Black or grey?

Finally, I've read Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol. Usually, once I start his book I'll never stop until my finger turns the last page and my eyes cross the final words. Unfortunately, due to some unavoidable circumstances (read eager to get some sleep), I had to endure reading it for 1 whole week, part by part. ARggghhh!!....i hate doing that - wonder what happened to my so called unputdownable attitude towards books. Strangely though, it made me ponder and wonder about human's most desired, longed and severely misused gift - sleep.

Back to Basics

  For many urban dwellers, credit cards have become almost indispensable, what more with the tempting discounts offered by banks and zero-interest instalments for purchases of items that usually take us months and years to save up for. Being new in the world of credit cards, I took to seeking the advice of a friend who used to have seven credit cards in his possession and previously worked in the credit collection department of an international bank. Considering my affinity with numbers, or the lack of it, it took me some the time to understand the workings and dynamics of the system, and the pros and cons of several types of cards, depending on which company it belongs to.

  As I researched more on it, one thing that kept cropping up was how the utilization of credit cards have impacted the spending capacity of youngsters, driving them deep into debt within months of entering the workforce. The figures became worrying over the years, so much so that at one point in 2011, Bank Negara decided to restrict the spending of those that earned less than RM36,000 by imposing a capped credit limit of RM12,000 per card holder.

  Thought this much warranted guideline has controlled the spending habits of most consumers to an extent, the living-beyond-means attitude so prevalent among the urban society needs much more than rules imposed by a national bank. It needs a change of habits and a look at a lesson of financial management I learnt from my grandmother.

  My maternal grandparents are native Indians who were born during the pre-independence era of India. Though I never had the privilege of growing up with them, frequent visits to India and stories my mother told me about them were enough to provide a peek to the two wondrous souls. My Tata (grandfather) lived up to 94 years old while my Amachi (grandmother) was about 85 years old or so when she passed away, and notably throughout their long life, they were never totally dependent on anyone financially, not even their children. My Tata was a respected government officer and though his earnings were not much, it was enough to support Amachi, their four children, and a portion of household expenses that were shared by tata’s eight siblings, all of whom were living with their respective spouses and children under one roof. Speak of giant joint-families. Despite being the average middle-class family, my grandparents, or to be more exact, the brilliant money managing strategy of my Amachi enabled them to support the education of their children up to university. They also bore all the wedding expenses of my mother and her siblings, which is saying something for Indian marriages are mostly grand and super-expensive.

  After Amachi’s death, my mother and aunt were going through her things, basking in nostalgia, when my mum came across a small tattered book placed in the crook between the neatly folded sarees of my grandmother. As she examined the yellowing pages, she was stunned to discover that it consisted a detailed description of the expenses during my mother's wedding 26 years ago. Every single penny spent was meticulously jotted down to decimal points. Amachi actually continued the practice of writing down expenses and kept all the records up to the day she was bedridden, after which the task was continued by my aunt after much prompting from my dear old grandmother.

  During my younger days, whenever my siblings and I went to visit her, she always pressed a few currency notes into our hands with her shaky fingers, hushing our protesting sounds with a sharp chid and walking away with utmost satisfaction on her face. I always thought she had a treasure chest somewhere from which she can 'withdraw' any amount that she pleases before I found out that the particular act of giving was only possible from a habit of saving and smart-spending. She was even particular about having her own money spent for her funeral rites.

  I could not help thinking that a woman like my grandmother, scarcely educated and so docile to the extent she often does not step out of the house alone, had the prudency and foresight to manage the economical state of affairs in her family which benefited three generations. How many of us now can ensure that we would, in our future days be in the state that my grandmother was, always a giver and never a receiver. Looking at the current state of society, with or without credit cards, I would say barely a handful. It is high time we take a serious look at our financial state and probably take the first step by starting with a pen and a ‘555’ book. It all comes down to basics sometimes.

A Graduation to Remember - continued

  That night, after a good round of chat with my buddy Brinda, I floated off to sleep. My dreams were a synchronised pattern of images starting from my college, the university, Ramesh and the degree certificate. I woke up with my head hurting and my body sore of tiredness.Ironically though, my mind was pretty fresh and active. By10.30 I was at the office of the ancient man, looking at him with the straightest of face and calmness I could muster. To my relief, he told me that it was 'nearly ready' and asked me to come in 2 hours time. I paced up and down the corridor like a zoo animal until Brinda and her friends came and lightened up the situation.

  We loitered around the university, got some of my other certificates attested and spent a good deal of time chatting. By 12.30 we were back in the room and my stomach already had butterflies in them.
   My eyes followed the lady in a purple saree carrying my unlaminated cert around the office. About 12.45 pm or so, I FINALLY laid my hands on my Degree Certificate!!
 Phew!!! I was soooo excited, relieved and happy that I was practically jumping around. My awesome group of friends gathered around me and gave me one look which said it all - simultaneously we all burst out laughing and I spent the rest of the day enduring hours of teasings. Surely this is one epic scene that will go down in the history of graduation for my group.
  Hillarious as it may seem, the whole graduation scenario was an overwhelming, exhilarating event which would make me smile and shake my head in disbelief whenever I think of it. Thanks to the lovely souls who were there to get me through the day - truly true friends never fail you.

I dedicate this small poem to that super-awesome crazy bunch, without whom my college days would have been some sodden bread.

All planets are different
yet are held by a single force,
GRAVITY;
All of us are different
yet are bonded by a single force
FRIENDSHIP....
Friendship...the Gravity of Humanity

Cheers!

A Graduation to Remember

  I’ve never seen a worse management than in my college. Just last week I spent a whole months’ salary going to my convocation  in India, only to find out to my disbelief that my degree certificate was never processed! Imagine my disappointment and anger when I found out that the application that I filled up was carefully stowed away in a creaky drawer in the dingy place called the admin office. Further questions and queries led to no more than a merry-go-round of everyone looking at each other, wondering how and who to blame for such an blunder. And as expected, I didn’t have anyone to turn up to (not surprised since that's what i've been facing since the day i stepped into that god forsaken college).

  After hours of tailing behind the 'person-in-charge' and numerous phone calls to my guardian informing him of my situation, i finally found out the glitch behing this stupid mistake. Apparently, since my application was sent in late, a fine of 100 rs was supposed to be payed, which was never informed to that friend of mine who took so much trouble posting the documents from India to Malaysia and submitting it to the office when I sent it back, all filled up. The application was received by the person in charge, a very 'responsible' Mr So n So who just brushed me off in what could be the most sarcastic telling-off i've ever faced when I questioned him about this.

  So, while the rest of my batch mates were flocking the auditorium with gleeful faces and yellow satin robes, ready to receive the trophy of a 3 year duel, there I was also in the same auditorium with my yellowing application form,face fuming, clicking my camera furiously at my friends (which was also a disaster as i was chased away for 'unauthorized photography'-ironic considering such a wayward college would follow a standard graduation protocol). I battled in my head whether to stay on till the ceremony finishes or go ahead to the university and submit the application myself (1000 rs extra if you need the cert min in a week's time).Finally, I told my situation to a friend of mine, Ramesh who had already received his graduation scroll. After a few minutes of arguing on how irresponsible and absurd the situation was, the next thing I know, I was on his bike, zooming of to the university hoping to be there before 1 pm as any later would be lunch time already. Luckily, we did reach there on time, payed the processing fee (Rs1650 with the extra Rs 650 was for what I still don't know) and proceeded to submit the application papers. As luck would have it, the counter was empty as my eyes travelled the corridor to a clock hanging on the far end of the wall showing 1 pm. Ramesh and I sighed and stayed on till 2 pm until it opened.
  After some lunch (I could barely eat, my stomach was full of apprehension), we went back and I spoke to the person in charge, an ancient looking man with the slowest movements i've ever seen. I explained that I was a foreign student and would require the certificate to be done by tomorrow and also had to lie about the urgency of the situation since my imaginative flight was due to leave the following day. The man looked at me with an odd expression, then chatted away about how good my Tamil is despite me being a foreigner ( haiyooo...how many times would I have to face this statement). After a few minutes he told me to give a call before coming in the next morning. The knot in my stomach loosened slightly.