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The power of the 2000 rupee note
In the British comedy ‘The Million Pound Note’, based on a short story by Mark Twain, the protagonist, Henry Adams, played by Gregory Peck, an impoverished salesman, arrives in England. However, lady luck smiles at him when he passes the house of two rich gentlemen, who had wagered a million pounds. He unwittingly gets caught between the two eccentric brothers, who hand over an envelope containing a one-million pound note to him. They do not disclose the value of the money that was in the envelope.
One of the brothers, Oliver, has a bet with his brother Roderick Montpelier that the mere possession of the note will enable Adams to buy whatever he needs without ever encashing it, while his brother believes it has to be spent for it to be of any use.
Adams is himself shocked when he discovers the note in the envelope. He leads a lavish life, staying in a classy hotel, eating in restaurants and buying clothes. He also falls in love with a rich woman.
People mistake him for an eccentric millionaire and are more than happy to admit him into social circles. To cut the long story short, all hell breaks loose when the Duke of Frongal, who is meanwhile evicted from the hotel, decides to hide the note. Adam realises that the possession of the note had not only become troublesome, but led to his losing his dignity and also love. He then decides to return the note to the brothers.
In the present
Recently, my situation also became somewhat similar to what Adam had to go through. It took nearly two hours to withdraw money from the bank after standing in a line meant for senior citizens. Surprisingly, in spite of the bank’s best intentions, there was only one teller who was serving people standing in the regular queue and the one meant for senior citizens. By the time my turn came, the teller had run out of money. However, since he knew me personally, he managed to get a wad of 2,000-rupee notes, leaving me bereft of smaller denomination currency.
My first stop was the grocer’s shop. I bought all items for our immediate requirement. When I produced the 2,000-rupee note, the shopkeeper gave me a wry smile and told me he had no change and that I could pay him later.
My second stop was the barber shop. I did not disclose to him that I was carrying a 2000-rupee bill, fearing he would refuse to cut my hair. When I produced the note, which was the unkindest cut of all, he went on a diatribe against the government. Fortunately, as I was a regular at the salon he agreed to take the money later. In both the cases, my personal relations bailed me out of tricky situations.
I realised that our country, that has successfully sent Mangalyaan to the Red planet, has turned watches into computers, has let down its people when it came to converting a higher denomination bill.
My luck ran out when I handed over the note to my wife. When she produced the note to the vegetable vendor, he gave her a mouthful, and took the vegetables back. This was the last straw on the camel’s back. She admonished me for the extraordinary delay in getting the notes converted, and accused me of being solely responsible for the embarrassment she was put before the vegetable vendor. Like Adams, I started losing my mind and dignity.
I’m just wondering whether it would be worthwhile to go again to the bank and exchange the money for smaller denominations, before I lose my dignity and probably even my wife.
ksvenkat48@gmail.com
