Middle class by memory, not by money

Stuck in the middle of which middle class?

Most Indians born before the 1990s reflexively identify themselves as middle class. We say it almost as a badge of honour, though their economic realities today may tell a different story. Many of them have moved well beyond the narrow definitions of income brackets or wealth bands that once shaped the label.

Yet the middle class, for us, was a mindset shaped by scarcity, shared struggles and small triumphs that felt disproportionately sweet. Childhood meant debating wants versus needs, saving up for a geometry box or hiring a bicycle by the hour. Every paisa (one-hundredth of a rupee) had value to purchase something. We compared prices, delayed purchases, hunted for bargains, reused and repaired — and what today might be called ‘downstreamed’: hand-me-down clothes, textbooks and household items that stretched the worth of what little we had. But it never felt sad or pitiable.

For Generation X, these habits formed an operating system, a middle-class OS wired into their decisions long before they knew anything of finance or strategy. But here is where that nostalgia risks slipping into misreading. Many of them still call themselves middle class even today, after decades of professional success, business growth and asset accumulation.

The truth is: while they might still feel middle class, most of their children were effectively born into far greater material security. Thanks to better education, career opportunities, a globalised economy and, yes, a measure of luck, what once felt like rare privilege — air travel, private schooling, international holidays, luxury and holiday homes — has become routine.

Yet we keep trying to pass on our frugal habits and our instinct to turn peer pressure into inner drive. We recount stories of queuing for hours or saving pocket money — if at all we got any — for months to buy something special. These stories matter, but they often sit uneasily alongside the abundance our children grow up with: choice, digital convenience and a quiet confidence in tomorrow that we never quite knew.

Yet we keep trying to pass on our thrift mindset: telling them stories about standing in line for hours or saving pocket money — if we even got any — to buy something small. And sure, those stories have heart. But sometimes our kids look at us like: “Bro, why are you trauma dumping?” or “Ok boomer, but did you really have to walk uphill both ways?” What we remember as character-building, they hear as low-key criticism of their reality — which, ironically, our own success helped create.

Yet somewhere along the way, we — Gen X and older — must also learn to make peace with prosperity. It is neither hypocrisy nor moral failing to live a lifestyle richer than the one we grew up with, so long as it stays within our means. The world we inhabit today is different: what once felt indulgent is now commonplace, and what was once a rare treat may now be a daily convenience.

More importantly, allowing ourselves to spend on products and services that bring comfort, health or quiet joy is not a betrayal of middle-class roots. It is an acknowledgment that wealth, built patiently and honestly, is meant to be used, not hoarded out of inherited guilt. The discipline to know limits, the wisdom to avoid mindless consumption, and the gratitude to remember where we began remain the real markers of that mindset.

But there is another truth we must confront: by endlessly harping on ‘middle-class values’, we risk sounding like a broken record to the next generation. We bore the wits out of our children and sometimes irritate them; when we repeat tales of thrift and struggle as if they were moral commandments. What we remember as character-building, they often hear as criticism of a reality shaped as much by our success as by their privilege-by-DNA.

There’s another vibe check we should run, too: by endlessly dropping “middle-class values,” we risk sounding like that NPC nobody asked for. We bore the wits out of our kids — and sometimes even annoy them — when we repeat thrift tales like moral commandments. We see the same cringe play out on the public stage: wealthy old leaders, with entire PR agencies in tow, bragging about flying economy or using decade-old phones, expecting applause every time. Gen Z sees right through it. Real frugality doesn’t need a hype video.

The middle-class mindset was equally about resilience and gratitude. It taught us to stay grounded, to see growth as a gift built on effort and persistence. It taught us that anything truly worth having must be earned, and that dignity lies in the effort, not just the outcome. Today, amid relentless consumption and instant gratification, it can feel as though those lessons are slipping away. Yet the core of what shaped us still holds value: knowing how to draw a line between need and want, and appreciating what we already have.

And here lies the paradox. Many of us who truly were middle or lower class by any historical measure have raised children who began life as high net worth individuals by today’s standards. That is something to celebrate, not apologise for — it’s the very progress our parents once dreamt of. But it also means our children may never fully grasp the quiet, unseen grind that built their foundations.

Perhaps the best we can do is to keep telling these stories as living memories, and remind them that real wealth lies not only in bank balances but in perspective, resilience and gratitude. Virtues no textbook can teach, but life, in its rawest form, often does.