I am old. I am tired and sometimes I think I am a little senile. But one thing I am not is "gullible". I am proud of this. I can sense a con-job soon as someone starts. Then I let loose my biting sarcasm and cut the person down, inch by inch, savoring this kind of an interaction. Sometimes, I think I missed my calling. Instead of amassing millions on the stock market from the comfort of my chair, I should have been on the field, maybe a drill-sergeant I think. But, enough about me.

One day, after I had just finished my breakfast, I got a call. It was my nephew. He wanted to visit, and he seemed eager. I had nothing to do: the stock market had tanked, and I had eagerly bought up all the bargains. Fools, I thought, selling when the market was down - didn't they ever learn! Now it was time to wait for the stocks to go back up, which was bound to happen in a few months. So, I invited the bugger up - the chap was as naive as the Democrats, thinking they had the presidency because their man was running against a bungler like George W. But since, he was the only one in my family who talks to me without asking me for money, I am nice to him.

I was just dozing with the paper on my lap when I heard the loud knock on my front door. It startled me - my nephew was a quietish boy, timid and hesitant. So, I took a look through the peep-hole before opening the door. It was him, but a very animated him. He came in with a spring, grasped my hand and shook it. I was amused. Now, what's gotten into him, I thought. There was a gleam in his eyes as he started talking to me.

"Mama, you'll never believe what all I experienced in India", he said. He calls me "mama" (tamil for uncle, phonetically written like "maama"), and I call him by his name or "da" (an informal way of addressing someone in tamil).

"Oh, I see, the fool's been mesmerized by India", I thought. Aloud: "Come, da, tell me all about it", as I led him to the living room.

He sat on the edge of the sofa, and started talking even before I had a chance to sit. "It is SUCH an amazing place", he gushed. "People are so friendly and so sincere, I was simply moved. You know Renukha Atthai, no. She is such an amazing person and she's built up such a wonderful organization for helping people in Chennai."

Renukha was my first cousin, and the boy's aunt. She was an interfering do-gooder, her head filled with such nonsense as "upliftment", "empowerment" and other silly terms, which she applied in generous doses like balm on her conversations with people. No wonder this boy was smitten. She never dared talk to me about such balderdash, so I was mildly curious to know what half-brained scheme she had gotten herself into. I looked at the boy encouragingly. He gushed on.

"She invited me for this meeting with her people - you know the other people on the board of the trust she has formed. Also, she had invited all the people who had benefited from the trust. Wait, let me tell you about the trust. It is based on the chap in Bangladesh who started the micro-credit program. She finds people who are in need of some money in the short term, for their projects or their children's education..."

I had heard enough. I cut him off by waving my hand contemptuously at him. "Enough, enough, I've heard enough. Yeah, I know all about micro-credit and that chap Yunus or something who started it. Renukha is an old fool - she is just going to get her money bilked. What'll she do when they don't return the money, huh? Go after them with an arruval?". (Arruval is like a scythe used to intimidate people).

Poor chap - his face withered like a sundried tomato. He was quiet for a few seconds, then he rose gamely to her defense. "No, mama, it isn't like that. If they steal the money, they can only do it once. Whereas these people, they keep coming back. You should see the confidence in their faces, confidence that they can pay back the money, and that they can rely on someone."

"Tell me, Suresh. You're a smart chap - they don't let idiots into MIT. Even if it is only their astronomy department. How much do those buggers take a loan for, typically?

"About 2000 Rs." (About 45 Indian Rupees make a US dollar.)

"How long do they take to pay if off, typically?"

"About 10 months, I heard, but it varies."

"Ok, ok, let's say about that. So, it would take them 10 months to save that much money, right? That's an awful lot of money for them. And when you give these buggers this much temptation, they're bound to take it, da. Basic human nature, man. You don't need a degree in rocket science to know this."

The boy was shaking his head in desperation. "No, mama, it isn't like that, it isn't like that at all. She's given out 45 loans. Only one person hasn't been able to pay it back."

"Naah! She's probably not telling you the whole story. I don't believe it."

"It is true, mama. Let me try to explain. I talked with some of them, and I understood their psyche. These are simple people, with simple values. They don't know how to work the system. The banks won't give them a loan because they don't want to deal in small amounts. The loan-sharks give them loans, but at 60-120%. Totally ridiculous. But still they believe in God. When they get in trouble and need money, they pray for a miracle. When a stranger like Renukha atthai appears before them and gives them the money, they think she's a messenger of God. After all, who would give them a loan. And that too without a collateral, and without charging them such high interest. After all, who would tell them that they have faith that they would pay it back. They suddenly start having faith in themselves, work hard, pay back the loan on time, and come out of the experience stronger. You should have seen their faces - all bright and excited like they're finally hopeful for a good future."

I had listened quietly. I hated to admit it but there was something to what the boy said. I thought back to my days in high school. I was a terrible student, not because I lacked the intelligence, simply because I had had no confidence in myself. I didn't try because trying could mean failing, and I couldn't take that. Better just to pretend I wasn't interested, that I was bored. So, till my 11th grade (the final grade before college), I got by. 11th grade terrified me. I was failing in math, and I had to get a good grade to get into college.

My parents had given up hope on me - I was always the also-ran next to my elder brother who came first in everything. The only person who believed in me, for no apparent reason it seemed, was Sewer (so named for his body odor, his real name was Ramaswamy). He was our substitute Math teacher (after our real Math teacher took ill and a month off), and he would take me aside after class and spend an hour teaching me. It wasn't the time he spent on me that I valued most, it was the feeling he gave me that I had it in me to do well. It was a confidence I hesitantly took from him, as if it was a cobra I had to handle gingerly. But then, as I tried, as I honestly tried to do my best, I discovered that I was good, not just in math, but almost everything I tried. In a few months, I became all the teachers' darling because of how I had transformed myself. Then I had become so cocky I didn't even give Sewer his due. To this day, I hadn't.

My nephew seeing that something had changed in me was quietly waiting. I hated this side of myself, I wasn't meant to be a naive, old fool, so I burst out with a snort: "Hah! you almost had me suckered, didn't you."

Suresh looked up disappointed.

I got up. I walked over to the front door, gesturing to Suresh to follow me. When he came over, I opened the door, and turned to me. I placed my hand on his shoulder. "I need to take a nap. Tell Renukha to start a trust for me. In the name of Sewer, no, that's Ramaswamy. Million dollars - that's my endowment". And I pushed that shocked boy out.