My relationship with money dates back to the 1900s. Idli was the unit of currency I followed for almost 10 years of my adolescent life. Yes, idli the fluffy rice cake, that originated in Indonesia and consumed as a common breakfast item in most parts of South India and Sri Lanka! This humble recipe made of rice and de-husked black lentils, a staple in all south Indian households, from modest middle class familia to the echelons of the ultra luxurious upper class, was the center of my financial ideology. An idli costed 50 paise (half a rupee) in my school canteen, back in 1993. A plate of 2 idlis with chutney and sambar was my favorite mid morning retreat those days. Thirty years hence, the soft texture and the heavenly taste of the idlis from school, still lingers in my taste buds. They tasted so surreal that, I used to measure every commodity on a value scale of idlis. My little mind understood that, if I had a rupee at my disposal, I could buy a satiating meal of 2 idlis. And hence, when I was handed over a note of 100 rupees, by a well-meaning family member, 200 steaming idlis with piping hot sambar and snow white chutney floated in my inner eye. I strongly believed that, this was the elixir served to the Gods in the upper hemispheres called heaven.
I carefully saved every penny (paisa, in my case) that I received as pocket money or gift from the near and dear, so that I could idli-proof my future. The currency of idli also kept me grounded; for I knew that, a few thousands of rupees was all the money I needed to lead a idli-syncratic life. What would I do with millions, when it was clear to me that my tiny intestine could hold only 2 idlis at any given time of the day. My parents encouraged this eccentricity of mine, for quite some time, as they were happy that a rupee a day is all they had to spend to keep their kid in good humor. They knew, their kid was as unassuming as a plate of idlis.
As I grew into adulthood and migrated to hostels in distant lands, I discovered a whole new world outside idlis. Yummy chole bhature, mouth watering pav bhajis, finger licking pakoras, soul stirring biriyanis and kebabs lured me. I warmly embraced this sudden burst of culinary delight that knocked at my door. Eating out became the norm. My bond with idli grew weaker. It had an antithetical effect on my association with money. I realized that a pocket money of a few hundred rupees was not going to keep me alive for more than a week. I needed more out of life; and out of my parents.
As days rolled on, I graduated from college and landed a priced job with a multi national company. With the income stream well defined, I upgraded my palate to include pan cakes and croissants, in addition to the new found love for Indo-chinese delicacies. I toiled hard at work to afford these. I also realized that the world of money was simply addictive and manipulative. People who were otherwise caring and considerate, morphed into loathsome monsters when they handled money. Trust and empathy vanished when money was part of the transactions. Though the instrument of money became an integral part of my life, I understood the value of this commodity. I learnt to distingush between wants and needs. My idli-like heart bled for the poor and the needy. I set aside a major part of my monthly salary to support the underprivileged. When I had a plate of hakka noodles for dinner, I ensured that the homeless on my street went to bed with their share of idlis.
Change is inevitable and unpredictable. Marriage changed everything. My carefree life was curtailed by the need to keep a close tab on the inflow and outflow of money in the house hold ledger. The concept of fortifying the future emerged. Procreation added to the money equation. It was my turn to take care of my “dependents”. And I could not do that with one rupee a day. Inflation was at play. Financial security of near and dear ones took priority over feeding the needy. Securing a roof above our heads became the numero uno goal. I began exploring the world of financial investments and joined the race for ROIs. I switched to high paying jobs to combat the ever-rising inflation. I constantly maintained a budget tracker in my head. Every night, I went to bed counting the ledger balance in my bank accounts and computing the interest amounts these would yield. Life became a complex quadrilateral equation whose LHS and RHS constituted money.
Idlis had long been replaced by paddus and poha for breakfast, at the Sowmini household. In fact, the consumption of idlis was limited to sick days and were considered a medicine than a meal. They were too bland to be part of our flavorful life. The concept of pocket money too faded away, as everything was readily available through apps and parents strived to bridge the gap between needs and wants of their kids. In fact, in today’s world, every thing is a need. Every object that the heart desires, has to be procured, oh yes, in less than 10 minutes! Tap and pay gave way to scan and pay. Digital transactions revolutionized the idea of currency. Money became as liquid as melting ice. ATMs became null and void. A visit to a bank became a phenomenon as rare as the total solar eclipse. Convenience and comfort defined the payments landscape. UPI wiped out our memory of physical currency. Purses and wallets became redundant fashion statements. Why carry cash or credit cards, when digital payments are the norm of the nation? A mobile phone is all that one needs, while stepping out of the house. The mobile has reached the status of an omnipotent deity. Our world has shrunk to a group of icons in the mobile phone.
A plate of idlis costs about seventy rupees today. The idli is no longer a simple dish sought by the humble or less privileged. It has regained its egalitarian status now, pleasing the taste buds of the elite and the needy alike. The humble idli has now morphed into newer forms and flavors like masala idli, kothu idli, chilli idli, podi idli and the outlandish of all, idli manchurian! None of these can compete with the unembellished yet paradisiacal taste of the idlis of my school days. Nor can all the money in the world bring back the unadulterated joy that a plate of idlis offered me then. Idli introduced me to the world of currency and commerce. This white round ball of joy has taught me modesty, mindfulness and mathematics. I owe a lifetime of allegiance and gratitude to the humble rice cake of this country.
This story is inspired by the 100 day storytelling initiative by Your Story Bag. This is my story for day 20/100 of #2023TheStoriedWay
