Some men are fond of writing their autobiographies. Currently, I am the smallest Indian currency in circulation. And when I see that most men are controlled by me and my family, I feel a strong desire to write my autobiography too.
I am a one-rupee coin and have been passing the busiest life for many many years. I was born in the mint in Delhi many years ago. I was brand new and shone like a star; the effigy of the king impressed my face, and on the other hand, I was marked by my value. Now I have become worn and the lettering on my back has almost been rubbed out with rough use. But still, I can remember my birth when I was issued from the Mint. Then I was shining and the lettering on my back was very distinct. I was very proud of my smart presence back then.
However, my active life began when I was paid over the counter of a bank, along with other coins and notes to a gentleman. I was jingling in his pocket, but I did not stay there for long as he gave me to a shopkeeper. Next, I came to a little boy when she bought a dot pen from the shop and got me as the balance of a ten-rupee note. She exclaimed, “Ah! I have not seen a new coin for a pretty long time.” She brought me home and kept me in her drawer with a lot of other coins.
There I found a number of rupees of my own rank, but none so new and bright as I was. I began to hate them as they were dull and worn. At this, most of the coins became jealous, but one very old rupee was kind to me. He advised me that I should honour old rupees too, as a rupee is always a rupee, however old and worn.
I can’t remember when I came out of the drawer and began to pass over to a new master, and then again to another, but I feel it is better to roll and to be worn than to be locked up in a strong-box of a miser.