When nostalgia hit the right note

Ritu Kumar

Sorry madam,” I can’t take this Rs 10 note, said the grocer as he attended to another customer. I looked at the note attentively and found it was a bit worn out. Must have changed many hands, I thought, as I handed him another one.

In the evening, as I made purchases from a vegetable seller and dug into my handbag, that note stared at me. I fished it out and handed it to the vendor, smiling smugly. Suddenly, I found the vegetable seller squinting to examine it. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he said, “Sorry madam, this note is in bad condition. Customers these days never take such notes, so give another one.” I put it back in my handbag.

At the ice-cream parlour, I did not want to take any chances, so I handed the shopkeeper a decent tenner.

The next day in college, when my growling stomach literally screamed for a snack, I rang the cafe boy and asked him to get me a burger and tea. I tried to give him that note but he too refused.

I groaned in exasperation and picked up the Rs 10 note and examined it with care and caution. Yes, it was badly damaged. On one side of it, there was just cello tape. On the other, the name ‘Rupam’ was scrawled. The number ‘10’ that marked the denomination of the note was actually not visible and the note had a pungent smell. I thrust it into the drawer of my office table.

But one day, as I was looking for some papers, it popped out and was back in my wallet. That evening, as we friends sat at our usual haunt and when the bill came, I reached into my handbag to accomplish my mission confidently. I placed the mutilated Rs 10 note among the crisp ones and pretended to chat casually with my friends, let out a sigh of relief and proudly told my friend, “The wretched note is gone.” But my joy turned out to be short-lived as the waiter returned.

There was an uncanny silence at the table. I felt the note challenging me, “How many more attempts to hand me over to someone else.” All my endeavours to give it away proved fruitless as the ten rupee note was adamant about staying with me.

I thought about keeping it at the altar in the temple thinking that at least God won’t return it.

Days passed and one day I was able to get rid of that note and my friends sought a treat. We had a delectable lunch and I paid the bill. The waiter returned with the change and on the top landed the same Rs 10 note with the cello tape on one side and ‘Rupam’ written on the other in bad handwriting.

This time, I picked it up hastily and put it in my wallet. It is still there, my constant companion. Maybe it is a ‘cousin’ of the ten-rupee note my father gave me decades ago when I secured full marks in maths and does not want to get separated.