I recently had an encounter at a financial institution that distilled years of pain and observation into one moment. I met an elderly lady, a government college professor, who was there with her teenage son. After she left, the clerk confided that she had just lost her husband, also a professor, and they were dealing with old physical stock bonds found in his safe.
Here was a woman with professional competence, intellectual credibility, and a lifetime of shared partnership—yet, she was completely blind to their financial structure. Her capable husband had made things easy for her, and in doing so, he had left her vulnerable.
Why did her capable husband not share the details? Why did she not learn the basics of demat accounts, nominees, or asset management?
The answer lies in a toxic societal myth: that if you have a competent partner, you are excused from learning the basics.
We strive to set up passive income, we diversify our sources, we plan for decades—but if the nominated partner doesn't even know the basics, the entire structure collapses. It's not just insurance policies and physical assets; it's the skill of management that needs to be learned and taught to everyone, irrespective of gender.
Money is not just a tool for commerce; it is the fundamental tool that gives you courage and agency to take a step of your choice. To limit that knowledge to one gender is to limit their freedom.
This scenario makes me think of the necessity of a Will. A few years ago, I spoke to a school friend, now a respected judge, about this very topic. Her perspective, rooted in spiritual faith, was that what is rightfully yours cannot be taken away.
But my logical, trauma-informed mind asks: If the spiritual prospective holds true, why then did mankind invent the concept of Wills?
Someone, through logic and painful experience, designed a physical tool for the betterment of surviving family members. The logical structure exists to smooth the path of the living. To dismiss it is to dismiss the duty we have to our nominees.
We must accept that spiritual faith in Fate cannot excuse us from exercising Forethought.
When the head of a family dies, the surviving partner—no matter how capable—should not be rendered helpless.
This is the silent crisis of our time. I refuse to outsource my security again. I refuse to let competence breed dependency. My goal is not just to survive; it is to ensure that, should I leave this world tomorrow, I have left my nominee with every single skill and document required to remain sovereign.
The ultimate act of love is to empower your partner, not to protect them from the burden of knowledge.
What are your thoughts on this intersection of faith, law, and financial duty?
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