During the olden days, salaries were not deposited into bank accounts. They were handed over in cash, and a register was maintained for employees to sign as an acknowledgement. The salary was in small and not-so-small denominations.

Right from the day I started my first job until the day I received my first salary, I kept thinking about what I would do when I received it.

Standing in the queue, when my turn came, the cashier asked me to sign the register and then started counting the denominations. 

I too counted along with him. 

He counted twice, and once he handed the money over to me, I counted it three times more.

I kept the money in the inside pocket of my trousers. You would recall that tailors used to stitch a secret pocket behind the belt for such a purpose.

Reaching home, I smiled and very proudly handed over the envelope to my father. “My first salary.”

My father smiled. He too counted it twice and then said, “Shabbash. A big day for you.” He touched the money to his forehead.

“Did you keep some for yourself?” he then asked.

I said, “No.”

He smiled again, handed the entire salary to my mother, and asked her to keep it in the temple.

Then he took out ₹100 from his pocket, gave it to me, and said, “This is from my side. Keep it. Let your first salary remain in the temple for a few days.”

I didn’t understand why he said that.

Many years later, I asked him, “Why did you keep my first salary in the temple and instead give me ₹100 from your own pocket?”

He was quiet for some time and then said, “Efforts are in your hands, but success is in the God’s hands. Acknowledge it. His blessings will always be there. It was never about money; it was about your first salary – thanking God for your success.”

I understood.

I went to the temple again and folded my hands – thanking God for his blessings.

Can you guess what I found ?

I found an old ₹50 note kept behind Bholenath, with a message written on it:

“𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲.”

Below it was the date of my first salary. 

And beneath that… My father’s signature.

Some memories do not need pendrive to store.