<p>“Those who did not declare unaccounted money under the compliance window have done it at their own peril and will be caught...”<br /><br /></p>.<p>The newspaper crumpled in my hand. Visions of detectives raiding my house blurred my senses and the room began to spin. I dare not look at the couch in front of me. Inside its cavernous recesses lay the guilty secret. <br /><br />Hidden under blankets and an assortment of linen, it had lain there for decades. I had taken it out often, held it in my hands for a few moments and deposited it back in its well camouflaged hideaway. Nobody could have guessed its contents. But, it was heavy and only I knew each and every item it contained.<br /><br />What would they do if they found it? Confiscate the loot? Send me to prison? Or, worse, track down the culprits in far off lands? I could not even feign ignorance because I knew the worth of that box and its contents. <br /><br />I had safely hidden them all these years. Their value over this period of time should have escalated. Their very antiquity would have made them priceless. However, had I declared my prized possession, they would have set the sleuths on me to explain how I came by this treasure. <br /><br />The only solution in sight now was to get rid of it. But, how? Should I steal out at night and throw it away on the garbage heap in front of my gate? Or, should I take it to a temple and deposit the contents safely in the hundi? Thank god for temples, I thought. The friendliest places for unaccounted wealth. I prayed then that my country should never change. <br /><br />But, here lay the crux of the problem. How would I break into this foolproof container? It was made out of a thick, unbreakable, plastic material with no mechanism to open or close. I took it out and examined it again as I had done several times earlier. It had a narrow opening for depositing money only and nothing more. Once deposited, the contents lay there, unaccounted and safe.<br /><br />Perhaps, I could smash it to bits before they came, and removed the contents. I remembered them so well. A brand new ten rupee currency note given to a little girl in school for being the best library user. It had been carefully folded and pushed inside. <br /><br />A crumpled five rupee note earned by her brother for a small task he had performed during a relative’s wedding was stored along with coins of various denominations. I looked at the little snout and beady eyes of the piggy bank, and put it away carefully in its hiding place before they could come.</p>
<p>“Those who did not declare unaccounted money under the compliance window have done it at their own peril and will be caught...”<br /><br /></p>.<p>The newspaper crumpled in my hand. Visions of detectives raiding my house blurred my senses and the room began to spin. I dare not look at the couch in front of me. Inside its cavernous recesses lay the guilty secret. <br /><br />Hidden under blankets and an assortment of linen, it had lain there for decades. I had taken it out often, held it in my hands for a few moments and deposited it back in its well camouflaged hideaway. Nobody could have guessed its contents. But, it was heavy and only I knew each and every item it contained.<br /><br />What would they do if they found it? Confiscate the loot? Send me to prison? Or, worse, track down the culprits in far off lands? I could not even feign ignorance because I knew the worth of that box and its contents. <br /><br />I had safely hidden them all these years. Their value over this period of time should have escalated. Their very antiquity would have made them priceless. However, had I declared my prized possession, they would have set the sleuths on me to explain how I came by this treasure. <br /><br />The only solution in sight now was to get rid of it. But, how? Should I steal out at night and throw it away on the garbage heap in front of my gate? Or, should I take it to a temple and deposit the contents safely in the hundi? Thank god for temples, I thought. The friendliest places for unaccounted wealth. I prayed then that my country should never change. <br /><br />But, here lay the crux of the problem. How would I break into this foolproof container? It was made out of a thick, unbreakable, plastic material with no mechanism to open or close. I took it out and examined it again as I had done several times earlier. It had a narrow opening for depositing money only and nothing more. Once deposited, the contents lay there, unaccounted and safe.<br /><br />Perhaps, I could smash it to bits before they came, and removed the contents. I remembered them so well. A brand new ten rupee currency note given to a little girl in school for being the best library user. It had been carefully folded and pushed inside. <br /><br />A crumpled five rupee note earned by her brother for a small task he had performed during a relative’s wedding was stored along with coins of various denominations. I looked at the little snout and beady eyes of the piggy bank, and put it away carefully in its hiding place before they could come.</p>