Love in the time of demonetisation - A short story !

The night Modi put his hand out of the TV screen and grabbed the 500 and 1000 worth Gandhi-smiles from our pockets, I was opening her DP on Whatsapp. This had become a routine activity now. When Modi was in USA also , I was looking at her DP. When Modi was in what's-this-another-country's-name also, I was doing the same. In the name of preparing for Civil Service Exams, I had been wasting time at home for four years now. But that's another story . What I am writing has more to do with that night when economics mingled effortlessly with morals to give a heady political solution.

So yes, that night. An early dinner of harmless idlis. My father was switching channels, my mother was reading an old issue of Ananda Vikatan and I was on Whatsapp checking her new dress in the DP. While switching from a stand-up comedy show to the Prime Minister addressing the nation, my father stopped fiddling with the remote control. As soon as the local Goswamis switched on their high decibel throats, my father went and checked his wallet. He confirmed that there were not many 500/1000 Gandhis in his wallet and shirt pocket . Then, he began a lecture on how this move was a masterstroke by Modi to weed out black money. I did not know till then that my father was a closet economist.

I was not listening to my father at all. Rather, what caught my attention was that my mom had begun to sweat profusely. I did not understand why Modi demonetising some Gandhis should make my mom nervous. That night, all social media warriors went crazy. Thanks to Facebook, the protests on streets had come down a lot these days. I read somewhere that Facebook is a good tool to mobilise and publicise street protests. But of late, it is on Facebook itself that these gory riots take place. Riots of words and emoticons. Twitter is a more sanitised riot-space. You people can be so many kind of characters but restrict your stone-throwing to 140 characters.

I woke up to chaos the next morning. My dad was livid. My mom was in tears. So many factors had instigated these domestic fights all these years - once , my dad fought the whole night because my mom had said "Wow ! Kamalhassan looks so good without a moustache" while coming back from a matinee show of "Indian". But a fight due to the Prime Minister of the nation was definitely a first. And it had nothing to do with his beard. My mother had brought a box full of Gandhis to the hall- this from a shelf which also housed salt containers. Gandhi and salt- my mother had brought them together after 86 years. Before I could go ahead with such random deep thoughts, dad started with a new verbal bout of expletives.

My mom had hoarded lots of Gandhis to run the family smoothly. It amounted to 8000 rupees. This was mom's own private bank outside the purview of those Jan Dhan Yojanas. My dad's anger was targeted at the financial independence of my mom. It was not exactly independence but the realisation that my mom could buy a snack or a soap without consulting the King of the family irked him no less. I tried to intervene by talking common sense but it did not help. My mom surrendered every penny in her possession to my dad . That she did not have a bank account in her name had caught up with her at last. What a sin!

My dad realised that he had misplaced some high-value Gandhis given by his friend inside the house and started a search operation to find them. I left home because there was a group discussion on "Empowering Indian Women" at the academy today. This wretched walk to the academy every morning was not exactly to study alone. It was also a way of reassuring myself that there were fellow travellers in this journey discussing the future of European economy and Indian liberalism happily despite a bleak future staring at themselves . The hot sun could not be compensated by the usual quota of lime juice at the corner shop. We sat around the table and that day's discussion did not even touch upon the decided topic. Rather , demonetisation ruled our thoughts. During break, I opened Whatsapp out of habit and opened her DP. The DP showed a Thousand rupee note burning and suddenly, the ground under me started slipping.

A day in 2014.

A crowded restaurant was a terrible idea. But break-ups need not happen in honeymoon spots I guess. I had heard of honour killings only in Tamil tabloids. I did not know that I could so easily be the target of one until Ragavi told me about her uncle. It was typical. We had been in a relationship for four years now. The warmth, the late night sweet nothings , the kisses and of course, A.R.Rahman. One night, I was listening to her Whatsapp version of "Thoda thoda malarndhadhenna" and felt like meeting her without realising that jumping over the gates of a girls' hostel can invite a week's suspension. So, this epic love which was supposed to soar above the skies was coming to a tame end because her uncle was loyal to his caste.

I wanted to negotiate a way out of this breakup by asking for more time . I promised her that I would somehow clear the IAS exams soon . She shook her head : " You don't understand Parthi ! Even if you are the chief minister , my uncle will not agree to this marriage ! I was telling you this since God knows when. We knew this would not have a sweet ending but we somehow were too much in love to face the reality I guess".

I can write an entire novel out of our love but since it is irrelevant to the actual plot, I cut the sour nothings out. That day, we decided to break up , delete each other's chats and pictures and never disturb the other. As a parting shot, we decided to gift each other a souvenir. Since Tamil movies had spoiled us enough ,the only souvenir we could think of on that teary-eyed evening was a signed 500 rupee note.

I scribbled some very private things which meant a lot to us both and would be gibberish to others. She wrote " Idhu pirivagigal dhorum vidadha bandham, with love, Ragavi". ( "This is a bond which lasts beyond births"). Without realising that we were sitting in a conservative public space, we hugged each other. That night, I was awake throughout. It was that night I started checking her Whatsapp DP regularly. Whatsapp showed that she kept typing something to me but did not press "Send" at all. I also typed so much but did not press the "Send" button. That night we played out a wait and watch game with neither of us blinking first.

Since all inboxes and chats had been cleared, the only piece of memory left was this 500 rupee note. It was safe on my table amidst the chaos of books. Until today. I imagined my father conducting a surgical strike on all the open spaces at home looking for the misplaced Gandhis. The only piece of paper connecting me with a beautiful past was in danger and I had to catch an auto immediately.

 When I entered the house, my mom still wore a distraught look. 8000 ways in which she had felt empowered had been robbed of her that morning. My dad was sitting on the bed wearing a smug look which disoriented me somehow. I ran to my room and was totally shattered seeing an empty space in the slot which held the precious note. The note had kept me company in all these nights of studies and solitude. I needed to handle this delicately. I took some deep breaths before confronting my dad.

Before I could go, he himself called me out. I sat next to him on the bed.

"Thambi ! Did you have your lunch ?  I somehow found those missing notes and gave it to Ganesh. He will deposit it in my account when the bank reopens "

I could only mutter a mild shriek of "appaaaa" . Maybe it showed so obviously on my face. Dad immediately put a hand around my shoulders and asked me "Who is Ragavi?". I was taken aback.

"Don't worry. I did not give that note alone to Ganesh. It is safe with me."

"Appaaa..."

"So is she your girl friend? I have not seen her with you at all. I see you with other girls only. What are their names ? Deepika , Keerthana , that big-eyed one, what's her name ? Haan , Anamika??"

"Appa, Ragavi was my girl-friend. We broke up long back"

Dad remained silent. He did not want to prod further. He gave the note to me and said: "Keep it safe ! I still have the first ten rupee note given by your mom safe!".

We looked at each other and exchanged a meaningful smile.

Later that evening, I opened her DP again. This time, she was with another guy. It looked like she was getting engaged to someone her uncle was okay with. I typed a "Congrats" but did not send. That night, I dreamt of a huge press conference addressed by the Prime Minister, Arun Jaitley and some IAS officers with a serious look on their faces. They had unearthed all the old notes hidden and hoarded in the houses of all black money sharks across the country. But their database showed that finally, only one 500 rupee note was missing. The cameras zoomed into the eyes of the prime minister who told in a solemn tone that the government will not rest until that note is unearthed from the deep recesses of the black economy. The tone was so threatening that I woke up all of a sudden. Beside my bed , the 500 worth Gandhi-smile was looking at me : "Idhu piravigal dhorum vidadha bandham, with love, Ragavi". I smiled and went back to sleep.