done to death

Way back in our childhood’s careless days, after great persuasion, when ‘mother’ took compassion on us, she would part with a ‘double paisa’ or two as a (monthly) pocket money. Once in coon’s age, however when our hands fell on a ‘Chou-Anni’ (four Anna coin), gifted away by a bounteous visitor, our joy knew no bounds. We were so to say on cloud nine, on top of the world. For us children the days succeeding Id were full of piss and vinegar for it was on these two occasions alone that we amassed (great) riches to afford spending spree. Idi that we received from parents, their friends and relatives totaled, at the most, to a ‘Chou-Anni’ or so. The feeling of being in possession of a ‘Chou-Anni’---a denomination of four Annas of six paisa each (6*4=24 paisa) ---pleased the heart. Surprisingly for years none of us kids understood, as to why some “Chou-Annis carried 25 paisa digit imprinted on them. As they filled up the pockets, clinking of handful coins (of smaller denominations, but larger sizes) obtained after the change was indicative of a fortune.  
Frail, almost wafer thin ‘Chou-Anni’ fetched a sheep when ‘father’ was in his teens. It would buy all the essentials for an average family. During my preteens it bought us a pocketful of ‘Channa Chabeel’ with a motley collection of candies(thool mithaii, badam mithaii, sangtar mithaii), coconut wafers, kernels of ground nuts, or a dozen of wrapped up toffees, or half a dozen bananas, or a kilo or two of apples, or apricots, or pears and so on. Chou-Anni as school fees or contribution for excursion called for weeklong pleadings with parents, particularly ‘Mother’. The latter showed stubborn resistance. She was determined not to give way. We would invariably be the last to pay.      
‘Chou- Anni’ has since died its death. Last time I saw it in our house, lying on the dining table for more than a week.  None, not the domestic servant, let alone kids bothered to look at it. The former mopped up the table every day. The eight year old brat picked it up to spin for a while, and then left it, as it was where it was, ditto domestic servant. In a nostalgiac stupor when I could no longer tolerate the humilitaing treatment metted out to the hapless coin I picked it from the table. The Chou-Anni was lying in my pocket for several days now. To have its tactile feeling  my hand would slip into the pocket every now and then. The coin that stirred our imaginations in our childhood was fated to die its death. It was something miserable. To my excitement one morning the eighty something Jumma Faqir’s beggarly call woke me up. Perhaps this beggarly oldie should appreciate the intrinsic/nostalgiac worth of the dying ‘Chou-Anni’ and pay some respect to it. It was not many seconds before the coin that I had placed in his hand came flinging on my face. My action had piqued the old man and invited his wrath. As he was spewing lava, the signal was clear. ‘Chou-Anni’ had since died its death.