Dear PM, my 4-year-old son wants to know if Modi uncle will take away his toys

I've taught a few things to my son - one being the name of our country and the other the name of its prime minister - apart from the hankering that he maintain decorum in the house and outside for the love of his mother and his countrymen.

While he cannot still write his name, he can clearly read "Modi" as well as spot the PM in a crowd. That took a lot of hard work. All in good faith. Post surgical strikes in Pakistan, my son thought our prime minister and the Indian Army were a group of batmen and supermen, and rightly so.

But, when Mr Modi decided to do away with 500- and 1000-rupee notes, discussions at home, every now and then, left him confused. We were hailing his "masterstroke" and "surgical strike" and criticising the repercussions for the common man, all at the same time.

The decoding of conspiracy theories got my son's goat. And then the question, "What is demonetisation?"

Yes, he pronounced the word with perfect diction and that was enough to call for a celebration. But, where's the money, honey?

So, he went on, without blinking an eye, "you have no money now?", "how will you buy my toys?", "you will not buy me candy now?", "Nanu (my father) will not get us a new car now?" "What will happen now?" he asked.

"Will Modi uncle also take away my toys, my clothes... will he take away my cycle?"

Many such will-he take-aways and some warm hugs later, I assured my son that it is, after all, not as bad and that he was safe; that his things were safe.

Mr Modi was not going to strip him off his toys or belongings. Let's at least hope so.

But my heart sank. Why would something as huge as this not be planned well enough? Why would Mr Modi become a Muhammad Bin Tughlaq?

Unfortunately, no one knows the why and no one ever will.

It was an emergency situation for my son and he demanded answers. Much like his own mother who was puzzled and had not an iota of clue about how the house would run and how the cash payments would be made. For us both, it was an emergency. For him, it was worse. He was clinging to his recently bought bicycle like it would vanish when Modi uncle fancies. From superman, my four-year-old's prime minister became a witch of the darkest tales told.

So, today, I decided to wake up early and queue up outside the closest ATM or at least have my cheque cleared and return home only after I had enough cash in hand. I managed it only after hurling a few expletives at all banks possible for making me feel utterly inadequate and insecure, perhaps because I knew my four-year-old son's world had already come crashing down. And, I needed cash for the small joys money (cash) could buy.

Not only this, some of our everyday rituals have suffered setbacks:

1. The morning ritual of buying milk with cash payment has stopped. My four-year-old thinks he must save a glass of milk and hence avoid it altogether. What if there is no money to buy it tomorrow? What if the queue is long enough to scare us away?

2. When I return home from work, it has to be with some goodies, chocolates, a random toy or even the Chhota Bheem balloons bought from the roadside. But this has stopped and hence my four-year old has already started feeling like we are going through tough times.

3. With Rs 100 for an entire weekend, there is little one can do. Even the garden of five senses does not accept cards. And, although there is no denying that plastic money has saved us all, the parking at the malls still don't accept cards.

In such desperate times, Rs 40 an hour is no joke after all. Hence, bedtime stories are told on the loop all through the weekend.

Raiding the piggy banks as a desperate measure. This was huge and with due respect, prime minister Sir, I had to cook up a story and feed my son some lies for breakfast that you, Mr Modi, came while my little one was still asleep and took the piggy bank away.

Because I had failed to withdraw money and my bank has been tweeting apologies for being cash-strapped. Hence, I had to raid my son's bank. Fair enough, Mr Modi? As I narrate to you the fears of a four-year-old, I can only tell you these mirror mine.

Will Mr Modi now decide the quotient of my happiness? Is my life or my son's at the mercy of his will? Could this autocracy mean that we are now going to be in constant fear that just like we were denied our basic human rights to live a peaceful normal life, worse could happen in the name of greater good?

So, dear Mr Modi, please return our confidence, happiness and lives.

Please note: I have no black money whatsoever. Not enough white!