see it.
The question before the first rupee
So the question I ask before committing anything is not how much or for how long. It is: what is this child's situation in the month after I stop. Every gift stops eventually, and the honest giver plans the stop before the start. I run three exits through that question, and the gift is only structured once all three have an answer that is not worse than never having started.
The planned exit: the commitment ends on the date it was meant to, and something else is in place. The abrupt exit: I cannot continue, for reasons that have nothing to do with the child, and nobody planned for it. The replaced exit: someone else takes over, with their own conditions and their own timing. A gift that leaves the child below their starting point under any of the three is restructured before it is made.
Why the abrupt exit is the one that matters
The planned exit is easy to reason about and the replaced exit is rare. The abrupt exit is the one I have to be honest about, because it is the one I control least. A founder's income is not smooth. A company has good years and bad ones, and a giving commitment that assumes the good years will continue is a commitment the child is quietly underwriting. If the gift is a monthly fee paid directly and it stops in a bad month, the child leaves school in that month, and no dashboard shows it.
The fix is to make the gift's stopping slower than the giver's circumstances. Three shapes do that. A taper, where the commitment steps down over a year rather than ending on a date, so that the family or the school has a year to replace it. A hand-over, where the gift is routed through an organisation that carries the relationship and can absorb a donor's absence with another donor's presence. And the endowment-like form, where a lump sum is committed at the start to cover the whole period, so that the giver's future has no bearing on the child's. The third is the most honest and the least common, because it front-loads the cost and removes the giver's option to stop, which is the point.
What the sector data says about shape
India's corporate giving is large and its shape is instructive. Companies reported CSR spending of 34,908 crore rupees in the 2023 to 2024 financial year under the mandate in the Companies Act, with education taking about 35 percent and healthcare about 20 percent, according to the filings companies make to the Ministry of Corporate Affairs and publish through its National CSR Portal. That is a great deal of money aimed at the two causes children need most, and the Economic Survey's tally of 1.53 lakh crore rupees over the eight years to 2022 shows it has been flowing for a decade. Almost all of it is committed annually, by boards, against budgets that are revised every year.
The annual shape is fine for building a school and poor for feeding a child in one, and the organisations that receive that money spend a good part of their energy smoothing annual commitments into daily ones. An individual giver has a choice the corporate giver often does not: to commit in the shape of the need rather than the shape of the budget cycle. The exit-cost test is a way of taking that choice seriously.
Reading the three exits honestly
Each exit has a tell, a sign that the answer being written down is the comfortable one rather than the true one. For the planned exit, the tell is the phrase "by then the family will be able to". Sometimes they will. Often the family's circumstances in two years are as unknown to me as mine are to them, and a plan that depends on their income rising is a plan that depends on luck. The honest planned exit names the specific thing that replaces the gift and the date by which it exists.
For the abrupt exit, the tell is not thinking about it at all, because it is unpleasant to imagine being the person who stops. The question to ask is mechanical: if my transfers stopped next month with no notice, who would notice first, and what would they do. If the answer is that the school would notice when the fee did not arrive and the child would be sent home, the gift is structured wrong, whatever its size.
For the replaced exit, the tell is assuming the replacement will match. A new donor arrives with their own priorities: a different school, a different condition, a different idea of what the child should be doing. The honest version accepts that a replacement changes the terms, and structures the original gift so that the child's baseline does not depend on the terms being kept.
The trade-off it forces
The test has a cost, and I want to state it rather than hide it. Structuring every gift so that its exit is survivable favours fewer, longer, deeper commitments over many small ones. A giver with a fixed budget who follows the test reaches fewer children than one who spreads the same money thinly and stops when it runs out. That is a real trade against reach, and reach is not nothing.
I make the trade because of what the thin version looks like from the child's side. A year of school fees from a donor who then disappears is, for the child, a year of school followed by leaving school, and the leaving is often worse than never having attended, because the family reorganised around the fees. A meal programme that stops mid-year is hunger with a memory of not being hungry. Reach that ends abruptly is not reach. It is a loan the child did not agree to.
How I apply it
In practice the test produces three habits. I commit for periods measured in school years, not calendar years, because the need has a school year's shape. I route recurring support through organisations that hold the relationship, so that my absence is a line in their budget rather than a gap in a child's month. And where I can, I fund the whole period up front, which is uncomfortable in exactly the way it should be: it turns a promise into a transfer, and a transfer cannot be quietly withdrawn in a bad quarter.
None of this is about amounts, and I am not going to write about amounts. It is about shape, and the shape of a gift is the one thing a giver fully controls. The question that decides it is simple enough to ask before every commitment: what happens to this child the month after I stop. If the honest answer is "worse than if I had never started", the gift is not ready.
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Occasional essays on engineering, AI, and building for the people technology leaves behind.
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