The poor 25 paise coin.
(by C.V. Subramaniam)
Yes, I am poor, I have no value, all these days, none cared for me, and I had an inkling of my imminent death. At least i could mingle with my brothers (50 paise, one rupee, two rupee coins, who are my look alikes), and also jingle with them still. Someone could still perhaps give four of me and get something - though very rare. Now, of course, the verdict is out, the death sentence pronounced. I am to disappear from this world, once for all, after end of june, when i would be buried in the past. Even if I were to continue to live, how many would still love me? Whom do I blame? I could only blame inflation perhaps, since even a 50 paise coin or a one rupee coin cannot buy anything worth these days. I am always separated, as if an untouchable ,from the crowd of my brothers, I am sometimes thrown out, not for my fault, I am not liked even by the street and roadside begging community, because I have become of no value to anybody, I am poorer than the poorest beggars, since they have these days more valuable coins, and may be more valuable possessions.
Because of my cute looks, and being the youngest, I still enjoyed up to a time the love and affection of many, particularly children. Many used to put me in metallic and clay made Hundis (small pot with an opening for putting coins, used for small savings by children or for donating to temple) as their valuable possession and I used to feel comfortable, hidden from those fiery eyes. If someone still thinks of putting me in the temple hundis (donation boxes) that will amount to contempt of God and instead of blessings he might incur the curse of God.
Now that the verdict is pronounced and my death is almost fixed, I could still imagine how the people will treat me,once their darling. Every one will see if they still possess me, collect me in herds, put me in bundles, tighten the bundle with threads (almost like putting the noose around my neck, for which i still have time) rush to the bank, of course only one of those dedicated banks, as if I am already dead and to be stored In the mortuary. My brothers (50 paise, one rupee, two rupees etc.) will desert me, you go away, you are worthless, you are to be exiled, they would shout, though they are also not sure of their own life, which may come to an end any day in the not-too-distant future. No one would take me to the beggar or the subji vendor, since all of them had already frowned upon me long, long ago, and would not want to see my face. Not to speak of my elder brothers who also are treated even now with all contempt. No one wants even 50 paise coins, knowing that the same fate would drive them away from this world like me.
People will have to collect me in large numbers, at least to make me worth a hundred rupee or so, since the bank people would otherwise laugh at the owner. While, at the same time, if some one is to carry bundles and bundles of me in big bags or sacks, I can imagine the plight of the bank counter staff,who would first look at him with a contemptuous, jeering look,start unbundling, and then start counting of course, which is not that easy. If I were in paper form, they could simply put me into the counting machine (like wads of notes) and wait for the indicator light at the end of the so called counting. Not so for me, though. Of course, there are the bulk buyers, the scrap dealers, who might still be interested in me, since they might stand to gain more, by melting me. Those who love numismatics would like to possess me as rare coins, but numbers would be not that great. Those possessing very few of my clan, may not care at all for me. For them any way I am already dead. The temples would have to empty their donation boxes, separate me and start counting, if only they care for me, before rushing to the bank before the dead line.
Well, coming to my fate, I cannot appeal to a court, then going to the apex court, and then to the President, and no lawyer would plead for me. For, I am not Kasab, who is still preciously guarded, given food to eat, given time to go out and practise karate, and all associated bliss, and God willing, he can still escape the noose.
The bundles will go to the mint again perhaps, and will be melted into fluid, may be to take birth again in some form or the other; I am afraid I will not be buried below the ground in which case, some passer by will at least cry 'perhaps in this neglected spot is laid..........'
(by C.V. Subramaniam)
Yes, I am poor, I have no value, all these days, none cared for me, and I had an inkling of my imminent death. At least i could mingle with my brothers (50 paise, one rupee, two rupee coins, who are my look alikes), and also jingle with them still. Someone could still perhaps give four of me and get something - though very rare. Now, of course, the verdict is out, the death sentence pronounced. I am to disappear from this world, once for all, after end of june, when i would be buried in the past. Even if I were to continue to live, how many would still love me? Whom do I blame? I could only blame inflation perhaps, since even a 50 paise coin or a one rupee coin cannot buy anything worth these days. I am always separated, as if an untouchable ,from the crowd of my brothers, I am sometimes thrown out, not for my fault, I am not liked even by the street and roadside begging community, because I have become of no value to anybody, I am poorer than the poorest beggars, since they have these days more valuable coins, and may be more valuable possessions.
Because of my cute looks, and being the youngest, I still enjoyed up to a time the love and affection of many, particularly children. Many used to put me in metallic and clay made Hundis (small pot with an opening for putting coins, used for small savings by children or for donating to temple) as their valuable possession and I used to feel comfortable, hidden from those fiery eyes. If someone still thinks of putting me in the temple hundis (donation boxes) that will amount to contempt of God and instead of blessings he might incur the curse of God.
Now that the verdict is pronounced and my death is almost fixed, I could still imagine how the people will treat me,once their darling. Every one will see if they still possess me, collect me in herds, put me in bundles, tighten the bundle with threads (almost like putting the noose around my neck, for which i still have time) rush to the bank, of course only one of those dedicated banks, as if I am already dead and to be stored In the mortuary. My brothers (50 paise, one rupee, two rupees etc.) will desert me, you go away, you are worthless, you are to be exiled, they would shout, though they are also not sure of their own life, which may come to an end any day in the not-too-distant future. No one would take me to the beggar or the subji vendor, since all of them had already frowned upon me long, long ago, and would not want to see my face. Not to speak of my elder brothers who also are treated even now with all contempt. No one wants even 50 paise coins, knowing that the same fate would drive them away from this world like me.
People will have to collect me in large numbers, at least to make me worth a hundred rupee or so, since the bank people would otherwise laugh at the owner. While, at the same time, if some one is to carry bundles and bundles of me in big bags or sacks, I can imagine the plight of the bank counter staff,who would first look at him with a contemptuous, jeering look,start unbundling, and then start counting of course, which is not that easy. If I were in paper form, they could simply put me into the counting machine (like wads of notes) and wait for the indicator light at the end of the so called counting. Not so for me, though. Of course, there are the bulk buyers, the scrap dealers, who might still be interested in me, since they might stand to gain more, by melting me. Those who love numismatics would like to possess me as rare coins, but numbers would be not that great. Those possessing very few of my clan, may not care at all for me. For them any way I am already dead. The temples would have to empty their donation boxes, separate me and start counting, if only they care for me, before rushing to the bank before the dead line.
Well, coming to my fate, I cannot appeal to a court, then going to the apex court, and then to the President, and no lawyer would plead for me. For, I am not Kasab, who is still preciously guarded, given food to eat, given time to go out and practise karate, and all associated bliss, and God willing, he can still escape the noose.
The bundles will go to the mint again perhaps, and will be melted into fluid, may be to take birth again in some form or the other; I am afraid I will not be buried below the ground in which case, some passer by will at least cry 'perhaps in this neglected spot is laid..........'
No comments:
Post a Comment