Nearly 55 years ago, I came across Stephen Leacock’s work and read a few of his books. Later, when my elder son was in school, I stumbled upon one of Leacock’s stories in his English textbook. The piece, titled “My Financial Career,” was an amusing satire about a man’s anxiety-ridden encounter at a bank. The protagonist opens a new account only to panic at the thought of having one—and promptly closes it. It was hilariously written, capturing the humorous side of financial anxiety.

This story resonated with me, and today, I want to reflect—not exactly on my financial career but on my money management skills (or, to be precise, the lack thereof).

Working in a financial institution meant that, apart from managing customers' money, we employees had to maintain personal financial discipline. As someone with limited resources—and perhaps a touch of timidity—I approached money with extreme caution. I lived by two strict rules:

• Never issue a cheque without having sufficient balance.

• Never default on payments.

These principles were ingrained in me, shaping the way I handled money. However, being part of a middle-class family came with its own set of challenges. Managing a family budget felt like a strange, fascinating, and often frustrating task. No matter how meticulously we planned, the two ends—income and expenses—never seemed to meet. And as is often the case in middle-class households, the income side was always the shorter end of the stick.

Why is it that middle-class families are perpetually stuck in this cycle—spending the entire month trying to “balance” the budget? What was the solution? It boiled down to two options:

• Increase the income (which was easier said than done).

• Control or cut down on expenses (the more practical but difficult path).

Most disciplined families, including mine, usually chose the latter—trimming unnecessary expenses whenever possible. But when things got tight, borrowing became inevitable.

Here’s where my profession gave me a bit of an advantage. Working in a financial institution meant access to several staff loans, each tailored for different needs. There were consumer loans, festival advances, housing loans, vehicle loans, personal loans, and even loans against provident fund balances. We even had something called a vehicle booking loan, back when two-wheelers were in high demand.

But these loans came with a catch: they had to be repaid through monthly installments. Fortunately—or unfortunately—there was no way to default on them, even if you wished to, because the installments were directly deducted from your salary. Once the deductions were made, you were left with the remainder to somehow “make ends meet.” And that’s where the real challenge began—finding creative ways to stretch the leftover salary for the rest of the month.

Living paycheck to paycheck wasn’t easy, but it taught us resilience and resourcefulness. Every month was an exercise in budgeting, prioritizing, and, sometimes, sacrificing. We became experts in delaying gratification and finding joy in the small things. Festival bonuses were a welcome relief, but even those were usually earmarked to clear pending expenses or pay off loans.

In hindsight, these experiences were invaluable. They taught me discipline and caution—valuable traits that I tried to pass on to my children. But more than that, they gave me a deep appreciation for the art of balancing life on a tight budget.

Managing money may not have been my greatest strength, but I learned along the way. After all, as Leacock’s story reminds us, it’s not always about mastering money—it’s about learning to live with it, and maybe, just maybe, having a little fun along the way.

Contd. 310. Caution and Precaution - Part 2