Dear Number-Crunching Penguin,
We began learning about money with potatoes.
No really, I still remember your chubby fingers trying to count out three kilos of aloo at the farmer’s market, bartering like a little trader with the sabjiwala uncle. What started as a math lesson quickly turned into our earliest chat on value, how much you can grow, how much you can sell, and what the farmer earns for months of toil.
It was fun at first, but also real. You saw that behind every coin is someone’s sweat, and behind every price is a choice.
Then came our storybook money lessons—barter systems, cowrie shells, coins, and cash. You soaked it all in like a sponge. And then, like you always do, you brought it into real life.
You’d overhear your Bapa and me talking budgets and client proposals and quietly eavesdrop without interrupting (except that one time you did interrupt…by sharing my business card in your class and your friends started calling me. Smooth, kid. Very smooth.)
You got your first piggy bank when you turned 4, and you’ve been a mini-portfolio manager ever since. Buying pens, colors, toys—sometimes treating me to coconut water with your money, and I’d act surprised but really I’d melt a little inside.
We even once dreamt of a lemonade stall near the skating rink. I watched your tiny fingers calculate cost per glass, setting a ₹3 profit margin. You didn’t even know the word profit yet, but you understood the idea.
And then… tween years happened.
Cue: Extravagant birthday parties, themed return gifts, and snack tables that look like wedding buffets.
You started planning your party with notepads and mood boards. Negotiating budgets with you was part stressful, part Shark Tank, and part adorable. And yet, through all of it, I saw something wonderful. You were learning how to value experience over excess.
Shall I continue the plan for teaching you PPT this summer?
Like that one time you fell in love with a Puma shoe that cost a small fortune. I was ready for a meltdown, but you surprised me. You accepted my NO, maybe not happily, but with maturity.
What happened next felt like the universe’s reward. After visiting seven stores, one kind-hearted salesman, touched by our energy (or maybe your goofy charm), gifted you an extra pair—a bigger size—for free. You glowed that day.
On the way back, you asked me, “Maa, are we poor or rich?”
I asked you instead, “What do you want to be?”
You thought for a second and said, “Happy.”
I swear I could’ve pulled over and cried.
Of course, a few days later, you asked for a newer tablet, and the spiral of wants returned. But this time, we negotiated screen time instead. Balance, baby.
You’ve started setting financial goals now. I love that. I love that you know when to spend, when to save, and when to wait. You even offered to wash my scooter for ₹20 once—classic micro-entrepreneur move.
But here’s the hardest part, even adults struggle with:
Understanding the difference between need and want.
It’s so much more than theory. It’s practice. It’s mindfulness. And it’s okay to fall, to feel tempted, or even a little jealous (remember that letter?).
I don’t want to raise you just to be financially smart.
I want to raise you to be free.
Free from peer pressure.
Free from the trap of always needing more.
Free to choose generosity over greed.
Free to build, earn, spend, and share with grace.
Because in the end, money is just a tool.
Love,
Maa
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