And Another god Lies Dead

Been about a week since he died. Which is to say, he got his own time of death wrong by only about 8 years or so. I suppose the megalomania (and I am sure, a very health-conscious lifestyle) did enough to hide from him for a long time the corporeal effects of old age, and by the time he realised he was as prone to breaking his hip as the next old man, it was too late for his pride to allow him to fess up.

There is no wondering about the "why" behind the fact that millions from across the world chose to believe Sathya Sai Baba of Puttaparthi to be a living god. As I keep saying, there is absolutely no dearth of morons in this world. None whatsoever. I mean, which god, no matter which mythos you choose from, has heart attacks, a broken hip or respiratory issues and organ failure? How many times have you even imagined god in a wheelchair?

There are some things though, that the man got right in his endeavour to be god. Megalomania for one. The sorts where he never tired of extolling his omnipresence and omniscience, even if he predicted wrongly the timing of his own death. For two, he established a more or less complete control over his chosen fiefdom, where his word ran parallel to the law of the land. For three, he maintained the belief of his followers in his divinity despite numerous allegations of sexual abuse and paedophilia and of course, despite the many claims of his materialisation of trifles being nothing more than sleight of hand.

But now, he lays under a few feet of earth. From heaven he came, to the earth he must return. Must be a little humbling, I would think. Especially when he nourishes subterranean life. Now that he is gone, there is one thing that is playing heavy on my mind. I wonder when the next smart-ass claiming to be the new reincarnation will turn up. Such a damn shame that it is already too late for me to do any such thing.

The Economy of Change, or, The Mint Conspiracy

Even 10 years ago, I remember a bundle of 100 one rupee notes in good shape selling for more than a 100% premium. The buyers were typically families holding a wedding, where the one rupee note would be slipped inside an envelope along with another note of higher denomination, as a sort of good luck totem for the intended recipient of the cash gift.

Now the one rupee notes are out of print, so I can only imagine what premium those well preserved notes must now command. But there is another currency-related curious phenomenon which was first brought to my notice around the same time by my brother, and which I now see taking on gigantic proportions.

What is happening to all the small change? Where is it going? Whose is this pocket that it goes in to, never to emerge again? Who is hoarding all those coins? And how do they carry around the weight of them all? Doesn't it make a hideous racket each time they as much as breathe? What do they do with all the change anyway, use them as poker chips? Do we really have so many poker players in this country, or so many decks of cards, for that matter?

Starting at the institutional level, some banks now have the official policy of only dispensing notes of Rs 500 or 1,000 from their ATMs, causing an automatic shift towards higher denominations in circulation. So when I go from there to my local grocer or the cigarette shop, I will end up paying with a big note, no matter how small my purchase. The shopkeeper will give me some change, insofar as it comes down to a tenner, and will often then pass unto my hands the smaller change in the form of mint, or other sundry candy. Sure, I can exchange one candy for another, depending on my preference of flavour. But if I am the sorts who doesn't mind the occasional candy, but does not enjoy a regular dosage, what am I to do? Carry it home and let it rot? Distribute it to friends? Give it to street children?

Many possible solutions, but what about my damn money? I want what came from the government's mint, not some cheap mint in exchange. Just because the two words are the same gives the confectioner no right to force me to use them almost interchangeably. But that is precisely what I see happening. Some tub of jelly sitting atop a heap a small change that is his accumulated wealth, stolen from hard working men and women by shops all across the country, just because his candy wasn't good enough to sell on its own.

Ah, how ironic that I miss those days when my wallet would sometimes have too many coins for its own good, and I would be only too glad to be rid of most of them. But in these changing times, I am considering seriously the temptation to start hoarding them. After all, as individuals, they don't go very far, but in bulk can be quite a fortune. Ask the confectioners, they would know. As did a certain Ambani.

But what really gets my goat is this: if I try to pay for a part of my purchase with candy, the shopkeepers are not ready to have any of it. My mint is just candy, while theirs is straight from the mint!