But at times it attains a hilarious tone, one that reminds you of both the necessity and futility of riches. Just as it happened one day. The notes had all vanished from my bag, via a day out with my son and a shopping spree. The next morning, I noticed that there was just enough petrol in the scooter to reach the office. How to cover the day's assignments? Moreover, transaction by cheque would take one more day. I optedout of the morning meeting, which is a must for us reporters to chalk out the day's agenda, for then there would not be petrol for the evening assignment ride. I took out the two purses that I keep for my servant's use, one exclusively for coins. I was a bit lucky there. Counting the one rupee, 50 paise and 25 paise coins, I even came to the 20 bit which nobody uses now. With two Rs 5 coins that lay in my bag, my cluster amounted to Rs 35. Wow!

Armed with that cache, I darted across. Destination: my `fixed' petrol pump near the office. The advantage of having fixed ideas, which my husband teases me for now and then, was manifested then. I had the petrol filled in for my assortment's worth and after the boy shut the lid, I told him with my characteristic sheepish grin, ``Bhaiyya! I can give you all these coins only today. But I promise, tomorrow I will hand out a crisp Rs 100 note.'' He counted them and, keeping the 20 paise ones apart, said, ``Didi, yeh to koi lega nahin.'' Promising him, I'd take them backthe next day, I zoomed off, humming the ABBA number.

The next day, I withdrew a few crisp notes from the bank and promptly reached the pump. The moment they spotted me in the queue, the boy began picking up the 20 paise coins from his collection bag. When I had the petrol filled for Rs 100 and handed over the note, the boy held out the silver hexagons and asked, ``Ab iska kya karoon?'' ``Tell your owner to give the coins away as alms,'' I quipped.

Strangely, contrary to the exhilarated mood of the previous evening, I was feeling a bit low on my way back; a kind of sad pensiveness engulfed me. I could not figure out what it was but I was disturbed for a while. Maybe my own words, the direction about the alms, must have been behind the blue mood. For, was I not a recipient of these very alms? What am I without the money? What can I do without the `Gandhi-headed green paper' in this world?

I was stopped on my reflective thought-lane by a voice at the traffic intersection, ``Beti! I have not eaten anythingtoday.'' An old woman in rags. I looked at myself; here I am, clad in all possible woollens to thwart the wintery chill and there she, old enough to be my grandmother, stood in tattered clothes without any footwear. Her half-revealed stomach shrank within. And I was on my way home for a sumptuous lunch. I took out the remaining Rs 20 note and gave it to her. She just could not believe her eyes and began muttering her blessings which covered my entire household.

Meanwhile, the light had turned green. As I rode on, a strange kind of elation took hold of me, that eccentric mood of the previous evening came back. Since it was rush hour and there were many co-riders on the road, I did not risk indulging in the glee but laughed and sang inside, ``Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich man's world. Aha...All the things I could do...If I had a little money...In a rich man's world!''