I still remember a smile spreading across his lips as he held me in his arms for both the first, and the last time. I saw it in his eyes; the happiness, the content that I brought to him; the satisfaction and honour my presence offered him because the others couldn’t have me. I saw the pride in his glittering eyes alongside my reflection.

I felt it in his touch; his hands smelt of roses, complimenting the soft cotton-like texture they had. He would often grab hold of me and tell me how lucky he was to have me around. Tracing his fingers down my salmon-hued back, he would leave me wanting for more. He admired the ink that I carried on my bare skin and would call me a work of art. As we’d lie down next to each other, the warmth of his breath against my skin sent shivers down my trembling, paper-like body which only he could calm. He carried me around in his pocket, and I didn’t mind. I could do anything for that face. And Oh, did I mention how I loved it when he smiled? Only to be deprived of it eventually.

I don’t know what went wrong. His touch became something I feared; rough, forced, and repulsive. He’d pull me, throw me on the floor, and exercise full control like he owned me. He would look at me with such unexplainable hostility that would make me want to crumble into a ball. I guess he got bored. I couldn’t even cry, I didn’t have that freedom. I think he was frustrated. His anger spared nobody. He would burst into flames and scream at other people who couldn’t give him what he asked for. I was as clueless as you, until yesterday.

It was then that he freed me of this confinement and torture what I once thought was love. He held me in his arms again, this time, with yet another smile that I hadn’t seen in days, that I so longed for. Another ray of hope, striving to make it better. But even before I could express my feelings, I was pushed into another set of hands; greasy, sweaty, and swift. My screams were left unheard. Those hands in return, gave four others like me to my traitor, except they were paler and lifeless. He traded me, and my love.

I sit here now, in this stainless-steel cash register, with nothing to lose, listening to countless stories of those inferior to me. I hear my new keeper in the background saying, “Sir, 2000 ka note hai mere pas, chhutta kal hi kisi sahab ko dediya”.


"Sauda": Transaction
"Sir, 2000 ka note hai mere pas, chhutta kal hi kisi sahab ko dediya”: Sir I have a Rs.2000 note, I gave the denominations to somebody yesterday.

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  1. If I’m not wrong, this post is talking about a Rs.2000 note? The descriptions do a good job at masking the true identity of the subject! Great work!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Shruti! Yes it is talking about the Rs 2000 note and highlighting the issues people had to go through with respect to it. Thank you so much. I’m glad you liked it! 🙂


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