Dear Santa, I have been good this year because......

......I have kept up my promise to you. Remember? On the Christmas of 2006, I was granted my long cherished wish and in return you made me promise this. Not to grumble or feel sorry for myself. Well, I have just managed to keep so.

            Having patched the small tear at my left corner, my owner had, for years incarcerated me in the protective sheets of a scrapbook. I should have been quite content to be looked after that well, after becoming all tattered and almost value-less. But being tended affectionately by an avid numismatist was unbecoming for a daring and excitable arien like me. (I was minted in April)

            After years of saying no; you had finally relented last Christmas. Influenced the lord to transform me from the shabby, sepiaed One-rupee note to a crisp, exciting, inky smelling Thousand-rupee note! It was a unique feeling- flaunting the print of 1-0-0-0, the beautiful orange-pink color and the self worth that it brought! One thousand rupees! I felt mighty empowered. There was so much one could do with me-I certainly was going to go places!

            My first assignment came within a few hours of being minted. I was bundled off with many other thousands as drought relief. Three seasons of truant, sparse monsoon had desiccated the earth roasting a hundred villages and parching a million stomachs; making beggars out of self-respecting farmers. But now, I had the strength to change it, I could bring them joy-food, clothes and shelter...But what a surprise! Even after dispatch, I remained in the dark recesses of an unknown safe-probably for the next few weeks- before seeing the blazing lights of a jeweler’s showroom. The wife of the District Collector had traded me off for a most beautiful golden necklace. Already adorning her body were the trade-offs of the flood relief, famine funds and the farmers’ loans!

            My ego took a battering within the coffers of the jeweler. No one there treated me like a heavyweight that I thought I was. Because, there were multitudes of my clones, all with 1000 proudly stamped on them. Most of their journeys were from one plentitude to the other and they all looked as bored and exasperated as an octogenarian in a discotheque. Within hours, someone had grouped a few hundreds of us. I presumed we were going to the bank. Imagine my surprise when I was placed at the feet of an ochre clad man with flowing beard! The scenario confused me. I always believed that men in ochre were at the other end of the spectrum of where I would gravitate to. Also, money, in whatever form was always accorded the highest status-not discarded at the fungal-nail-infested feet of any man, however great! It came as two revelations back to back-I could be used to absolve sins or abate a complaining conscience; and people needed me to keep their ochre-charades thriving too!

            I left the precincts of the ashram in quite an ignominious way -well huddled in the warm bosom, underneath the left half of the transparent blouse of Chameli Bai. Well at least, from here rang a sincere note at times! She put me in an elaborately carved and in laid trunk with all the reverence one accords to a breadwinner. In my company now, there lay a motley of denominations-a sure sign that pleasure had varied definitions and worth. From her khoti, my journey was a blur of quick-in and quick-outs....purses, hipsters, underwear pockets, bosoms, waists, socks, cash boxes, teller counters, kitchen hideouts....All the while I was gradually and naturally becoming sullied-physically and morally. I passed through the hands of a blood-thirsty terrorist and a healing doctor, a thief, a philanthropist,  lingered with an incurable gambler and stayed longer with a miser, taunted a spendthrift and flew away with the shopoholic......thus, all along assimilating their imprints and also soiling my exterior, which, after mere eleven months , looked no better than my former one-rupee self. I was now laminated by a little of all their essences, sullied by their intentions, glorified by their use of me, respected, taken for granted, used, abused; but never ever ignored!

            I had all along been only in high place, probably because of my denomination. Unlike the one-rupee, I never entered a humble hut or enriched a beggar’s aluminum bowl. My desire of bringing joy to the poor was yet unfulfilled. That was when I decided to undertake my own little adventure. I flew off from the pocket of a man racing in a swanky car, choosing to lie innocently next to a tramp.

            On spotting me, he got up on his arthritic knees. Glancing furtively around, he tiptoed towards me quietly. His eyes lit up in incredulity and happiness when he picked me up. That was the first time in my rich life that I had evoked genuine joy and awe. He turned me over and over, held me against the light, inspected me closer and far away from his eyes as tears of blessedness welled up in his forlorn eyes. “Go, on! Use me!” I pleaded, as if he could comprehend me. Alas! The next moment I was snatched away by a man in khaki who began to beat the beggar. “Oh, no, no saarr....! It is not stolen. I found it!”

            “Oh, yeah? Let me see! A thousand rupees! You rascal....aeroplane for you in the station!”

            “No, no! I can’t walk that far. I have not eaten in three days! Saar, buy me a meal. You may have the rest of it!”

            And thus it was Santa, that I have landed in this pub. In exchange for a costly bottle...I have understood our populace better. Flaunted as power, exerted as an amelioration for demerits; applied as a grease for scrupulous hands; obligated as a substitute for a lost life...actions that are oblivious to the sentiments of the heart. Heart? A note with a heart? That’s as absurd as comparing value with worth! I’m not expected to have a heart, brain or mouth. Only my physical self will suffice!

I am the esoteric. An aide to all but not forever; a power but not always; chased by many but captured by a few; a gateway to happiness, yet harbinger of sorrow.....I am known by a million sobriquets-fees, donations, salary, alms, gift, bribe, booty, present...but still have a common job and name-money! I am sorry for myself-wanted only physically, no one ever asking me where I want to go. Did you hear me Santa? I AM SORRY FOR MYSELF. I have broken my promise. Put me back.

The next instant the tattered one-rupee snuggled happily in the numismatist’s scrapbook.