It's the fault of those TV stars. The ones constantly playing the roles of mothers-in-law, daughters-in-law, cheating husbands and unruly sons.
The ones whose characters rarely move beyond names like Vipin and Riddhi and Siddhi and Tarun, with no shades of grey from one episode to the next.
They're the ones who spend time in between their monotonous shooting schedules hawking products none of us could ever, ever need.
Try a bit of channel surfing for a peek.
The TV stars stand smiling, posing, offering you shoes that supposedly help you grow a whole inch in 18 weeks.
Or creams that miraculously guarantee superb fingernails in four months. Or belts that somehow manage to shave inches off your tummy while you watch more TV in order to buy more things.
Thanks to their incessant droning across most major channels, I ended up spending a large chunk of money in 2005 on products like that increase-your-height-thingie. A bad, bad idea, considering it's been seven months since that package arrived and I'm still 5 feet-2 inches tall. In fact, I sometimes wake up in shock after dreaming that I've actually shrunk two inches.
So, that's a first for the next year: Watch less TV, avoid being tempted by something stupid, and hopefully spend less.
Then there were those little attempts at entrepreneurship. 'Invest Rs 10,000 today and earn Rs 20,000 in six months'. The notices cropped up everywhere, in trains, on buses, in the classifieds. And so, when I came across the ninth white sticker, I sent in a cheque.
And waited.
And waited.
And then, waited some more.
Am still waiting.
My rationale was this: There are con jobs on all the time, of course, but what made this one look convincing was the fact that the ads didn't seem to stop. They were everywhere. So, I assumed, maybe these guys really did have money to spend.
Which means they really were earning money.
Which means I really could double the amount I place in their trust.
So much for my faith in advertising.
My second: Resist investing my hard-earned money in entrepreneurial ventures.
Another thing I refuse to do is play the stock market.
Yes, I know it's supposed to be astonishingly simple.
Yes, a child could try it, given a few solid tips.
Yes, everyone's uncle is an expert who could help.
Yes, there's a new web site springing up every two days promising to make things even simpler.
And no, it doesn't make you rich in 45 days flat.
I took the regular route.
Checked the sites, asked regular dabblers in the share market, read newspaper reports, studied the rise and fall of favourites for a month.
But, nothing.
Earned Rs 500.
Lost Rs 7500.
There was an avalanche of advice that came pouring forth from friends and family the minute word got out, of course.
I was reprimanded and questioned, my motives probed and analysed, but it didn't really change anything. Five 100-rupee bills simply weren't enticing enough after all the effort I had put in. "Why did you try penny stocks?" asked someone, "they're always risky." But the damage had been done.
And that's my third resolution: Leave the stock market for those with little else to do but obsess about money.
It's difficult trying to think of what to do and what not to do with one's money over 12 months.
Should I avoid fancy restaurants and stick to fast food?
Stay away from malls and shop at little shops outside railway stations?
It's difficult to say. After all, much of these things happen suddenly, without warning, on lazy afternoons. For what it's worth though, I intend to try.
So, no impulse shopping, no stock markets, no entrepreneurial ventures. Thrift is my new word-of-the-year.
Will I manage?
I doubt it. But I intend to try.
And that ought to count for something.
Do you have any resolutions on what you won't do to your money in 2006? If yes, please write to us!
Illustration: Uttam Ghosh
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