The Kid Who Invented Money

It’s 1997, I’m eleven years old, and I’m living in a small town in UP where the biggest excitement is when someone gets a new bicycle. But suddenly, cricket betting hit our street like a thunderbolt. Kids who used to play for fun were now playing for money, and man, was it thrilling! There was just one tiny problem – I was broke.

Every time I asked my parents for money to join the betting matches, they’d give me the same lecture: “Son, gambling is bad. We don’t want you doing this.” They’d shake their heads like I’d asked them to buy me a rocket ship. So there I was, watching from the sidelines while my friends played intense cricket matches with real stakes. My heart sank every time they celebrated a winning bet while I sat there with empty pockets. Sure, I could join the “friendly” games, but let’s be honest – when there’s no money involved, nobody really cares if you drop a catch or bowl a wide. It was like playing cricket in slow motion while everyone else was living in fast-forward. I felt like a ghost in my own neighborhood, invisible and forgotten.

This went on for weeks. I was getting desperate. I needed money, but I had no money to get money. It was the ultimate catch-22.

Then one evening, while staring at a five-rupee note my aunt had given me for sweets, a crazy idea struck me like a lightning bolt: Why don’t I just… make my own money? I was filled with excitement, but soon I faced my first problem in making my money successful. I remembered hearing somewhere that the RBI keeps gold reserves, and that’s why our money has value. How can I make my money valuable? I sat there for hours, thinking so hard my brain felt like it might explode. How do you create money when you have nothing valuable to back it up?

And then it hit me – the most brilliant idea an eleven-year-old brain has ever conceived! I would create a “Money Generating Cricket Tournament.” Revolutionary, right? Here’s how it would work: I’d organize cricket tournaments where I could finally play alongside everyone else, and everyone would get prize money based on their rank – first place gets the most, but even last place gets something! The genius part? Every player in the tournament would witness the money being generated and distributed – they’d be living proof that this currency was real and earned through actual cricket skills! The crucial rule? Only one tournament could happen every 15 days to prevent too much money flooding the market. I carefully designed this rule to make the system robust (okay, I didn’t know about economic terms back then, but I knew too much money would make it worthless). Each note would have the tournament name, date, and my signature. I’d maintain a record book for authenticity. And the best part – I gave my currency a proper name. I don’t exactly remember what I called it now, but I think it was “Shringla.” It sounded official, important, and definitely more serious than just using my own name.

I pitched this idea to the kids on my street with the enthusiasm of a door-to-door salesman. But oh boy, was I in for a reality check.

“You want us to play for… fake money?” Ravi asked, looking at me like I’d completely lost my mind.

“It’s not fake!” I protested desperately. “It’s… alternative currency!”

That’s when the real torture began. Kids didn’t just laugh – they howled with laughter. They pointed at me, slapped their knees, and some even fell on the ground giggling. “Tarun has gone crazy!” they shouted to anyone who would listen. “What’s next, Tarun? Will you open a bank too?” The teasing was relentless. For days, whenever I walked by, kids would wave imaginary money at me and burst into laughter. Some would pretend to be serious businessmen, saying things like “Sir, I would like to exchange my bottle caps for your premium currency!” I felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out. Most kids walked away shaking their heads, muttering about “Tarun’s crazy ideas.”

But just when I thought I’d have to give up my dream forever, a miracle happened. A few kids – bless their curious souls – said, “Well, what’s the harm? Let’s see what happens.” Those few brave souls were willing to take a chance on the neighborhood’s resident “crazy inventor.” I spent the next three days creating the most beautiful Shringla notes you’ve ever seen. I drew cricket bats, balls, and stumps with my colored pencils. I made different denominations – 5 Shringlas, 10 Shringlas, and the coveted 50 Shringla note with extra glitter.

The first tournament was tiny – just four players, including me and my brother! Finally, I could play real cricket with real stakes! I announced it like a cricket commentator: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the First Bi-Monthly Money-Generating Cricket Championship!” We played our hearts out. All four of us got prize money based on our ranks – I didn’t win (came third, if you must know), but I didn’t care – I was finally playing the kind of cricket I’d been dreaming about! I kept detailed records like a proper banker, documenting who got what amount of Shringlas. Then something happened, though not immediately. At first, my brother and the other two kids from the tournament were a bit hesitant about using these colorful notes.

But slowly, very slowly, they started bringing them to regular matches. Other kids were curious about these strange new notes with cricket drawings. I think the idea how these notes are generated really impressed them. Also, having more of this money was a badge they were great players. The adoption didn’t happen overnight. It took weeks of me organizing more tournaments, more kids slowly joining, and gradually building trust in the system. Some kids were skeptical – “This is just paper with drawings!” – but as they saw others actually using Shringlas and having fun with them, they began to come around. Soon, kids were asking when the next tournament would be. Some even started accepting Shringla currency for trading cricket cards and comic book rentals. This really bolstered the adoption of money. I had slowly, patiently built a functioning economy! Within a month, half the street was using Shringlas. I was conducting tournaments, playing in intense matches, managing the money supply, and even dealing with my first economic crisis when someone tried to forge my notes (I caught them because their drawing skills were terrible). I had solved my problem, created a financial system. Not bad for an eleven-year-old who just wanted to play cricket with his friends.

Looking back, I think I might have been the youngest person to ever invent a currency. Take that, cryptocurrency inventors – I was doing it with colored pencils and cricket tournaments before it was cool! Years later, after my father’s transfer had taken us far away from that little street, I got a message on Facebook from one of my old friends. He’d just learned about cryptocurrency and wrote: “Dude, you were way ahead of your time! Remember your Shringla money? You basically invented crypto in 1997!” It made me smile. Sometimes the craziest childhood ideas aren’t so crazy after all. The Shringla slowly faded away as we all got busier with school and life moved on.

Like all great financial empires, our street economy eventually crumbled – not from any major crisis, but from the simple passage of time and childhood’s short attention span. But for that magical period, our little street had its own banking system, its own currency, and its own economic rules.