Net Worth - A Tribute

Net Worth - what does it mean?

Most people in the world of business and finance, when they think of the phrase "Net Worth", understand it to be a relatively simple concept. In relation to a company, they think of Net Worth as the difference between the assets and the liabilities of that company. Similarly, most people consider a person's Net Worth to be the difference between that person's assets and their debts. That is, the value of what they have less the value of what they owe.

Whilst this concept is a simple one, it is based on a deceptively flawed economic premise.

That premise is that people receive value (monetary or otherwise) equivalent to their contribution. Of course, we know that in reality this couldn't be further from the truth. Consider for example, the work of teachers, scientists, mathematicians, academics, journalists, artists, stay-at-home parents and so many other fields of society wherein people's contributions go under-recognised or undervalued.

If I reflect on the one piece of my father’s advice that has left the most significant impression on me, it was that, "a person's worth is measured, not by what they have, but by what they give".

My father was a humble man who lived a relatively modest, frugal life. As the eldest of eight children born to a lower middle-class family in one of the poorest nations in the world, he worked around the clock to help support his younger siblings and was the first person in generations of his family lineage to obtain a university education.

He studied a Master of Physics at Dhaka University (widely considered at the time to be the leading university in the country). He became a teacher and amongst his various achievements, the one that he was most proud of, was that he established a night college at the school where he taught. This was a first of its kind in Bangladesh and it meant that many of his students that would otherwise have dropped out of school to go and work to support their families, could still continue their education and complete high school.

He later had, what he recalls as, the most unlikely of opportunities when he was offered an intensely competitive role in the burgeoning computing division of one of the largest manufacturing companies in the country. After a decade at this company, another turn of fate resulted in an even more unlikely opportunity for him to emigrate to Australia.

Despite having worked his way up to a level of seniority at one of the largest companies in Bangladesh, dad made the frightening decision to leave behind his family, friends, the safety of his familiar homeland and the security of a comfortable executive career, to uproot his young family and start a new life in the faraway unknown shores of Australia.

He did that for us – his children. His ultimate goal was to invest in our future by enabling our education in this country and affording us all of the opportunities that entailed.

I'm not sure that I was dad's favourite son. It wasn't generally obvious to me growing up as a kid. He seemed stricter with me and didn't seem to nurture me or help me along as much as he did my elder brother. Maybe it was because my brother was his first son, or perhaps it was because he just didn't think I needed it as much. However, I know that there was a very special place in his heart for me. I knew this because there were things in my life that, looking back now, I realise that dad had facilitated, just for me.

For example, in my early childhood years, it was me that dad would send down the street to deliver a steaming hot cup of chai to my grandfather at his corner shop, so that I could spend the morning sitting on his lap, occasionally sipping cooled chai from the saucer. It was me for whom, my dad's younger brother named his dental clinic when he first established his practice.

Upon arriving in Australia, dad worked tirelessly to support us, his young family, in every way he knew how. We weren't wealthy in a monetary sense, but we had a comfortable life and wanted for nothing, growing up in 80's Australian suburbia. Dad was diligent, careful, considered and meticulous. The one indulgence he did allow himself (probably at my mother's entreaty) was a new car. A silver blue 1980 Holden Gemini. A true blue Aussie classic that was our family car for over a decade.

Several years after we arrived in Australia, my grandfather passed away in Bangladesh. In relocating our family to Australia in order to offer us more opportunities, Abbu lost the opportunity to ever see his own father again.

Of all the many traits in dad that I admired, two qualities particularly stand out in my mind. Firstly, his generosity and kindness. Abbu was fiercely proud. Not proud as in, "hey look at how great I am", but proud as in, he would rarely accept in return for what he gave or did for others. And he gave and did a great deal for his family, friends and community. Secondly, his uncanny analytical brilliance which he poured into his passion for Bridge. Dad ultimately qualified as a Bridge Grandmaster and went on to represent Australia in international Bridge tournaments.

When I think about this phrase of dad's that left such a lasting impression, I often wonder what the world would be like if people's Net Worth was indeed measured by the difference between what they contribute to the world and what they take in return. I start to imagine a world where, for example, it is the volunteers that are most highly valued in an organisation as opposed to senior management.

After he surpassed the age his own father was when he passed away, dad's health began to deteriorate considerably as he battled several long-term illnesses. Some years later, after losing his first son, dad's emotional wellbeing was also struck an enormous blow.

This year, after three gruelling weeks in intensive care following numerous earlier hospitalisations, Abbu left us at the age of 82, in the early hours of Monday the 17th of July. Unlike either dad or my elder brother, I was fortunate enough to be the last person to see my father, as he fell asleep late into the night before he passed.

So this Father’s Day is a particularly emotional one for me, being the first on which I can no longer wish him a happy Father's Day and tell him how much he means to me. However, I know that he still holds that special place in his heart for me and I know he will continue to watch over me.

And, I hope that throughout my life I can build the kind of Net Worth that would make Abbu proud.

In loving memory of Mir Hashmat Ali – a man of immense Net Worth.

(Inna lillahi wa inna illaihi rajiuun.)