One of the most heart-warming stories I read recently was about an eight-year-old Indian boy making the effort to pay back a loan taken by his late mother, who had died in a road accident
The mother had taken Rs21,000 (around Dh1,148) in 2006 from the State Bank of India to run a family business, when her husband showed no interest in carrying on. The loan was taken even before the boy was born.
When the boy received a notice from the bank, asking for repayment of the loan, he sought help from the elders in the village where he lives. They managed to raise Rs5,000 to pay the first instalment.
When he turned up at the local court to pay the loan, the district judge ordered waiver of the loan against the amount returned. The court official’s gesture was apparently motivated by the commitment of a child to honour a debt of his parent.
The incident makes us realise that there are so many adults who are not bound by the same code of honour. They fall into the debt trap for whatever reason and soon find out that climbing out isn’t worth the effort. So, they continue with the vicious cycle by borrowing more and repaying less and then wonder why they aren’t able to bring themselves out of the hole they’re in.
I firmly believe in the age-old adage of being neither a borrower nor a lender. The first is easy but the second isn’t. That’s because you’re made to listen to a tale of woe that makes you almost feel obliged to help. Once the money exchanges hands, you find that the promised date of return has lapsed time and again.
I remember a time at another work place when some of us found out by coincidence that we had all been approached for a loan by a person pleading poverty and circumstance. However, our sympathy was soon short-lived when we saw her going on shopping sprees while the loans were forgotten. Everyone found it embarrassing to mention the discrepancy to her although we were all made to feel that we’d been taken advantage of.
Eventually, I cornered her and asked her for a definite date. That was when I was told that she was going to the bank directly after work and would return the money to me the next day. Many days and fictitious visits to the bank later, I told her that I would come with her to the bank as I needed the money. I didn’t really need the money, but I didn’t like her duplicity. If she could afford to buy herself expensive things while owing so many, I thought she should realise that we were no longer fooled.
My ploy worked and I did get my money back although most of the others didn’t. This is something I find hard to understand. Why should I feel bad about asking for something that was given by me in good faith to help someone out? If the borrower has no qualms about asking for a hand-out, then why should the lender feel obliged to play the waiting game?
It’s not that I haven’t helped out people in their times of need, but I have always made it clear that it is a loan and that I need a definite date of return. Why is that so hard to understand?
For those who find it hard to put pressure on someone who has played on their sympathies and then refused to acknowledge that it’s payback time, I have this to say — pretend that you’ve given that amount to charity. Perhaps you might feel better and even marvel at your own generosity.
Sometimes we may have to borrow. Not all of us are lucky enough to never be in need of help. But it is the remembering of the debt that gives us our honour and decency.
