T HE other day, a group of transgender people arrived at our home, clapping in perfect rhythm and announcing - before we could even process the news - that we had officially graduated to grandparenthood. How they knew remains one of life’s great mysteries, because the baby was born in Chicago, not Nagpur. But clearly, information today travels faster than light, visas and common sense. They demanded money. Not sweets. Money. For the blessings that they were showering virtually on the tiny tot, nestled safely, saat samunder paar, in his mother’s lap. And the demand was not about “whatever-you-can-give” kind. A figure was quoted that made me momentarily consider denying my own grandchild. Politely, and truthfully, I explained to the gang, “We do not keep that much cash at home.” On hearng this, one of them quickly reached into the bag and produced a maninated QR code. Resistance seemed futile. “Online payment,” they said. Just like that. Now, I must clarify something. I am not anti-technology. I use a smartphone. But the ‘smartness’ of the phone is limited to only taking picture perfect photographs. When it comes to the real ‘smart’ use of the phone, like net banking, UPI and apps that require passwords with capital letters, small letters, special characters, numerical values and possibly a family tree - I draw the line.

 

I am paranoid about hacking, scams and the very real possibility of transferring my life savings to a stranger while trying to buy coriander. I believe in cash. Real money. The kind you can count twice, fold neatly, hide in different corners of the house and forget where you kept it. Till it surfaces when you are rummaging in the dabbas. But apparently, it seems, I am the only one left who believes in hard cash. The vegetable vendor refuses cash because he has “no change”. The fruit seller points at his QR code like it’s a national ID. Restaurants announce - often proudly - “Only card or online payment.” Even temples have upgraded. Outside the donation box is a QR code, as if God Himself has said, “Enough with the coins, let’s go digital.” Then came the beggars. One morning, while travelling to office, a beggar extended her hand through the car window. I reached into my bag and offered a coin. She looked at it with visible discomfort, almost suspicion.

 

Then she pointed at the QR code pinned to her shirt. Yes, pinned. On her shirt. I felt like I had tried to pay her with cowries. I felt... yes, prehistoric, living in the times of dinosaurs. Cash, it seems, is now something people recoil from. Younger people in particular look at notes and coins the way they look at rotary phones - curious, confused and slightly alarmed. They live entirely on credit cards and online payments. They have never added or subtracted money in their lives. Ask them to count change and they panic. At this point, I surrendered. I downloaded the app. Not on my phone, mind you, but on my partner’s phone -safety first. We linked it to an account that had money only to keep it alive, the way you keep a landline connection just in case. What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. Empowered by the magic wand called UPI, my partner went on a shopping spree. The joy was childlike – giving a child a handful of money and saying, “Go enjoy.” For him the process was as easy as inhaling and exhaling. Tap here. Scan there. No counting. No guilt. No fumbling. Until the bank started calling about overdrafts. That’s when reality logged in. This overgrown child had free access to our ‘limited money’ bank account. That’s when the magic wand snapped in half. Over time, though, technology won. It always does. I still carry cash, but now it is largely ornamental. For something that costs Rs 320, I don’t want to hand over Rs 500 because that is the only note I have, and the vendor doesn’t have Rs 180 to return. He has faith in QR codes, not loose change. So here I stand, cash in my wallet, QR codes everywhere else, negotiating in a digital world where even blessings, alms and prayers come with a scan-and-pay option. . The only comfort I take is this: someday, when the network is down, batteries are dead and servers refuse to cooperate, they will all turn to me - the woman with cash - and I will smile kindly and say, “Sorry, I don’t have change.” LOL.