Letter to Pass-Book

Dear Pass-Book,

Thank you for being the only one who ever writes to me frequently, even though only in short, sentences and shocks. I went through your last update with usual indifference and each time I go through it, it is like exercising my memory in the game of savings and expenses. Tug of war, actually. Inevitably it is the expenses which win hands-down, isn't it? As I was going through one of your book of letters, I felt such a surge of adventure as if travelling through a timeline of experience. I have recently been teaching my students about the quality of being moderate and how beautiful it is to be able to have moderation in excess. Well, what you represent, the bank balance, must be the only exception!

Bank balance. What a measure of life it is. And how modestly you speak of it. In tiny sized-alphabets and numbers you speak volumes of efforts recognised, splurges attended, interest gained and faults debited. You remind me of associations made and coffees had and comfort bought and investments committed to. But most of all you bring me a smile as you tell the story of a little girl.

A little girl who once opened an account by herself with specified instruction from her father at his branch not to help his daughter, or to be paid special attention. She opened it with a puny amount of about five hundreds, and since then the many routes undertaken to bloat it. Initially she only saved, then she began earning poultry and saved to spend bigger! And then one day the earning upped a little with her doing odd jobs of teaching. They hiked further with even more committed teaching and dedicated editing. And now she earns a decent salary only to be commensurated by official and unofficial loans. It is a happy story of growth because the account is a measure of the little girl wobbling her way through many ups and many more downs and surfacing each through.

It is also a happy story because when I read you, you consume me with motivation and memories. You have run into five volumes of electronic entries, but your indelibility etches in the fact that you have made me strong. I feel nice that the numbers were never able to contaminate the little girl. I like it that she grew to be me and when needed I could lend out the little I have had to whoever needed it more.

Keep writing to me,

K.