A Performing Asset
It was a sunday. By 11 in the morning, it had started drizzling. My father was at my ears, reasoning, well almost shouting that I ought to have been up by 6, or by at least 9 since we had work at the bank. He was to accompany me; rather, I had to accompany him to open an account in a bank. That this bank was nearer home, and open on Sundays, we used to call it "our bank". This rainy morning, in the month of July, I along with my father, had to make this voyage to our bank. Only, this sunday morning was different from all other mornings because this was a second time in the last 29 years of my life when my father escorted me to the bank for opening an account. The last time that we were at it was when I was ten years old, and in the fifth standard. I had won a third prize in an inter-school essay competition and had won a prize money of Rs. 150, and I eagerly declared at home that that was my first earning, and glad that my father was, he awarded me with an account at a bank. And so, by age 10, I was financially inclusive.
As I started getting ready to go to our bank, my father had some reservations regarding the way I was dressing up today. He made an observation, "be decently dressed, that shows how disciplined you are in your life!". I was taken aback by this sudden outburst of sagely advice as I thought it was a Sunday and I could take some liberty in wearing something different from my regular office wear. But no, I began changing into "decent" clothing, so decent, that anyone on the street would think I was going to attend a marriage.
My father was keen that I carry the umbrella the right way, walk the muddy roads the right way, and did everything that was to be done while walking down meandering roads the right way. Everything just about the right way on a sunday.
We arrived at the bank, and father directly loitered into the branch manager's cabin. I stood outside. I never had the audacity to walk into the BM's cabin when I came alone. Branch managers have it in them to scorn at anybody who entered into their den unasked. But father just did, and I stood outside scratching my scalp. That reminded me it was a sunday and I should be washing my hairs - properly. A few minutes later, I was summoned inside, and asked to take a seat just besides the BM. He gave me a form while sipping a cup of tea with my father. I was not offered any. I was asked to fill the form, while he and father, talked about their assets. Suddenly, I heard father saying something about his children being his assets. I looked up stealthily, and caught a tear in the corners of his eyes. I looked at the form, acting innocent and behaving child-like as I was expected to.
Two decades ago, on one such rainy day I was opening a savings bank account with a deposit of Rs. 150, and I remember father (much younger then, with his beard and strong moustache- I used to love that look!) staring at his palms and confiding with a friend of his that how he wants to build up his assets, his three beautiful children. I did not understand the connection then. How can children turn into assets? Does father want us to turn into a construction site?
I was through with opening my public provident fund account. Father looked up at me and said, "for once I did not see any mistakes in the form that you filled". He added, "maybe something to do with that doctorate that you received". The BM asked surprised, "oh! which subject?" Father smiled, this time, proudly and said "Economics". The BM said, "great"! My son, who completed his MBA in Finance three years back, is also serving at a nationalised bank". I got up from my seat in the pretext of having my passbook updated.
I was no longer a ten year old. Within a span of two decades, I had graduated from being a savings bank account holder to a provident fund account holder. I was a tax payer now. I was truly financially inclusive. Father stepped out of the bank, proud, with a smile on his face, which said i was not a non-performing asset. And so, not a liability.
© honestlyours., all rights reserved
As I started getting ready to go to our bank, my father had some reservations regarding the way I was dressing up today. He made an observation, "be decently dressed, that shows how disciplined you are in your life!". I was taken aback by this sudden outburst of sagely advice as I thought it was a Sunday and I could take some liberty in wearing something different from my regular office wear. But no, I began changing into "decent" clothing, so decent, that anyone on the street would think I was going to attend a marriage.
My father was keen that I carry the umbrella the right way, walk the muddy roads the right way, and did everything that was to be done while walking down meandering roads the right way. Everything just about the right way on a sunday.
We arrived at the bank, and father directly loitered into the branch manager's cabin. I stood outside. I never had the audacity to walk into the BM's cabin when I came alone. Branch managers have it in them to scorn at anybody who entered into their den unasked. But father just did, and I stood outside scratching my scalp. That reminded me it was a sunday and I should be washing my hairs - properly. A few minutes later, I was summoned inside, and asked to take a seat just besides the BM. He gave me a form while sipping a cup of tea with my father. I was not offered any. I was asked to fill the form, while he and father, talked about their assets. Suddenly, I heard father saying something about his children being his assets. I looked up stealthily, and caught a tear in the corners of his eyes. I looked at the form, acting innocent and behaving child-like as I was expected to.
Two decades ago, on one such rainy day I was opening a savings bank account with a deposit of Rs. 150, and I remember father (much younger then, with his beard and strong moustache- I used to love that look!) staring at his palms and confiding with a friend of his that how he wants to build up his assets, his three beautiful children. I did not understand the connection then. How can children turn into assets? Does father want us to turn into a construction site?
I was through with opening my public provident fund account. Father looked up at me and said, "for once I did not see any mistakes in the form that you filled". He added, "maybe something to do with that doctorate that you received". The BM asked surprised, "oh! which subject?" Father smiled, this time, proudly and said "Economics". The BM said, "great"! My son, who completed his MBA in Finance three years back, is also serving at a nationalised bank". I got up from my seat in the pretext of having my passbook updated.
I was no longer a ten year old. Within a span of two decades, I had graduated from being a savings bank account holder to a provident fund account holder. I was a tax payer now. I was truly financially inclusive. Father stepped out of the bank, proud, with a smile on his face, which said i was not a non-performing asset. And so, not a liability.
© honestlyours., all rights reserved
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