He would walk in every first day of the month to look at his account. Today was one such day, and the bank officials would wait the whole month for this day.
"There he comes" said the cashier-lady to her neighbour.
The neighbour was new at her job, and unfamiliar with the monthly visitor.
"You've been on and on for days about this man. What is so special about him? Is he a millionaire?"
"Not at all." said the cashier-lady. "He is the most miserly man alive. In all my five years here, I have never seen him withdraw even a pie from his account."
He walked into the bank and joined the passbook-counter queue. He was in his seventies, and wore white cotton shirt and trousers. The thick white hair on his head was neatly combed and parted, and he wore a pair of obviously clouded spectacles. He carried a small brown leather bag, from which he proceeded to pull out a passbook. Contrasting his exhausted appearance, the passbook shone in laminated brilliance.
"So what makes him special?" asked the new lady. "Why wait for him so eagerly?"
"Watch when he reaches the counter."
The first being salary day, the queue was a long one. After an hour he reached the counter. Had he cared to look around, he would find the bank staff collecting around the counter as discretely as they could make it appear.
As the counter-lady took his passbook, the cashier whispered to her neighbour.
"The show begins."
She entered his account number into the computer, typed a few keys, and then fed his passbook into the printer. A whirr later, she pulled it out, folded it and gave it back to him. Now everyone was craning for a look.
His expressions till then had been glum. But as soon as he opened his book to read the new entry his cheeks quivered and his eyes lit up. His hands trembled as he held the book closer to his eyes. And then a huge smile broke out on his face. It began first as a little stretching of his lips. As he looked at the book again, the lips stretched further and further until they parted. Finally the smile extended from ear to ear, bringing his dentures into full view. His eyes were fully open, his pupils blissful. The seasoned observer could spot a trace of a dimple on his wrinkled cheeks. He nodded his head joyfully, the smile still retaining its interaural crescent shape.
He took a final glance at his book, and then folded it and put it back in his bag. He whispered a cheered "thank you" to the counter-lady, and walked out of the bank.
"Well, what does he do for cash then?"
"Oh! His sons and daughters see to that. He comes here to watch the interest grow on his savings. People love money because of the power it gives them, but only he loves it as truly as a lover."
"There he comes" said the cashier-lady to her neighbour.
The neighbour was new at her job, and unfamiliar with the monthly visitor.
"You've been on and on for days about this man. What is so special about him? Is he a millionaire?"
"Not at all." said the cashier-lady. "He is the most miserly man alive. In all my five years here, I have never seen him withdraw even a pie from his account."
He walked into the bank and joined the passbook-counter queue. He was in his seventies, and wore white cotton shirt and trousers. The thick white hair on his head was neatly combed and parted, and he wore a pair of obviously clouded spectacles. He carried a small brown leather bag, from which he proceeded to pull out a passbook. Contrasting his exhausted appearance, the passbook shone in laminated brilliance.
"So what makes him special?" asked the new lady. "Why wait for him so eagerly?"
"Watch when he reaches the counter."
The first being salary day, the queue was a long one. After an hour he reached the counter. Had he cared to look around, he would find the bank staff collecting around the counter as discretely as they could make it appear.
As the counter-lady took his passbook, the cashier whispered to her neighbour.
"The show begins."
She entered his account number into the computer, typed a few keys, and then fed his passbook into the printer. A whirr later, she pulled it out, folded it and gave it back to him. Now everyone was craning for a look.
His expressions till then had been glum. But as soon as he opened his book to read the new entry his cheeks quivered and his eyes lit up. His hands trembled as he held the book closer to his eyes. And then a huge smile broke out on his face. It began first as a little stretching of his lips. As he looked at the book again, the lips stretched further and further until they parted. Finally the smile extended from ear to ear, bringing his dentures into full view. His eyes were fully open, his pupils blissful. The seasoned observer could spot a trace of a dimple on his wrinkled cheeks. He nodded his head joyfully, the smile still retaining its interaural crescent shape.
He took a final glance at his book, and then folded it and put it back in his bag. He whispered a cheered "thank you" to the counter-lady, and walked out of the bank.
"Well, what does he do for cash then?"
"Oh! His sons and daughters see to that. He comes here to watch the interest grow on his savings. People love money because of the power it gives them, but only he loves it as truly as a lover."
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