Who steals my purse steals solid cash? Shakespeare and Ghālib decode it for you
Is money God? Or is it trash? Permit me to begin with mock solemnity, almost scriptural in gravity, head bowed, voice lowered, sackcloth firmly in place. This piety, however, will not last long. Very soon, the discourse is likely to descend into inanities, and, not long after, into profanities of a distinctly unholy kind. For the moment, money pretends to be a lofty abstraction, discussed gravely over coffee by people who insist they are not materialistic. Wait a little. Very soon it clears its throat, rattles its coins, and asks who exactly is settling the bill. We publicly scold it as vulgar, privately chase it with remarkable agility, and when the landlord knocks, discover a sudden, sincere, and deeply devotional faith in its divinity. Sad jalva rū-ba-rū hai jo mizhgāñ uThā.iye tāqat kahāñ ki diid kā ehsāñ uThā.iye ( Sad jalva: a hundred grand appearances, spectacles, rū-ba-rū: face to face, mizhgāñ: eyebrows, diid: sight, ehsāñ: oblig...