By Shane J Alliew

When the honourable Prime Minister of the country dropped the bomb on November 9, like the millions of other Indians, my family and I sat in disbelief, listening to the news, wondering, what next?

But wow, the fun had just begun! Text messages began instantly pouring in- malls, supermarkets and several fanciful outlets texted to inform that they were pen till midnight and would be accepting all payments in cash and most importantly in denominations of the demonetised currency.

I mean at a time like this, it was a priceless piece of public service. Yeah, great, especially for those that had an excess of it lying at home and went on a shopping spree buying gold, diamonds and other precious stones. Silver too!

The next morning of course, other common tenants of the rented houses, in the building I live in got another topic to bitch about and grumble against the government and how were they to run their houses? Nah, why should it affect commoners like us, felt many a one.

Several praised the move saying that it was most welcomed- but what all of us were not ready for, were the serpentine lines for currency exchange, dry ATMs and the ‘panic’.

I was out on Day 1, more for the thrill of things as I wanted to be in the ‘thick of events’ and went off to some far off area, away from my locality, just for fun.

I stood in queue, there were just five people ahead of me, bitched along with the others on how one had to miss one’s working day, talked about the rising prices of fish (in chaste Bengali and sometimes in Hindi) and also spoke about the horrid weather!

When my turn at the counter arrived, the youngish looking Bank Manager verified the photocopy of my ID proof, stared at me (probably because of the home address) and silently stamped and signed the photocopy, ‘verified against original’.

I re-stood in another queue (a longer one this time) and collected the prize cash- four thousand rupees in one hundred rupee notes! Woah! Mission accomplished.

It was not enough- I wanted another taste of adventure and thought why not exchange some more monies the following day and took myself off- would you believe it, to that same bank. An auto, the metro and a ten minute toddle and bingo, there was I.

Awww, there was a most unwanted crowd there. ONE queue for the same verification (it was a different girl this time) and three separate lines for the ‘dough’.

So a 45-minute wait at the verification queue was not too bad, except that I was getting irritated by one particular gentleman who had brought in all his workers, with valid Voter’s Id cards (needless to say all with addresses in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh) and they kept on flitting in and out of the line like no body’s business- their one dozen number soon grew to two dozens and then a score!

When the others protested, the not-so-good-looking, foul-mouthed ‘mama’ of the gang walked right up to the most vocal protester and said, what’s the objection for? The boys had kept the place for each other in the row. Convenient, very, I say. But I was not going to bell the cat. Moreover, I felt so secure. I was sandwiched between two ladies, poetic justice? Well, let’s just say that the queues were not gender bias.

But the fun had just started, the ‘mama’ kept collecting bundles of four thousand from each of his ‘associates’ and jazzed them off with a mouthful of instructions to the next door bank (I wanted to get there myself, as usual, just for fun).

My horrid luck, when my turn had come, the chappie had recognised me- he told me I had a frightening name, one he would never forget, and turned me out! But…I began to protest…he said, one bank, one exchange, one person. I dare not protest, the mob would have had me for lunch, yup, even at 1.30 in the afternoon! I had actually stood, faithfully, for almost three hours!

Guess, what, I had not had enough of the adventure and breezed off to the next bank the ‘mama’ had mentioned of. This time, I was so tempted to get my phone out, pretend I could not see well, elevate it and grab a few quick shots- oh, but I thought of my poor, poor head at the end of it all. I should be kind to it and not invite unwanted blows.

Aha, you have guessed it right, ‘mama’ was there too with his flock and well, there were some other sheep already stationed, keeping vigil!

Such glee on their faces when bundle after bundle was being exchanged and handed over to ‘mama’.

At a third bank, I visited that day (I just did not have enough enthusiasm to re-queue at bank two), the system was even more complex- well, you know, we Indians never like it simple. Stage one: stand to verify, stage two: details entered into a register, stage three: re-verify and then be told only Rs. 2,000/- sir, not 4,000/- and moreover it’s the new note; stage four: collect cash from counter.

Well, beggars can’t be choosers and after another three hour wait, I was delighted at the new currency in my hands- nah, I did not feel like a note-fie- too tired and hungry!

Well, it’s been an adventure and I loved it- just for fun! But hey look out for part two of this (maybe a part three too- if you want one- but truly, I have loads to share. Gold been stocked, 10 percent commission for the use of an identity card, house buying, deposits into granny’s, grandpa’s, cousins and the whole family accounts. Cool, na?

Black- not at all, it’s all white now, oops, sorry, PINK!