Writing a will: the letter your family should not have to guess
Prakash did everything right.
SIPs running for twelve years. Annual step-ups. Emergency fund in a liquid fund. Term insurance of one and a half crores. Health insurance for the family and his parents. Nominations updated after the birth of each child — two daughters, now in Class 9 and Class 6. Even a dip protocol, written down, laminated, and stuck to the inside of his almirah door. Meera used to joke that the almirah was better organised than their kitchen.
Prakash did not have a will.
This is more common than you would expect among families who are otherwise meticulous about money. The SIPs are automated. The insurance is adequate. The nominations are current. But the will — the single document that tells the family what Prakash actually wanted — does not exist.
The reason is always the same. "I will do it later."
Later is the most dangerous word in estate planning. Because "later" assumes you know when "later" will be too late. You do not. Nobody does. Not the doctor. Not the actuary. Not the astrologer, despite what the WhatsApp forward says.
What happens without a will
In India, dying without a will — dying intestate — triggers succession law. Which law depends on your religion. For Hindus, the Hindu Succession Act. For Muslims, personal law. For Christians, Parsis, and others, the Indian Succession Act. The rules differ, the shares differ, and in every case, the family's wishes are subordinated to the law's formula.
Under the Hindu Succession Act, Prakash's assets would be divided equally among Class I heirs — Meera and the two daughters. That may sound fair. In many cases, it is exactly what the family would have wanted. But what if Prakash also wanted to set aside a specific amount for his mother's medical care? What if he wanted one flat to stay in the family and another to be sold? What if he wanted to fund a niece's education? Without a will, none of these intentions can be honoured. The law divides mechanically. The family's specific wishes are invisible.
Now complicate it further. Prakash held mutual funds, a flat in Guwahati, a plot of land in Tinsukia, an LIC policy with his mother as nominee (from before his marriage), and a joint bank account with his brother for a family business. The flat has a home loan. The plot is agricultural land, partially in dispute with a cousin. The LIC nominee is his mother, but the legal heirs are Meera and the daughters.
Without a will, this is not a family meeting. This is a courtroom.
The will is simpler than you think
The image most people carry of a will is a dramatic legal document — thick paper, sealing wax, a lawyer reading it aloud in a wood-panelled room while family members react with shock. That is a Bollywood scene, not Indian law.
A valid will in India requires three things. It must be written (typed or handwritten). It must be signed by the testator (the person making the will). And it must be witnessed by two people who are not beneficiaries. That is it. No stamp paper. No registration (though registration is advisable for immovable property). No lawyer, unless the estate is complex enough to warrant one.
For most families, a straightforward will covering the major assets — bank accounts, mutual funds, insurance policies, property, gold — takes an afternoon to write. The structure is simple. List each asset. State who should receive it. If there are specific wishes — a corpus for a parent's care, an education fund for a child, a charitable donation — state them clearly. Name an executor — the person responsible for ensuring the will is carried out.
Then sign it. Have two witnesses sign it. Keep the original in a safe place. Tell your spouse where it is.
The conversation nobody wants to have
The will is actually the easy part. The hard part is the conversation.
Telling your spouse: "If I am not here, here is what I want." Most Indian families — especially in the generation of professionals now in their thirties and forties — have never had this conversation explicitly. There is a superstitious discomfort with it. "Why are you talking like this? Touch wood." "You are being morbid." "We will deal with it when the time comes."
But the time comes when the person who should have had the conversation is no longer able to have it. And then the family is left guessing. Guessing which flat to sell. Guessing how much to set aside for the children's education. Guessing whether the FD should be broken now or left to mature. Guessing whether the mother-in-law was supposed to receive a monthly amount.
Guessing is not a plan. Guessing is what happens when a plan was never written down.
The Dhansanchay lens
At Dhansanchay, we do not draft wills — that is a lawyer's job. But we do something that is, in its own quiet way, equally important. During the annual review, we ask: "Do you have a will? Does your spouse know where it is?"
If the answer is yes, we move on. If the answer is no — and it is no more often than you would expect — we suggest the family take one afternoon, this month, and write it. Not next quarter. Not next year. This month. Because the portfolio we have spent an hour reviewing, the SIPs we have carefully constructed, the insurance we have right-sized — all of it is rendered uncertain if the family does not know, in writing, what the person who built it actually intended.
A will is imperfect peace. It does not solve every legal complexity. It does not prevent all family disputes. It does not remove the grief of loss. But it does one thing that no other document can do: it tells your family what you wanted, in your own words, so they do not have to guess.
Prakash wrote his will the following Saturday. Meera witnessed it. He put it in the almirah, next to the laminated dip protocol. The two most boring documents in the house. The two most important.
Written for general education — not as individual investment, tax, or legal advice. Estate planning involves personal law, tax implications, and family-specific circumstances. Consult a qualified lawyer for guidance on your will.