The Vanishing Wallet
Having seen many penniless days during childhood as the eldest male sibling in a large orphaned family, I know the value of money beyond its numeric form. In those difficult years, we lived hand to mouth, and the very idea of spare cash was foreign. Yet, even in my teenage years, I proudly owned a wallet; perhaps modest in appearance but immense in symbolic worth. From that point onwards, some amount of cash, however little, almost always stayed tucked inside. The physical presence of currency brought with it not just purchasing power but also a quiet sense of stability and assurance.
Half a century ago, penny or piggy banks (bugni), simple clay pots with a slit for inserting coins, were a cherished part of childhood. They were far more than saving tools; silent companions that instilled discipline, patience, and the concept of delayed gratification. The excitement of breaking one open was a rite of passage, a celebration of perseverance in an age untouched by digital temptations or instant spending. During those hard days, I had initiated coin collections on several occasions, but more often than not, the pot had to be broken prematurely due to pressing needs.
As I stepped into my teenage years and later into professional training, the wallet evolved into more than a money holder. It became a part of my identity; a constant companion that traveled with me on every outdoor trip nestled securely in the inner pocket of my coat or the back pocket of my pants. Over time, it carried not just cash but identity cards, receipts, tickets and eventually photographs of loved ones. Integrated into my personal life, that leather wallet became a silent witness to my life’s journey.
Over the past decade, however, physical bank visits to withdraw or deposit cash have dwindled, first replaced by ATMs and now by smart phones. What began as a matter of convenience has gradually morphed into a digital dependence. Mobile-based transactions have become so ingrained in our lives that we barely noticed their quiet takeover. Today, even modest street vendors like tea sellers, vegetable vendors, and skilled labourers; many of whom are illiterate carry barcode scanners confidently. We’ve reached a point where we half-joke that beggars might soon reject coins in favour of QR codes.
Today, for the first time, I found myself completely cashless - not because of poverty, but because the world has shifted. Ironically, even though I’m fully aware and grateful (Alhamdulillah) that the Almighty has granted me more than I could ever deserve I still felt a strange discomfort in finding myself without any hard cash. That discomfort stems not just from the disruption of an old habit but also from a deeper mistrust in the faceless realm of cyberspace and the ever-looming threat of cybercrime.
This shift signifies more than just technological advancement; it marks a cultural transformation. The wallet; once a symbol of adulthood and responsibility, is vanishing from our pockets. The next generation may encounter wallets only occasionally, and their children may know them only through archival images or digital museum collections. Bugnis are now relics; wallets are next in line. In this quiet transition from the tangible to the virtual, we are undeniably gaining convenience. Yet, in the process, we may be losing a certain kind of connection with our past, our habits, and the emotions tied to everyday objects like a wallet or a penny bank.
