Under the Blouse and Close to the Heart ❤︎

By a son who once believed that’s where all money lived.

As a child, I genuinely believed that all women kept their money in the same sacred spot — under the blouse. Not in purses, not in wallets, but tucked safely near the chest where only mothers seemed to have the exclusive rights and perfect access.

My earliest memory of this belief comes from standing in line at the vegetable market with Maa. She'd argue fiercely with the vendor over coriander leaves, then, with great flair, pull out a crisp ten-rupee note from somewhere inside her blouse, like a magician pulling a dove from a hat. It was theatrical. It was fascinating. And in my tiny, confused brain, it made perfect sense.

I remember asking her once, very seriously, "Maa, if all money is kept inside the blouse, where will I keep mine when I grow up? Boys don’t wear blouses."

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped the veggies.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, wiping her eyes. “You’ll figure it out.” 

For years, I assumed this was one of those grown-up mysteries I’d learn about in secret classes, like how to whistle or ride a cycle without training wheels.

I even tried once to keep a few coins under my T-shirt during a game of cricket with the colony kids. Needless to say, they clinked and clattered to the ground every time I ran, and I ended up looking like a tiny metal detector gone rogue. My friends were confused. I told them I was just "trying something Maa does." They nodded in unison. No further questions!

Later, I tried keeping my money in socks, in pencil boxes and even once inside a folded napkin tucked into my waistband, until it fell out in the school bathroom, and I cried because I thought I’d lost my fortune. (It was seven rupees. But at that age, that was wealth.)

Looking back, there was something profoundly practical about that blouse bank. It was warm, close to the heart, safe from pickpockets, and required no zippers or chains. 

As I grew older, I realized money doesn’t always sit near the heart. It hides in apps, it gets tangled in monthly budgets, and sometimes, it disappears without warning. 

Now, when I see my wife slip her card into her phone case or tuck a note inside her blouse while juggling kids and keys, I smile. The tradition continues. The blouse may change, the storage strategy may evolve, but the instinct remains.

And as for me? I’ve grown up. I’ve got a wallet. It’s leather, it folds, and yes, I lose it often. But no matter how fancy it gets, I know it’ll never be as secure, or as legendary, as the original vault: Maa’s blouse.