I’m the salt and pepper hair woman who you may notice walking into one of your hangout joints and exiting quickly for the fear of raising the average age of the room. You must know that I occasionally step into or past your congregations just to inhale some of the new energy, the vibrant mood, the chirpy buzz. At your age, people like me were in an India that was very different. I remember sitting in a pub with my friends in the UK, post my Masters and just days before I returned home to Delhi. This was in 1994. Not that long ago. But two decades is indeed a long time. We were going around the table talking about what we will miss about life in Cardiff. We were a bunch of girls having a drink and I remember saying that I will miss the freedom of sitting in a public place having a drink without being judged or propositioned when I’m in Delhi. So, pardon my thinly concealed joy at seeing you girls out there at all hours without giving a damn.
The auditorium was packed. Girls were sitting on the floor in the aisles. I was visiting Banasthali University, 75 km south of Jaipur, to speak to the postgraduate management and journalism students. About 250 curious pairs of eyes were bright with anticipation and I was hoping that I don’t let them down.
For those who don’t know, a quick update on this unique university. The journey of how this university came to be is quite a story. In 1927, the Jaipur state secretary in the home and foreign department, Pandit Hiralal Shastri, left his powerful job to relocate to a remote village (then) called Banthali to work on rural reconstruction. His friends said he’d gone half mad to do this. Who gives up power, prestige and money like this? But he moved himself and his family to the village. One day he found his 11-year-old daughter, Shanta, teaching the village kids under a tree. Sometime later she asked him for a room so that she could teach them without fear of storms or wild animals. He told her—you build the bricks and I will build the room. He forgot about the story thinking that the child will move on to other things. Three months later she showed him 300 handmade bricks she and the village kids had made. I saw one of the bricks that the institution has preserved. To touch the brick made by a determined young lady almost a 100 years ago was surreal. Shastri built that room and decided to give his daughter the best education he could manage. Music and martial art classes were organized. There is a painting of young Shanta in a sari, wielding a lathi and practising in one of the preserved rooms. When you remember that this was in rural Rajasthan in the 1920s when girls were married off as soon as they could be, the image of the lathi-wielding girls just adds to the amazement.
At the 4th edition of the annual Mint Mutual Fund Conclave last week, the overarching theme was the question: should FY 2018 be called the year of the mutual fund? For an industry that just two years back was still calling itself ‘nascent’ 24 years after privatisation, it is a giant leap forward to have assets under management that have tripled in the last five years. Mutual fund assets are now one-fifth of bank deposits and almost two-thirds of the assets under management by the life insurance industry. G. Mahalingam, whole-time member of the Securities and Exchange Board of India (Sebi), in his keynote address, said that possibly the external factors that helped this growth, such as easy money policy overseas for the last few years and more recently, demonetisation, are coming to an end, and now the real mettle of the industry will be tested. He said that several regulatory measures that are coming in the days ahead will ensure that the industry is investor-friendly. One, the scheme merger announcement will be made soon by Sebi. Two, the work on the total expense ratio (TER) going down must begin. Third, investor-friendly disclosure measures such as using the total return index should be taken. “Good times are the best times to swallow bitter medicine,” he said.
Around this time every year, for the last few years, Mint does a special edition tracking the uber rich in India. Conceptualised and edited by my colleague Vivina Vishwanathan, the edition looks at the lives of the super rich Indians through the lens of money. Economic liberalisation allowed new categories of people an entrance into the uber rich club. Doctors, lawyers, professionals, first-generation entrepreneurs, actors and sportsmen joined the high table of the super rich where the already rich through inheritance sat.
Year 2014 kicked off the edition idea with an issue that mapped the new Indian rich. You can read the edition here: bit.ly/2xsiOjF. Year 2015 mapped the Rich Professional. You can read the edition here: bit.ly/2wAF1be. In 2016, Mint Rich Stars mapped the money lives of India’s movie and sports stars. You can see the edition here: bit.ly/2hapZaf. We found behind the glitter and the high living was an uncertain future, sporadic income and a short tinsel earnings lifespan. This year, we mapped the lives of the young inheritors of some of the biggest business houses in India. You can read the edition here: bit.ly/2xfj6tY.
The reactions to the editions have always been a mirror to our difficulty in dealing with money. The basic question asked is: why do we map the lives of the rich? Why feature their lives in a poor country? I can only answer with a counter-question: why not? Mint aims to be an unbiased and clear-minded chronicler of the Indian dream. A lot of young Indians dream to be rich. Surely it is better to dream to be rich than dream to be poor. Chronicling the lives of the rich in one edition a year doesn’t make Mint an apologist for the rich.
I have a friend who lives well when she earns more and gets into a frugal mode when business is bad. An artist, her income fluctuates, so does her lifestyle. Up when there is more and down when there is less. Her mood, though, is quite delinked from her financial status—always up. Last year, she said she wanted to start systematic investment plans (SIPs). Why? Because everybody around her was starting SIPs, and it seemed a cool thing to do—getting financial security is good, no? Yes, sure, but it has taken her the first 40 something years to get to even talk about financial security. Better late and all that. The first thing I asked her to do was to put down a number that she needed each month to live. It’s very difficult to pin down an average monthly expense for a person who matches expenses to earnings every few months. But the budgeting exercise, which is the building block for most plans, takes on much bigger importance for people with fluctuating incomes. Without knowing what you spend each month, there is no financial plan.
Markets are too high, I will wait for them to cool down before I invest. Nifty broke 10,000 and Sensex is at 32,000, is it too high? We’re in bubble territory for sure. Markets are in an overdrive—this ends badly. Markets are looking ahead and pricing in the structural reform the government is doing. Goods and services tax (GST) will cause markets to drop in the next 2 months—we’re just a few days away from a crash. Market is pricing in the long-term benefits of more taxpayers, less black money and better compliance due to GST.
Listen to the voices about the market and you’d imagine people are talking about two very different things. There are two voices that we hear today—one believes that we are already in a stock market bubble. The other believes that small corrections will happen, but we are in a long-term bull run.
A guy I know wanted to retire when he was 25. He just didn’t have the money. If I get Rs1 crore, he said, then I’ll retire. Now, 30 years later, he’s still working and still not done with gathering the corpus he needs to retire. Anyway, he’s wiser and agrees that financial security and going to work need not be either/or. People can continue to work even if they are financially secure. But how much do we really need to save out of our incomes to know that we will hit retirement with enough to maintain our lifestyle for another 30 years? Every time I speak to a friend about buying a life cover, he tells me—the risk we have is not of dying too soon, but of living too long.