To the guy knocking on the rolled-up window of my old Swift Dzire, I’m surely rich. I get driven around and sit reading a paper in air-conditioned comfort. But as I turn into the office parking lot and my car becomes one among the many parked there, my aura of “richness” fades a bit. To the parking attendant, my value-for-money car compares unfavourably with the high-end cars parked there. To the young intern who lives in a south Delhi barsati, I must seem rich—life looks sorted and the home bought. But to a financial sector business leader who I meet the same day—I surely seem very middle-class, not rich. The same chief executive who looks rich to me—with his small aircraft-like car and the two digit with a crore at the end of it house in Cuffe Parade—looks positively poorer than the 20-something e-commerce entrepreneur who is now worth a few million dollars, or to the third-generation inheritor with the right last name to do business in India. Who then looks not-so-rich when he finds his name missing in the list of the 100 richest people in the world. But then, one of the richest people in the world who sits on that list still cuts out coupons to eat cheeseburgers and drinks Cherry Coke rather than the finest single malt. That’s not a very “rich” thing to do. Want to guess who that person is? It’s legendary investor Warren Buffett.