"𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫," [Republished]

"𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫," said my 6-year-old daughter, who was in Grade 1 at the time and experiencing her first-ever school assessment that week.

This was about four years ago during the pandemic when schools had shifted online. The school had introduced assessments to evaluate how well students were grasping the subjects. Students were required to stay on camera and unmuted throughout to ensure there was no prompting from parents or family members.

To be honest, I was more anxious than my daughter. I prepped her with pep talks, emphasizing the importance of giving her best effort and not dwelling too long on tricky questions. “It’s okay to move on,” I told her, “so you don’t jeopardize the next one.”

On the day of the assessment, I watched nervously as she tackled the subject I believed she was strong in. After submitting her answers, I reviewed them and was surprised she hadn’t done as well as I expected.

As I pointed out her mistakes, she looked at me and asked, “Why didn’t you help me even a little? I could hear other parents on the call prompting their kids.” Her question caught me off guard, but it was an important moment to explain the concept of integrity. I sat her down and helped her understand why assessments are about individual effort and why doing the right thing matters, even when others around us may not be following the same path. 

Everyone, regardless of age, needs a reminder of certain values from time to time—even when they already know them. Most importantly, there are moments when we feel tempted to intervene, perhaps believing it’s our right or even our duty to do so. However, it’s crucial to discern when intervention is necessary and when it’s best to step back.

There’s a profound line from the show The Crown, where Queen Mary tells Queen Elizabeth: “𝐓𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧.”  - the application of which is needed far too often in all our lives, more often than we realize.

"…arre Jimish, aaj half day?"

"…arre Jimish, aaj half day?" shouted a guy a couple of rows away as I picked up my bag from my desk. ["Jimish, half day today?"]

This was at one of my earlier employers. While many organizations became more progressive after the pandemic, this one was quite strict with in-and-out times back then. One had to swipe in by 10:00 am. If you swiped in after 10:00, the system would mark you as taking a half day.

With a little daughter waiting at home, I made it a priority to wrap up my work on time and leave by 6:30-7:00 if my tasks and hours were completed. However, some of my colleagues had a habit of working late, often staying until 9-10 pm. despite arriving before 10 am. It wasn’t always because they were being productive; it was because their bosses stayed late. And those bosses stayed late because their bosses did, leading to a culture where anyone could be summoned at any hour. Over the years, I worked with different bosses, but all of them knew I was particular about my schedule. If any work was still pending, I would complete it from home later that evening or over the weekend.

There was one particular guy who made it his mission to spend 11-12 hrs at work daily. If he noticed anyone leaving on time he would make loud remarks like, "Aaj half day?", "Kaam nahi hai aaj?" or "Ye dekho, ye toh ghar jaa raha hai."

While I didn't care about his opinions, I disliked the unwanted attention. One day, I wondered, "How does he know I'm leaving for the day?" It could be the sound of me packing, closing my drawers, or simply the sight of me walking out with my bag. So, I decided to change my routine. I left my laptop bag and tiffin in my car and walked into the office with just my laptop. Before and after lunch, I would go down to the car to retrieve and return my tiffin. When it was time to leave, I would simply walk out with my laptop. This way, no one, especially the loud guy, could tell if I was heading to a meeting or leaving for the day. Eventually, people caught on that when I walked out with my laptop late in the evening. However, without the sound or sight of me packing up, it was no longer obvious.

Eventually, I left that job, but I had grown fond of the routine. For many years now, I’ve continued to leave home with just my laptop (no bag) and tiffin bag in hand, walking into work carrying only my laptop. It keeps things minimal and simple. Essentials are stored in my office locker. This habit also ensures a short walk before and after lunch to pick up and drop off my tiffin. While I know that no one at my current employer would ever think like that loud guy, I’m sure some wonder about the story behind why I walk in with just my laptop. That’s why I decided to share this today.

I’m not suggesting everyone should adopt this habit—especially if you take public transport or ride a two-wheeler—but if you drive to work, give it a try someday. You might appreciate the minimalist approach too. It’s a literal load off your shoulders.

Akbar, Amar. Anthony

Akbar, Amar, Anthony.

I recently started a bit of planting—not much, just 3-4 pots on the kitchen window grill. One of the plants is cherry tomatoes. A couple of months ago, I sowed some seeds, and out came three cute plants. I named them Amar, Akbar, and Anthony.

Despite my obsessive observation and care, one morning I noticed that one of the stems was bent, probably broken. It was Akbar. I thought it would recover on its own, but a couple of days later, I saw the damage had worsened. I knew I had to do something—perhaps support it or tie it up to help it heal—but I decided to put off the task until the next day.

The next morning was heartbreaking. I found Akbar severed from the cut, lying lifeless on the soil. I realized my procrastination had cost Akbar its life. Overcome with guilt, I gently picked it up and placed it back in some freshly dug soil, clinging to a sliver of hope for a miracle.

In the next few days, Akbar's leaves still seemed to hold up well. After a couple more days, I noticed new leaves starting to appear, and I knew Akbar hadn’t given up yet. Although Akbar's growth slowed while Amar and Anthony continued at their usual pace, Akbar had to grow fresh roots to have any chance of survival—and it did well.

Eventually, I had to repot Amar and Anthony into a bigger pot so they could thrive, leaving Akbar behind in the small pot to develop further. Today, Akbar has grown tall enough to be moved to its own big pot. As the saying goes in Hindi, "Der Aaye, Durust Aaye" (better late than never).

A few days ago, I learned that the tomato stem has roots all along it. So, planting the stem deeper into the soil encourages more roots to develop. Now I realize that Akbar’s "miracle" actually has a scientific explanation!

While I’ve discovered that planting can be quite therapeutic, the hobby also brings with it a lot of learning and reinforcement. From this experience:

- Procrastination often comes at a high cost. It's even worse when our procrastination affects someone or something else.

- Sometimes, it's okay to be hopelessly hopeful and act in good faith. Miracles do happen.

- While timely support is crucial, it’s never too late to offer help, even if we feel it might be too late.

Though Amar and Anthony are taller than Akbar, I’m sure they are proud of their sibling for battling its way up. Over time, with continued care and support, I’m confident that Akbar will grow as tall as its siblings and, when the time comes, bear equally cute little tomatoes.

This post isn’t just about plants. Let’s support the "Akbars" we encounter, before it’s truly too late.

P.S.: The attached video is a collection of Instagram stories I posted throughout this experience.

"...bhai, do you remember the password to my sheet?"

"...bhai, do you remember the password to my sheet?" I WhatsApped one of my best friends recently.

I did my PG in 2009 and began saving/investing. I've always been an Excel nerd, and even today, the first thing I open when I want to track or list something is an Excel. So one fine day in 2009, I right-clicked on my laptop, created a new Excel file, and named it "Balance Sheet" (don’t ask me why). From that point on, I made it a habit to update it on the 1st of every month. I started with two sheets in the workbook: Income & Expenses.

Income sheet tracks my realized income each month, primarily consisting of my salary and the realized returns or losses from my investments & trading during the prior month.

Expense sheet includes a column for credit card bill amts (to track cc spends) and another for all other bank debits. Summing these gives me my total expenses for the month. A simple formula then calculates the % of savings for the month by linking it to the net income.

Later on, I added a sheet for insurance—both health & life. Did you know that if you have a PF account, you're automatically covered for life insurance through the EPFO? It’s called EDLI. Look it up. Now, if you didn’t know that, imagine the plight of your family. So, this sheet contains all policy numbers, premium dates, amounts and coverage specifics.

I follow a routine I call the "monthly drill." I execute it on the 1st of every month. I settle my CC bills (all billing dates set for 20th), rent, all the domestic staff salaries (via GPay, which serves as a log for future—no cash) and other monthly bills. I withdraw a small amount of cash (typically need no more than 4-5k a month, as all my transactions are digital). The day isn’t complete until I update the balance sheet. I log my expenses, update all income entries, and review the % of savings for the month. Then, I compare it to the savings of the prior month, quarter, and year to check for any overspending or undersaving, which helps me make course corrections for the months ahead.

The final ritual of my monthly drill is to email the updated balance sheet to myself on Gmail. The sheet is password-protected, and the password is known to my family and two close friends. Although my friends don’t have access to the Excel or my email, they will share the password with my family in case they forget or can’t find it. In all likelihood, the sheet will always be updated through the previous month.

The purpose of this post isn’t to brag, but to encourage those of you who haven’t yet started a similar practice that fits your style & needs. A sheet like this not only helps you track your wealth & savings rates, but it can also serve as a valuable resource for your family—a ready reckoner—when the inevitable happens.

It only takes about an hour, but isn’t that less than the average time most of us spend scrolling through social media each day? This weekend could be the perfect time to start.

Happy tracking!