What can be more annoying than filing income tax returns? And even as I write it, I cross myself for not being a Human Resource executive drooling day-in and day-out over musty papers.
And I detest that term – Human Resource executive. Everyone’s an executive these days, a nonagenarian would tell you. But more than that, it makes me feel not very different from a sack of potatoes, and that’s not fair. I work hard. I deserve more respect than being called an ambiguous “resource”. And yes, I take “human” for granted. I don’t appreciate anyone mistaking me for anything else. Wonder why people coin words that demean that which they are supposed to describe? if you’re from Antarctica, could you make out from that three-letter word that slathering paper with saliva would be central to your work?
But all this is beside the point. The point is having to get up close and personal with one or all of these godforsaken time-twisted scums-of-the-first-order. I’m sure they’re the same down there in Antarctica:
- The bespectacled wiry old tax adviser bent double over a dog-eared book of numerical mambo jumbo.
- The female of this species – who will toe in a non-certified adviser (a male) who will leer at you through his spectacles (tools of trade) and make you think he’s a runaway felon on death-row for rape.
- The papers. The unending subtractions. Professional tax. Education cess. Investments. Allowances. Fake rent receipts. Some nasty percentage of basic salary to be at par with an equally nasty percentage of your investments and allowances, whichever is less. (No questions, please.)
- The Human Resource executives. The females are perpetually glued to the phone, flirting, filing nails, or doodling on company stationary. The males are generally to be found in toilets, cafeterias, and smoking rooms. They have to report to work on time – which is a big ask anyway – and as an afterthought, I don’t much mind their activities considering the stupendous paperwork (you know what I mean) they do at this time of the year.
And if you’re beginning to think that I’m a dyslexic on a tirade against the normal world, let me tell you, nothing in school or college ever prepared us for this helluva experience. Unless you studied commerce. Or chartered accountancy. The MBAs are no good at this. (You may ask as many questions on this as you want.) Guess they relied on common human-rodent instincts to surface on tax filing D-day, and remote-control our way through the paperwork with complete comprehension.
Sadly, THAT DOESN’T WORK FOR ME. I have zero idea about where to put my money in except by way of payment. The thought of insurance, policies and shares and bonds chokes the breath out of me. I need help. Not a leery, flirty, manipulative adviser whose correctness or otherwise I’m not in a position to consider.
My appeal to the smarter world outside? Can we please have a tool, an excel sheet at least, where we can just type in details and get a reliable figure as to how much one needs to invest to skirt taxes? So I’ll know what I need to do with my money without… ah never mind. Who’s listening anyway?
I’m sitting at my desk and having a fine time blogging. Today’s tax filing D-day, and people are scurrying around or chit-chatting over coffee and paper-puking printers. If I were not so distraught, I would have suggested a team walk outside – a la picnic! But the next month’s pay slip pricks like a thorn on my better faculties.
The world revolves around money. And I’m ill prepared to handle it. A. Very. Big. Sigh. Even though I’m not a Human Resource executive.