Hey! Don’t step on me! I am a valuable hundred rupee note! From the luxury of a rich man’s wallet, I am demoted to a dusty sidewalk.
I am picked up by a man. Thanking the heavens, he runs to board the departing bus. Panting, he hands me to the conductor, and I slip and slide in his sweaty hands. I feel nauseous as I am put in his stinky bag. I am surrounded by small change, and I make sure they know how important I am, and I feel like a tenth grader amidst middle schoolers.
I overhear an argument—a lady does not have the exact ticket fare and insists on paying with a two hundred rupee note—and I pass from sweaty, salty palms to the soft, manicured hands of the lady as change. I feel at ease as I slide into her fragrant purse, but my bubble is burst by the bossy five hundred and thousand rupee notes. Karma.
TRING!! The lady shoves and pushes to get off the bus. The zip of her dainty tote is open, and whoosh!
I lie on the sidewalk again and find myself back to where I started.
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