Feeling the pinch

I am certain that pocket-money is never what school-children would like it to be: money that literally fills one’s pocket. More often t...

I am certain that pocket-money is never what school-children would like it to be: money that literally fills one’s pocket. More often than not, it’s a niggardly weekly or monthly allowance. I don’t know how much pocket-money they get these days, but in the late 1950s it was far from princely in the boarding school where I studied — a paltry 25 paise per week for the juniors and 50 paise for the seniors.

No doubt money had more buying power then. But for hyperactive boys given to gorging goodies through their waking hours, this pittance was hardly sufficient. The school’s tuck-shop insisted on immediate payment; so we often had to seek ‘credit facilities’ from Aunt Agnes, a kindly old lady who sold appetising, home-made snacks outside the gate. She usually obliged us if we paid up promptly at the end of the month.

For 10 paise in those good old days, one could buy a slab of treacly groundnut toffee — or forbidden stuff like a pack of cigarettes for those prematurely trying to acquire a manly image. ‘‘Don’t ever let me catch you smoking!’’ the stern-faced prefect used to warn us as he doled out our meagre weekly allowance. His punishment was truly deterrent: 5 lashes with his buckled belt on one’s bare posterior.

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With adolescent fantasies running wild, we sometimes bunked class to see an English movie at the nearby theatre. Our pocket-money was just enough to purchase the cheapest ticket — which meant crouching on a hard, backless bench right in front of the screen, a posture guaranteed to crick one’s neck. But one was assured of anonymity in the semi-darkness. Once, however, during the intermission someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find an uncle winking at me conspiratorially. Mercifully, he didn’t spill the beans. For my part, neither did I — it would have probably landed him in trouble as well for playing truant from his office!

We also used our pocket-money for other unscholarly purposes. Like persuading Benji, the school’s projector-operator, to clandestinely do a re-run of the steamy scenes in the westerns — with the prefect breathing down our necks during the monthly movie, we could seldom savour these!

The school’s barber, too, welcomed the 10 paise tip that many of us slipped into his capacious shirt pocket — for not snipping off too much of our elaborate and carefully nurtured Elvis Presley hairstyles. That he had to face the wrath of the prefect, who insisted on crew-cuts for everyone, was another matter. His pocketful of jingling coins was adequate compensation.

Oddly enough, there was a rarity in school named Tom who never spent his pocket-money. He loaned it to needy friends like yours truly — at, believe it or not, low rates of interest! I am not sure whether his father was a professional money-lender; but, having started out early, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tom is a prosperous one today!

India warns of ‘likely humanitarian consequences’ after US H-1B visa fee hike

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