I am a one Rupee Coin and I am writing my autobiography. I was born in a mint in Delhi many years ago. I was brand new then and shone like a star; on my face was impressed the effigy of the King and on my other side I was stamped with my value. I was then thrown into a big sack with lots of others like me. Then, one day, I was sent off with my friends to bank. I lay there in an old iron box for many days, and then was handed over to fat man along with some currency notes.
One day my master gave me to a shopkeeper in exchange for a packet he bought, and I was dropped into a drawer, from where I could see hundred of things displayed on the shelves. I was just getting used to my surroundings when someone pushed me into his pocket. I soon discovered, to my horror, that the pocket had a hole, and before lang I found myself lying in a dirty street covered with mud. To crown it all, people stepped all over me with big, heavy boots. I cried out in pain and oh! Dear, this was not the idea of fun at all.
Thank goodness a little boy spotted me and his eyes lit up like lamps when he held and examined me. I knew I had made him happy. Just that thought wiped away all my earlier pain and discomfort. In a strange way I realized I was needed, so I stayed on with the little boy who dropped me into his bank.