The one rule I did follow was "Nor a lender be." Even if I had wanted to break that rule, I couldn’t have. When I was borrowing myself, what was there to lend? Thin resources became thinner with each installment. Surplus—a term I never heard of until I retired—was non-existent.

Lending money aside, there were other kinds of lending I might have done. I rarely collected books, often borrowing from lending libraries or friends, and occasionally purchasing one in a rare mood of self-indulgence. Some of the books I lent out never came back. But since I wasn’t much of a collector, it didn’t bother me. I ensured that the second part of Polonius’ rule—"lose a friend"—was safely avoided. Friends, after all, are more important than the possession of a book. Let them enjoy it.

Have I ever defaulted, making both the loan and friendship disappear? Never. Maybe two or three times, I borrowed small sums from friends, but I always repaid.

Once, a close friend lent me some money during a difficult time when my wife was undergoing major surgery. His wife insisted, and they offered it without me even asking. I accepted it, not wanting to offend him, and, well, extra funds can always come in handy. But what followed was unbearable. Every day—morning, noon, and evening—he’d ask, "Hope you’ll repay in time. I have to pay my Income Tax. You don’t have to pay your taxes too, do you? That might delay your repayment." Fortunately, there were no phones at the time, so at least I had peace at night. I couldn’t handle the constant pestering and ended up repaying the amount as quickly as I could.

After retirement, I cleared all my debts, even those that could have been repaid in installments. I didn’t want to be an eternal borrower. But once again, I crossed Polonius’ boundaries. I lent money—twice. Once, out of my wife’s trust in someone, and the second, due to my own foolishness.

There’s a lady who irons our clothes, an "iron lady," not a politician, mind you. She asked for money to pay her daughter’s school fees. I warned my wife, "With her income, she won’t be able to repay." I suggested we give her a smaller amount as a contribution, and she wouldn’t have to pay it back. But my wife was confident. Now, we’ve lost the full amount, and the repayment is a distant dream. However, the relationship is intact. She still smiles at us, and we return the smile, albeit with a bit more difficulty. She depends on us, and in a way, we depend on her too. So, it’s written off.

On another occasion, a talented photographer who had covered many of our family events needed money to buy an expensive recharging unit. I had just retired and was flush with funds for the first time, feeling benevolent. I lent him the money, without any papers or IOUs. You guessed it—Polonius was right. He completely stopped attending our family functions, and the money never came back. That acquaintance, too, was done with.

Continued in 184. Foot and Inches - Part 1