The Great Coin Chase: Childhood Sprinting Nightmare

Ah, the vivid childhood memories. My dad often tasked me with the noble duty of depositing the quarterly installments for his sole savings—a life insurance policy. In our household, we shared a single bicycle, and if someone was using it, the rest of us had to wait or resort to walking.

One day, my brother had taken the bicycle, and my dad approached me with a desperate look, “It’s the last day to deposit the installment, and the office closes in an hour. Take this money and run to the office,” he implored, pressing 426 rupees and 55 paise into my palm.

“But bhai has the bicycle, and the office is nearly 2 kilometers away!” I protested, hoping for a moment of parental mercy.

“Exactly. That’s why I asked you to run,” he smirked.

It was summer, and the heat was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, let alone daring to sprint in the heatwave.

“What a sadist father I have!” I fumed internally as I looked up at the scorching sun. Of course, I kept that thought to myself; saying it aloud would mean inviting trouble.

A Race Against Time

With no other option, I sprinted the entire distance, reaching the office in less than fifteen minutes. As I entered, I was greeted by a queue of procrastinators, all united in their mission to make last-minute deposits.

That didn’t bother me much, though, as standing in line was a far cry from sprinting in the blistering heat. The office had air conditioning, and the cool breeze was like a hug from an ice cream truck.

The cashier halted his counting and stared incredulously at the coins. “What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.

“It’s for the insurance installment,” I replied innocently.

“I can see that,” he retorted. “But what about these?” he pointed at the coins with disdain.

“55 paise,” I said, suspecting nothing wrong.

“Don’t you know the 5 paise coin has been discontinued?” the cashier said, clearly unimpressed by my lack of updated currency knowledge.

“Come on, I’m just a kid. How does he expect me to keep up with coin circulation news?” I thought.

“Oh, I didn’t know that, but this is all I have,” I replied, hoping for leniency.

“This won’t work. You need to get a 25 paise coin,” he insisted, rejecting the deposit.

“What a grumpy old man!” I thought as I picked up my cash and bolted. With the office closing in thirty minutes, time was of the essence.

My dad was busy counting coins when I burst in.

“Don’t you know the 5-paise coin has been discontinued?” I blurted out, echoing the same question that had just humiliated me at the counter.

“Yeah. So what? They sent a bill for 426 rupees and 55 paise. They should accept the coins!” he insisted, showing no remorse.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you go and try your luck then?” I challenged.

My dad paused, probably gauging the temperature outside.

“Never mind. Here’s the 25 paise,” he said compassionately, flipping the coin towards me.

“Please, God, send someone to adopt me,” I silently prayed.

I must have broken all existing sprinting records that day, running even faster than before. I reached the office just two minutes before closing time and was the last person to make a deposit.

Exhausted, I returned home. My dad was still counting coins.

“Why do you do this to me?” I almost wailed.

“Someday, you’ll understand, son. Someday,” he sighed melodramatically, with the conviction of a Bollywood actor.

While I may have grumbled at the time, looking back, it’s a cherished memory of my father and life’s little lessons he imparted.