Memoir of a Currency Note

A journey into a currency note’s life, death and re-birth! And how it is eerily similar to us.

Memoir of a Currency Note

Freshly out of the press, looking spic and span.
I am a new currency note in this world.
Carefully packed and deposited in banks,
I await my first owner.
A well-dressed businessman takes me along with some old notes,
I am the envy of the others in his wallet.
While the rest are jaded and sometimes torn,
I am crisp, full of energy and neat.
An extremely weary note welcomes me,
And wishes me all the best.
I am delighted by my state and bit pitiful of his.
Of what use is this old note, I don’t know,
I am the lord and master of all I know.
Very soon, I was out of this wallet,
And passed on to a fruit seller.
There I saw some more weary tattered ones,
And my pride and happiness grew.
They seem to be lying here for months,
Not much action out here.
This will not be my fate surely,
I will pass onto better hands,
And be the most revered of all.
After many days, the tired and dirty hand of the fruit seller,
Finally pulled me out, I went to a young man’s wallet.
And there I saw many new ones.
Crisper and neater than me, and glowing happily.
I was still welcome there, but slowly my doubts grew.
Changing hands faster than before,
Sometimes 10 times in a day.
I was used by multiple people, slowly my lustre faded.
I lost track of my owners,
As some of them defaced me too.
Random scribbles over my face,
And some strange numbers too.
Inside the still wallet of someone,
I sometimes think of the old weary note I met first.
Am I too reaching that state in this ever-changing material world?
Where would that old note be now,
Has it finally exchanged hands,
Or met his own gloomy end,
Which I now feel coming for myself.
All of us will meet the same end,
Nothing is ever a constant.
One day, I realized I was taken back to the bank,
Along with piles of other notes.
Seems we are not legal currency anymore,
In one sweeping moment, we have become a useless piece of paper.
I realized I am relevant as long as I am in use,
The value I bring to people’s lives,
Is more useful than my crispiness perhaps.
Memories of so many happy kids,
Having sweets and munchies at my exchange.
Or seeing glowing faces of workers,
Getting their hard-earned compensation.
Of the trader selling his products,
And receiving me with great delight.
I remember the relief on the face of that nervous man,
Who could finally get his father treated.
My value soared higher than ever,
When I realized this was due to me.
It’s not how I look but the value I bring,
To so many of our lives.
Yet, I am soon to be reduced to a shredded piece,
Alive yet lifeless.
Torn apart to multiple pieces,
A fragment not to be recognized.
Becoming a briquette of sorts.
I soon found out I am not that a waste,
I still provide fuel to the fire.
The fire which gives heat, warmth and light to the needy,
And also used in soil fertilizer.
I am still there in many forms,
Adding value bit by bit.
Who says I am gone forever,
I remain very much in your midst.
I have changed shape and color,
But I am still relevant.
As long as I give joy into people’s lives,
I don’t care about my freshness anymore.


 

© Abhishek 2020
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