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By:

Kaustubh Kale

10 September 2024 at 6:07:15 pm

The Umbrella Mindset

In Mumbai, July is the month when the monsoon is no longer a possibility, but a full-blown reality. Over the last week or so, the city has seen heavy rains. One minute the rain slows down, the next - the skies open up again without warning. And yet, most of us carry an umbrella. Not because it is raining every single minute, but because we know it can start again anytime. The Umbrella Mindset We don’t wait for the first drop to go shopping for umbrellas. We keep them ready in advance, knowing...

The Umbrella Mindset

In Mumbai, July is the month when the monsoon is no longer a possibility, but a full-blown reality. Over the last week or so, the city has seen heavy rains. One minute the rain slows down, the next - the skies open up again without warning. And yet, most of us carry an umbrella. Not because it is raining every single minute, but because we know it can start again anytime. The Umbrella Mindset We don’t wait for the first drop to go shopping for umbrellas. We keep them ready in advance, knowing full well that even if this moment looks clear, the next could be a downpour. The umbrella becomes our silent weapon - a simple tool that saves us from chaos. Oddly enough, this very logic is often forgotten when it comes to our finances. Timing the Market Most investors want to “time” the market. They wait for the perfect entry point. They follow headlines, economic predictions, even astrological forecasts, hoping to invest only when the conditions are ideal. But markets, like weather, move on their own terms. They rise without notice. They fall when you least expect it. And the biggest gains often come in short, unpredictable bursts. If you miss even a few of those good days, your long-term returns could take a serious hit. Discipline beats Prediction This is why seasoned investors don’t obsess over timing. They focus on discipline. Just like carrying an umbrella during the monsoon might seem unnecessary when the rain pauses for a few hours, investing through monthly Systematic Investment Plans (SIPs) might feel boring during flat markets or downturns. But the magic lies therein. This very habit - regular, automatic, and emotion-free - helps you achieve financial goals and financial freedom. Financial Umbrella A good investor doesn’t predict the market. They prepare for it. Think of your SIPs as your financial umbrella. You may not need them to perform immediately, but when volatility hits, they shield you. When markets recover, they make sure you are already in. And just like Mumbaikars would never step out in July without checking for an umbrella, serious investors never skip their SIPs. Lumpsum Investing Importantly, besides SIPs, it is also necessary to keep doing lumpsum investments frequently, without worrying too much about markets. Just ensure your time horizon is long term, ideally 5+ years. So, the next time someone asks, “Is this the right time to invest?” - just smile and point to the umbrella in your bag. The goal isn’t to wait for the rain. It’s to be ready when it comes. Conclusion Don’t wait to invest. Invest and then wait. The best time to invest is as soon as you have the money to invest. Don’t try to time the market - your time spent in the market, meaning remaining invested, beats timing the market. The pessimist bear may sound smart, but the optimist bull creates wealth. Keep deadlines. Execute. Don’t indulge in analysis-paralysis. Scared money never wins. (The author is a Chartered Accountant and CFA (USA). Financial Advisor. Views personal. He could be reached on 9833133605.)

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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