The fiddler of Kodihalli and other stories

Chintamani lived with two other bachelors in a rented apartment in Gurgaon. He used to sleep with his wallet under his pillow because he didn't trust the maid who came early in the morning to clean the house. One night, sleeping as usual with his wallet under the pillow, he had a strange dream. The notes in his wallet were chatting with each other. "What's going on here?” Chintamani wondered. To his amazement, the wallet started speaking in a leathery voice:

Welcome to the nightly meeting of the notes.

Chintamani asked, what do you mean nightly meeting? I sleep every day with you under my pillow. I have never seen anything like this before.

Ah. That's because your PAN number never matched.

What's my PAN number go to do with all this?

You only get to witness this meeting when your PAN number matches with the serial number of one of the notes in your wallet. You can verify it in the morning.

Huh? OK, whatever. Can you tell me what this meeting is about?

Ssh, replied his wallet. You are only meant to be a silent observer. I'll give you a heads up but no more questions or comments.

It's like this. Every night, the notes in a wallet tell each other their stories. How they came to be there, where they have been before, story of their travels. They also announce their net worth to the other notes. In the society of notes, net worth adds up every time a note is involved in a cash transaction. For example, a ten rupee note has a face value of ten but its net worth increases by ten every time it is used a cash transaction. These stories are exchanged to convey social status. The richer notes get priority for further transactions. Although wallets like me are warm and cozy, these notes don't like to remain stuffed in one wallet for long. They like to keep moving. Among several notes of the same denomination, net worth decides who moves out first. You may now follow the rest of the meeting in silence.

An intrigued Chintamani turned his attention to the conversation among the notes. A crispy fresh ten rupee note was introducing itself. I joined this wallet when a mithaiwala returned balance money to Chintamani after his purchase of Agra petha. The mithaiwala got me as part of a fresh bundle from the bank. My net worth is twenty. Judging by the condescending expression of the other notes, Crispy Fresh was able to understand that he was probably the poorest of the lot - a below-poverty-line ten rupee note. Another ten rupee note started speaking. This one looked like he had been around some. Hiya, I also came in with Crispy Fresh. But that's only because a Mrs.Mathur handed me to the mithaiwala five minutes before our Chinta dude walked in. Mrs.Mathur got me from the auto rickshaw fellow who got me from a Shalini for her office ride. Anyway I've been around for a year and my net worth is seven thousand three hundred and twenty rupees. There were murmurs of approval for this middle class ten rupee note. Yet another ten rupee note rose to speak. This guy was badly soiled.

Don't we have any female notes? asked Chintamani, unable to contain his curiosity. The wallet looked cross eyed at him. That will happen the day your government issues notes with pictures of Sarojini Naidu. Now please stay silent. One more word and I will have to remove you from this meeting.

The filthy note continued. Hey janta, listen, my net worth is eighty seven thousand five hundred and eighty. There was a chorus of oohs and wows. Amidst looks of envy, he added, I have been exchanged so many times last evening I am already beginning to forget my travels. The middle class tenner muttered to himself, these filthy rich guys have the most colorful stories to tell but they are so full of attitude. Filthy rich continued. Just before this stinking hole, I was at a paan-ka-dukaan. Before that in the pocket of a chain smoker. Enough said. Now if you please, I'd like to catch some sleep because I know I am going to be the first out this wallet tomorrow morning. That was a filthy rich tenner indeed. Next, a hundred rupee note started to speak. And the stories went on. Crispy Fresh felt serious inferiority complex hearing these stories. He couldn't contain his tears. His sobbing disturbed the filthy rich tenner who had just begun to doze.

What's the problem bachhe? You are just two months old. People tend to keep notes like you longer in their wallets. Wait till you get a little soiled. Then you will also start accumulating net worth much faster. By the way, don't think you are the most wretched thing in this wallet. Look at that piece of plastic on the side. It has been around for two years but you know what its net worth is? Zilch. Anda! Crispy Fresh stopped sobbing and looked to the side at the piece of plastic. Oh you mean this credit card? he asked. Hah, that's just a fancy name for a piece of junk, said Filthy Rich. They just pretend to be money. They never go anywhere by themselves. Like the women of a male chauvinist society, they only step out of their homes (wallets) briefly, that too under the watchful eyes of their owners. One swipe and they are sent back home.

Crispy fresh tittered at this analogy. Thanks. That does make me feel better. But how do you explain your HNI status? After all you are only two years old. 87k is a lot of wealth for a two year old tenner. Filthy Rich sneered. Kande pe bithao tho kaan mein ..beep.. Anyway, I am in a generous mood today so I'll let you in on my secret. You won't believe it but just until four months ago, my net worth was hardly 20k. Then one gentleman, god bless him, forgot me in his pant pocket. The pant was put to wash in an automatic washing machine. What a wonderful spin I had. Even the best theme parks don't have such thrilling water rides. Safe inside the pant pocket, I was tossed this way and that, washed with cold and warm water, cleaned with good smelling detergent, rinsed and dried. It was a luxurious spa like experience. When it was all over, I smelt really good but was crumpled all over. My dye had faded a bit and I was no longer a firm usable tenner. People started giving me away as soon as they got it. No one wants to hold on to a tattered note. It does wonders to your net worth. Now see if you can slink into the back pocket of Chinta dude's shorts. Good night.

Ding Dong. Chintamani wondered who in the wallet was making this noise. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. His sleep weakened a bit and he realized that the door bell was ringing. It was the maid. As he returned to bed to snooze for a while, he felt an urge to check the pockets of his shorts. Sure enough, he found a crispy fresh ten rupee note in the back pocket on the right. He hesitated to put it back in his wallet. But then what the heck, it was only a stupid dream. So he put the note back into the wallet but made a mental note to use it first even if it meant he had to hold on little longer to that dirty note he had got from the paanwala.