The Autobiography of an Old Coin

Old coins are sometimes thrown away, but I live in a beautiful wooden box and am a coin collector's pride. There are many more like me, of different shapes and sizes, and we all live in harmony. I was born many years ago out of silver. People called me a Rupee Coin. I was handled by many people, who took me to all parts of the country. Though my value was less compared to my companions, nevertheless, I was exchanged for food, books, clothes, cinema tickets, cold drinks on hot summer days, and so many other things that money can buy.


I was jingled and kept in purses, and sometimes tossed up in the air, or thrown on the ground and turned round and round. You see, I was always being used for something! The worst experience I had was when I was thrown into a dirty puddle. I shivered and felt the dirt sink into my body, and a huge foot trampled me. I had hardly recovered from the shock, when I was picked up, wiped clean and given to a sweet vendor. He threw me into a small tin box, and tired, I fell asleep. When India became independent, its currency changed.


People tried to get rid of us for we were no longer needed. I was left in the tin box, uncared for, until a small boy placed me in a beautiful, wooden box. I lie here still and am looked at every now and then. I am happy, even though I have grown old. At least, I am not thrown around, and I've found out something more- I know I'm special some strange way!!





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