Big search for small change

"Chillrai edu, chillrai edu" drones the voice, a familiar one on Chennai's buses. It makes you delve into your purse for those elusive coins. A must for obtaining that bit of paper, which is the bus ticket.

"Clink, clink''. The coins jostle in the conductor's satchel as he searches for the 25 paisa or 10 paisa he owes you. Needless to say it is missing and, left with little choice, you let it go. With luck, you may get back that change just when your destination arrives. For the ten-rupee note, a long trip lies ahead. Passed from hand-to-hand, it reaches the conductor positioned at the rear end of the bus only to be thrust back with the retort "no change''.

Whether it is the bus conductor, your ironwala with his mobile cart, the vegetable vendor or the phone booth in the corner, a never-ending demand for small change continues to grip the city. Look into the wallet or purse of the Chennaivasi.

The tattered and soiled one-rupee, two-rupee or five-rupee note shares space with a `better' looking ten-rupee or hundred-rupee note. These soiled notes are a revelation of the skill and dexterity of human fingers.

Observe how the torn edges have been pieced together, criss- crossed with cellophane tape. A masterpiece of restoration. Many such notes are doing the rounds in the city.

Recognise Gresham's law in action here. `Tis always the bad penny that goes round. Reluctance to part with small change and clean notes is almost inbuilt into every citizen as is the unwillingness to accept soiled notes. ``Vera note illaiya'' is the natural response.

With the ever-present shortage of coins and small change, keeping an `account' with the shop to be paid at the end of the month is one option. Another option is leaving the change with the shopkeeper. A question of `adjusting' during your next trip to the store for purchases. Proprietors of many a shop waste no time. Fingers point to the prominently placed board with the words "tender exact change".

"Buy a shampoo sachet or a packet of crystal salt" is the suggestion from a smart-thinking shopkeeper.

A point well taken by those wishing to settle the bill then and there. A quick solution to the problem of finding change, it's also good for the business. Leaves him free to attend to the next customer.

Occasionally an argument ensues. You refuse to accept that "ughh...piece of paper" which is the two rupee the flower vendor digs out of her surukku pai. Her reply "Bring it back to me. I will take it the next time you buy flowers, leaves you bereft of words."

"Otti kodunga, ellorum vaangipaanga" advises Ramasamy, our local mango seller, a cheeky grin on his face.

Keen to buy that bunch of coriander, curry leaves or piece of ginger that adds flavour to your meal.

Your ten-rupee will not work here. "Chillrai irukka" is what Laxmi, our regular vendor wants to know even before she unties the bundle.

Even supermarkets are no exception. The `hard to part with' attitude afflicts both the customer and the clerk at the billing counter. Perhaps the origin of the phrase chillrai buthi could be traced here.

For the already flustered clerk, its time to put into practice those lessons in `customer relations' as he tackles a long line of impatient customers waiting for billing. "Please wait for some time," pleads a cool-headed clerk. A pointed look at your watch conveys your silent protest.

Witness a customer reply with a straight face "sorry, no change". The sceptical clerk after trying his best to peek into the customers' purse gives up. Grudgingly, change is handed over minus a 25 paisa or 20 paisa.

Visit any pharmacy and `quick relief' is ready-at-hand. Remedy for lack of change lies in the jar of toffees just next to the money box.

Common among city residents is the passion for `hoarding' small change. Friend or foe, a difficult task it is to part with change. Women frequently hand over those ten-rupee or fifty-rupee notes to their spouse or offspring and send them to the shop on the pretext of making a purchase. The message is clear. "Get me change".

Board any city autorickshaw and the situation is no different. The meter reads `Rs.18.60'. The auto drive scratches his head. `No change'. Haggling over this "chillrai vishayam" is pointless.

Today's shopper has very little choice except to carry a separate receptacle for coins or the `coin purse' at all times. Valuable additions to the shopper's arsenal are the credit/debit cards and food vouchers/coupons.

A wise shopper knows that waving a ten-rupee or a fifty-rupee note at the vendor during the morning hours will invite his wrath. His choice of expletives... a dampener on your spirits.

One place where change seems to be available in plenty is the local temple. The `archanai thattu' jingles with the sound of coins.

Here an enterprising devotee finds the answer to the shortage of coins, thanks to a friendly priest who parts with coins in lieu of notes.A few minutes to spare. Try clearing the contents of your purse. You may discover a few coins unnoticed in one of the many zippered pouches. `Armed with change' for a change your shopping expedition passes off smoothly.

Ever seen the reaction when the rare brand new two-rupee note is offered. The vendor stares at it in stupefied silence wondering if it is real. On display it is for all to see. With a smile his lips mutter "this must be preserved". Not for long, rest assured. Sooner or later its journey... through innumerable hands will begin. A "riches to rags" tale retold.

VIDYA VASUDEVAN

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