EFML: Money Matters

My parents are diametric opposites in several aspects. And I, having inherited traits from both of them, by nature and nurture, at times find two contradicting points of view in my head both of which I can understand and relate to. I switch between the two frequently, and reassure myself that it gives me a balanced perspective on life. (There are times when this drives me crazy, but I'll leave that story for another day.) In this article, I'll share with you their individual perspectives on finances, and how that has shaped my own financial thinking.

My father is a man of numbers. When I was in first grade, he called me over to the computer that he'd newly bought, and opened up Excel. He took a piece of paper, and wrote down a formula while I stared at it cluelessly. If there is one thing you should remember for your entire life, it is this. This is the power of compounding. He proceeded to enter the formula in Excel and demonstrated to me how an initial paltry sum could grow to an unbelievably huge amount over time. I watched wide-eyed, understanding bits and pieces. Over the years, I watched as he saved almost every penny he earned, and spent very frugally.

He made me go through several practical exercises over the years. He initially bought me a piggy-bank to get me used to saving coins, and later also opened up a bank account for me. I would be given money earmarked for various purposes having to do with the household, and I had to make do for the entire month in that money. He also gave me our monthly provision list, a budget, and asked me to come up with cost cutting strategies without compromising on our quality of life. For my stationery and books, I had to make a yearly proposal predicting all that I needed for the upcoming academic year and calculate the costs and take it to him. He would peruse it in great detail and then approve, handing me the amount in advance. At the time, this seemed like a substantial amount, and I was extremely excited to have that kind of money. At the same time, I was afraid that even if I made one misstep, I'd be in soup, because my Dad would not give me a penny extra. If I spent the money on something wasteful, then tough luck. I had to make do without several other things I needed. I learned to be astute and frugal, and I hung up the balance sheet above my study desk, entering every debit methodically and punctually. At the end of the year, I'd typically have a little bit left over, and my Dad, elated at this, would add a matching contribution from his side, and put the tiny sum into my bank account. I learned a lot about how to manage money from my Dad, and he liked that I was money savvy. He taught me about various investment options, taxation laws and several other things. 

My mother, on the other hand, struggled with numbers. Even basic arithmetic eluded her, and I volunteered to do her finances right from when I learned simple addition. Having been my father's mentee, my mother's callousness with money both appalled and puzzled me. She was a doctor with a medical practice, and therefore, money wise, a daily wager. After a day's work, I would sometimes ask her for a snack. She would take me to the nearest supermarket, and let me buy anything and everything I wanted. I would buy a lot of junk food, and on the way home, work out the math to realize that I had just blown away close to her entire day's earnings. And yet, she walked back home with me, gracefully, stoically, happily, without being mad at me. As a precocious child, I knew what the state of our finances were. Even though she and my father both earned, we were undeniably middle class, and we always had to worry about building up that nest egg for all the big things in life. How then, could she splurge on me like this, I wondered. I asked her. This is a tiny thing that makes you happy. I don't think the money matters. We will manage. She then told me a story, the crux of which was this:

An ambitious farmer once wished to own more land. He was told that whatever land he could cover by walk from dawn to sundown would be his. Excited by this prospect, he begins walking. He covers and more and more ground, always looking at the land just beyond his reach, wanting to own it. The sun goes above his head at noon, but he does not notice. He is lost in the lure of the land. Finally, he looks around and realizes it is close to dusk and that he is far away from where he started. Fearing losing out all the land, he starts running. He runs faster and faster, in a mad rush to reach the starting point, which is now visible to him, even as the sun is setting. He finally reaches it, just as the sun sets, and immediately collapses on the ground dead. 

The unsaid but perhaps most striking part of the story is this: How much land does a man need? Six feet, to bury his dead body in.

Much later, I realized this story was my Mom's crude retelling of Leo Tolstoy's 'How much land does a man need?' As a child still scared by death though, this story made a huge impact on me. I realized that my mother was warning me about the allure of money and how it could cause one to lose sight of everything else. 

But now, I was well and truly confused. Here was my father, pitching money as the primary thing that mattered in having a good life. And contrarily, my mother, telling me that trying to pursue money was pointless, and that money and happiness were often uncorrelated. My father had a stranglehold on money, while my mother let money flow in and out freely. My father controlled money, and money him. My mother and money were always aloof, never even noticing each other. 

Gradually, I learned to appreciate both perspectives. I saw the merits of both, and the downsides to both. I came to the conclusion that my own attitude towards money would be an amalgamation of both these contradictory viewpoints. I'd perhaps never be able to let money go the way my mother does, but I also do not clutch at it as tightly as my Dad. I save as much as I can, but I also have the equivalent of my earlier "junk food" days, where being happy gets more precedence than money. I will never forget the power of compounding, and so also Tolstoy's story. :)

P.S: The post title has multiple interpretations. If you're like my Dad, you'll read it as an affirmation that money matters. If you're like my mom, you'll shrug it off as oh, those annoying money matters. If you're like me, you'll see both interpretations and inhabit the ambiguity in between them. To each their own! :)