Counting one's pennies

In these times of recession, one is forced to review one's spending habits and learn to tighten one's belt over one's ample girth, the self-evident product of over-indulgence. As friends and colleagues discuss what the global financial meltdown means for all of us, I am reminded of the penny-pinching habits of the older generation.

As children we heard eye-popping stories of how our parents survived on an amount which can only be considered below-poverty-line level by today's standards. Then there was talk of currency denominations which we weren't even familiar with as these had been phased out much before our time. So, when one heard the strange names, it was difficult to imagine a time when the cost of living could be calculated in terms of currency no longer current and which, when translated into present-day monetary terms, was so meagre that the brain couldn't grasp the buying power of so little.

And yet we heard our parents speak wistfully of all that could be bought with one anna and how families survived on salaries of a few hundred rupees. As the amount was disclosed, there were squeals of disbelief. Surely they were mistaken. Nowadays that miserable amount wouldn't be enough as pocket money for children.

But the young voices were silenced when they were told about all that was accomplished with what they perceived as paltry pay. Households were fed, children were schooled and simple pleasures were afforded by the family members. The older generation couldn't recall ever feeling shortchanged in terms of education or food or clothing simply because one lived within one's means and one did without if one couldn't afford something. No credit cards to indulge in unnecessary luxuries or to pay for luxury goods in comfortable instalments. Either one had the money and paid for something one wanted or one let that particular dream die or shelved it until such time as one could afford to buy it without going into debt.

I am happy to have grown up in such a household where we were conscious of the value of things. Despite living in army housing where utility bills were negligible, parents instilled in us the habit of economising in every sphere. There was to be no wastage of electricity, food or water. Thus, lights were always switched off as soon as one left a room. The excuse that the room remained lit because the person was going to re-enter it soon was never entertained.

If one had any intention of returning, one merely switched on the light again on the second entry. Avoiding the unpleasantness of being lectured on economics was simpler than standing one's ground. So, electricity was treated as something precious, not to be used wantonly.

Similarly, the values of recycling were unconsciously absorbed by us. So, at the end of each academic year, one carefully sifted through the exercise books left over, loath to throw away any unused sheets of paper. These could be used to jot down points for an indoor game (knowing the propensity of siblings to inflate scores) or made use of by budding artists.

In India, the sight of men on bicycles weighed down by odd-looking bundles of used goods is a familiar sight. We watched fascinated as the empty containers, newspapers, pots and pans were unearthed from the bowels of the house and piled outside. The bargaining began as the items were sold either by weight or per piece. What baffled us was the tiny mountain of goods these men collected. We wondered how they would manage to pack all this onto their bicycles. Past masters in this art, they soon reduced the gigantic heaps into manageable bundles, balancing these precariously on their bicyles before taking their leave.

In these hard times, perhaps it would be prudent to revert to some of these old habits and eschew the wastefulness of our modern throwaway society. Maybe we need to shift from a culture of spending because we can to a culture of saving because we can.