Every time I resisted being Samaritan by lending money, it happened under duress. I was always keen to help the needy, as indicated in the moral science books. I had no money of my own so would have had to borrow it from my parents. But, it seemed, they encouraged a charitable disposition only in theory. For when I tapped them when someone asked me for money, their answer was “No”. I died of shame but the noble soul put me at ease.
Some days later he vanished, with the money he had borrowed from many others. Decency demands that I offer no hints but he also took away a photograph of me with my favourite singer, Jagjit Singh. I used to flaunt it before all. He said he would show it to his wife. He had not said when he would return it. He did not.
Okay, not everybody else is like that. Yes, a classmate did once pocket the change the bus conductor returned after I paid the fare for both, but, maybe, he was just unmindful.
Then there was the colleague who was not at his desk when the food he had ordered arrived. We all pooled in and paid. He returned later and devoured the food, never asking who paid. But, people do forget things after a hearty meal.
A friend who borrowed money had said he would return it in a month’s time. After the month, he was kind enough to say he would return it whenever I needed it.
Now, I have not mustered the courage to ask him yet. Money is not talked openly where I come from. I possibly know why. I spied on it in a magazine my father treasures. It says under a photo in which the famous Kennedy family members are dining that they engaged in varied dinner conversation, but one subject never discussed was money.
So, after the loss of the priceless Jagjit photograph — though I still have a copy — and other damages, I decided to think twice before lending money again.
Next, it was the turn of a student of my teacher, my junior, who was moving from Assam to Calcutta to intern at The Statesman. My teacher had asked me to help him out.
I played the guardian part well, until he called up one day to ask for help. Luckily he could not see my expression as I mumbled, incoherently, that I would love to help. He said his folks were sending him some money, but he did not have an account of his own. He asked for my bank account, saying around Rs 10,000 would be transferred there. And then, he dropped the bombshell. He asked if I could lend him Rs 1,000 for his immediate needs. He would return it from the amount his folks would send. I told him I would discuss this with my folks first. All the alarm bells in my mind were chiming in unison already.
I agreed. He collected the money from my office. I recollect he seemed touched. I saw him pocket the money and wondered if it would ever come back. I can still picture him that day. He wore these old-style spectacles from another era. My elder uncle used to wear similar ones years ago. He also wore ill-fitting trousers and his shirt was just as forgettable, though I have not forgotten it because money, my money, was involved. He had a funny-looking round face and smiled a lot, for no obvious reason.
Some days later he called again, to check if the money had arrived. It had, I confirmed a day or two later. We fixed a day on which he would come over to my place to collect the cash.
The day arrived. I was ready with the money. One thought kept eating my blood, though. He always talked of coming to collect the money, not a word about the money he borrowed from me. What if he just pocketed the Rs 10,000 and left?
There had to be a safeguard. I sat down to think and never stopped till I came up with a foolproof plan.
At the appointed hour, he rang the bell, on the 14th floor of the building I lived in then. I opened the door. He still had that warm smile. Little did he know what I was upto. I shut the door, putting the latch in place. After the usual courtesies it was time. I fished out the money from my drawer, taking a look inside to ensure something I had kept aside was there. I extended him the cash, and readied for my next move, to follow the moment he finished counting.
But, he made no move to count. He just took out two five-hundred-rupee leaves from the wad and handed them to me saying: “Let me return your money with a big thank you. You have no idea how much you have helped me.” He then just pocketed the rest.
My heart sank. I did not know whether to thank him or to die of shame. I watched transfixed, wishing I were elsewhere, wondering why I had never predicted such a scenario.
That a smile could hide an embarrassment was a first for me. I returned him the Rs 1,000 and told him it was not required. He looked confused and wondered if something was amiss. I get the feeling of sinking into quicksand every time I think of that moment.
With great shame, I told him I had taken my Rs 1,000 before handing him the money. He showed a lot of grace in only smiling and saying I had made it easier for him.
