The Money Order!

OP Singh IPS

During my student days, I could never have imagined how dramatically life would change in the years to come. As a resident of a hostel at Allahabad University, we eagerly awaited the arrival of our monthly money orders, then the quickest and most dependable way of receiving financial support from home. We had never known about internet as it never existed. No digital online banking or RTGS. Those money orders were our lifeline, carefully budgeted to meet every essential expense.

The largest share went towards food. The hostel mess served us meals throughout the week, except on Sunday evenings when the mess staff enjoyed their well-deserved weekly break. Those evenings became our little excursions. We would step out for dinner, sometimes to the restaurants of Civil Lines but more often to the modest eateries in nearby Katra, where simple meals were both satisfying and affordable. Beyond food, our meagre allowances had to cover books, stationery, frequent movies and other small personal expenses. By the end of almost every month, our pockets would be nearly empty. Borrowing a few rupees from friends was not uncommon and those small loans were invariably repaid as soon as the next money order arrived from home. It was a life of limited means but abundant friendships, shared struggles and quiet contentment.

One such incident has remained etched in my memory.

Dussehra was fast approaching during my graduation days. Allahabad came alive at that time of the year with its celebrated Ram Lila performances, staged in different parts of the city and drawing large crowds every evening. Like every hostel resident, I too was eagerly waiting for my monthly money order. It was almost the end of the month and my finances had been stretched to their limit.

One afternoon, an elderly postman arrived at the hostel carrying a bundle of money orders for the residents. He went from room to room, patiently delivering them one after another. It must have been an exhausting assignment. He appeared to be in his fifties, wearing a thick pair of spectacles, and the fatigue of the day’s work was evident on his face.

I no longer remember the exact amount I was expecting. As he counted the cash and handed it over to me, I accepted it without giving it a second thought. It was routine. I signed the receipt, thanked him and tucked the money away.

Only the following day, when I happened to count the cash carefully, did I realise something was amiss. To my utter surprise, the amount in my possession was almost twice what I should have received. The postman had made an error while counting the notes and I had unknowingly walked away with far more money than was meant for me.

The moment I realised what had happened, my thoughts went immediately to the elderly postman. I could almost picture the anxiety that must have gripped him when he discovered that the cash in his bag did not tally with his records. My mind wandered to his circumstances—his modest salary, his family responsibilities and the burden he would have carried knowing that the missing amount would almost certainly have to be made good from his own pocket.

With Dussehra just around the corner, the thought became even more distressing. While families across the city were preparing to celebrate the festival, this poor low-paid man was perhaps worrying about how he would explain the shortfall and arrange the money. For a government employee living on a limited income, such an unexpected loss could cast a long shadow over what should have been a joyous occasion. I became restless. The excess money in my possession no longer felt like money; it felt like someone else’s anxiety.

The very next day, the elderly postman returned to the hostel. He went from room to room with quiet desperation, asking whether anyone had inadvertently received excess cash. I had been waiting for him. As soon as he entered my room, I told him that he had indeed given me more money than my money order entitled me to receive. I handed over the excess amount without a moment’s hesitation.

The transformation on his face was unforgettable. The anxiety vanished in an instant, replaced by immense relief and gratitude. His eyes sparkled behind those thick spectacles and his smile conveyed emotions that words could never fully express. He folded his hands in thanks and repeatedly blessed me before quietly moving on to complete his rounds.

Many decades have passed since that day, yet the memory remains vivid. Looking back, I realise that returning the excess money was not an act of sacrifice; it was simply the right thing to do. Integrity often reveals itself not in grand gestures but in small, private moments when no one is watching. That elderly postman’s smile on the eve of Dussehra became one of the most enduring rewards of my student life.

Some incidents from our youth remain with us not because they are extraordinary, but because they quietly remind us of the value of empathy and the unseen burdens that others sometimes carry.

OP Singh IPS(R)

Former DGP UP