A welcome change from the soiled, torn Indian currency.
Now
We can if the experiment is 'Eureka' happily do away with the rubber banded rolls of torn, soiled and scotch taped notes that are stashed away in old zippered bags in the corner of the safes, which would never see the light of day. They are the skeletons in the cupboards of our own guilt, when we accept soiled or torn notes from the butcher or the greengrocer or even our own tenant, too diplomatic to return them, for isn't the zippered bag in the corner of the safe always ready to welcome these decrepit of a derelict age as stowaways that nobody wants or does not know what to do with.
My only doubt is this. How will the women of the Indian household deal with these plastic notes, all those women who bundle their paper notes into the smallest of rolls that they can possibly make away from their kitchen to fit into the smallest of cloth bags, from which as the draper at the nearest cloth store, they unravel note upon note as nonchalantly as you please.
Will the old woman that sells greens at my door step find a bag sufficient to fit her plastic notes?
Will my maid servant that stashes her salary into the folds of her sari be able to do it anymore? Or will I have to pay her extra to buy herself a bag for her plastic notes?
Oh, these are small wavering thoughts of the mind that would quickly pass into oblivion once I set eyes on those plastic notes at the end of the year. Maybe hereafter I can safely touch those notes, that would have passed the hands of all and sundry and not rush off to the washroom to wash my hands with soap and water.
Can these plastic notes be washed and hung to dry? If I am a miser, maybe I can preserve the polymer possessions for posterity.
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