‘Miser’ was a word I learnt as a boy from the story of Midas. I wondered what I would ask god if I had a chance. ‘Be careful what you wish for, it might come true,’ was the moral.
My relatives and friends called me a miser, which was of course a crude description. But I thought I was careful with money, a euphemism, maybe.
Not only money, I am careful with all resources, including water, food and electricity. No wastage, no overuse, minimum use with maximum benefit. Is this wrong? Should they use the sobriquet for this? Portable typewriter, two-in-one, fountain pen, picture tube TV, old steel easy chair and dhoti (not the modern shorts), define me. I use post cards and one-side-free paper for writing. We have no vehicle, no grinder, no washing machine, no computer, no fancy gadgets or music systems. We use cash, the old way, no e-buying. The water heater is for the use of guests and air-conditioner is for a few hot nights in a year. We do not buy or purify water. We drink water from the tap.
Is miserliness part of the DNA? My maternal grandfather, with the same name, was notorious for his stinginess. One of my daughters and her daughter, show the same tendency. Is it an acquired habit or a hereditary trait? Psychologists should ponder over this question.
I should thank my father, who was a Scouts Commissioner, for showing me the way to save. He would give me four annas to collect parcels from the railway station, three miles away. The post office would provide a card with twenty squares. I would purchase four-anna stamps and paste them in the squares. With five rupees thus gathered, a savings account was opened when I was 12 or 13. I saved in units of a quarter of a rupee. My savings today are built on that foundation. That Post Office Savings Bank account, after several transfers, I still operate.
Two instances are etched in my memory. My father, a commercial instructor in high schools, on retirement received about Rs. 2,000 as retirement benefits in the 1950s. With this money he took me along to the local branch of a bank to retrieve the silver/gold that was mortgaged there. What was left were a silver kuja and a gold chain. These were given to my sister on her marriage. My father had no other savings. There was no pension for teachers in those days.
Another one: he asked me to go a friend's house to get a loan of Rs.100 for a function in the family. I had signed the promissory note as a witness. I still keep this PN with me. It reminds me of the struggles my father had to undergo with a big family, at times with 12 members.
After retirement also my father had to work. He walked a mile to teach in a village school. He worked thus for five years. Then he ran a typewriting/shorthand institute for two years, in his house. But his dependence should have had a depressing and demoralising effect on him. He died when he was 62.
After my SSLC I underwent a two-year teacher's training course. I received a stipend of Rs. 18 a month. The hostel fees (including food and accommodation) was Rs. 15 a month. After the training I joined a primary school, three miles from home. The salary was Rs. 40 a month. I walked through slushy fields and slippery bunds. It was a two-hour walk. I could get a second-hand bicycle only in the third year. Then I joined the railways and later a public sector undertaking. We started our lives with a minus balance. For the first few years all my savings went towards repaying loans.
After marriage, for some years I personally handled the household expenditure. But later we prepared a budget every month and the money required for the month was given to my wife. The budgetary exercise is still on, after 52 years of marriage. I was given Rs. 2 as pocket money as a teacher. Later this was raised to Rs. 5. Even this was not spent.
We had two daughters, so we spent less on ourselves and saved for the future. From day one we saved and both children were married while I was in service, the expenses being met entirely (including gold, silver and marriage expenses) out of our savings. I learnt a few lessons from my past. Save, invest (cumulatively), reinvest, consolidate, was my mantra . When I received a bonus or an increment, half of it was spent, the balance saved.
After retirement, I was asked by my friend to work in his factory. After some time I left the job as I felt my contribution was nil. Money was not everything. I get no pension from the PSU that I served for 31 years. Under some in explicable rule, the juniors get pension, not the seniors. I could buy a single bed-room flat after retirement. But our father had lived in rented houses throughout his life. Am I not gifted? Misers are blessed. They generally do not smoke or spend money on alcohol.
Now we have to live within our meagre savings and interest income. The prices are increasing. The interest rates are coming down. In 1995, I required Rs. 1,500 a month and the interest rate was 16%. Now we need Rs.6,000 and the interest rate is 7.5%. I am 80, my wife 72. We do not know how long we may have to live. We do not eat out, we do not go to theatres. No paid darshan in the temple. When we were young we saved for our daughters. Now we save for our future.
But in all my efforts to save, my wife was my sheet anchor. She was not employed. Looking back at the old household budget papers, we spent money on essentials: rice, milk, vegetables, fruits, clothes, school fees, books, travel and newspapers... It was a tight-rope walk every month. We counted every paisa, we analysed and discussed every item of expenditure. Reduce, postpone or avoid, was our recipe. Of course, in a marriage when others gifted Rs. 100, we gave only Rs. 20. My daughters were fully on board. No demands. No high expectations. My wife and daughters accepted with grace what was offered. That was my strength.
I was independent from the age of 15, when I went to Tanjore (now Thanjavur) for training. I still maintain my independence. Our food needs are shrinking. We have no medical problems.
We walk to the temple, the market, the railway station, bank and post office. We have sufficient savings to see us through the remaining years.
When the official rate of interest was 15 to 16%, many firms offered 24%. My friends and relatives, who called me a miser, invested lakhs in these dubious firms and lost the money. I was content with what I got and did not lose a paisa. Miser, maybe, but not avaricious. Nor did I envy others. Parsimony, my personal philosophy, has ensured a peaceful old age.
Why should society be worried about this? I did not run after money. I did not chase it. What I got I spent carefully and saved the rest. But for this prudence I would have been a parasite and a pain in the neck, a burden on my daughters. Even today I save for the unknown tomorrow and dark exigencies. I may not enjoy the fruits of my labour and may leave my entire savings to my wife and daughters. But this, to me, is a better option.
Yes. I am a miser. I take it as a compliment.
sundaresansiva37@gmail.com
