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Col IPS Kohli (retd)
ON November 8, as soon as I heard the news that Rs 500 and Rs 1,000 currency notes were hereafter living on borrowed time, I called out to my two children. With a flourish, I took out the only two Rs 1,000 notes I had, gave them one each and told them to blow the money and give me a completion report by 10 pm. I was now squeaky clean and looked forward to the new Gandhis.
The brother-sister duo looked at their profligate father goggle-eyed. Senility in all probability, they thought, but what the heck! So long as they were the beneficiaries. I looked at my wife in the hope of hearing the rare word of approval. What I saw was a look of someone caught with a hand in the till. What’s bugging you, I asked. We Army guys have only our poverty to hide, not currency. The lady cleared her throat and said: ‘You know, I have been putting aside some money for the rainy day, besides money from all the kitties I attend. Is the PM going to take it all away?’
‘You heard him loud and clear. I’m certain what you have is a lot less than the threshold,’ I remarked. I was met with stony silence, which was not lost on me. My wife had no intention of disclosing her best kept secret, not to me at least. I assured her that I would fix a meeting with our banker in person who would allay her fears and park her money in her account without my knowing anything.
The day the banks began to function, I managed to draw the authorised Rs 24,000. Happy that the country would be finally rid of the curse of black money, no hardship was too much. My turn came in good time. The teller handed me eight bundles of crisp new Rs 20 notes and four spanking new Rs 2,000 notes. At first I thought he was mistaken. I was to get only Rs 24,000, but what I got appeared a lot more. The teller cleared my confusion when he explained that all of it put together was the same amount indeed. The banks were yet to receive other denominations so they were giving what they received — a lot in volume, but little of value.
I looked at the currency the same way I foolishly looked at foreign currencies on my overseas trips. God! so much and yet so little. The confusion did not stop there. My wife had given me a list of grocery to be picked up. At the store, there was a smart looking lady shopping alongside. My bill was Rs 1,360. For someone who has a head for numbers, I was unable to figure out how many 20s make Rs 1,360. The shopkeeper was not much better as he fumbled with a calculator. My embarrassment subsided when I saw the lady settling her bill by making Rs 100 lots, with each lot having five Rs 20 notes.
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