At 7 AM, in the biting cold of Zawoora, a young student stood at the bus stop, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His face was tense—not just from the morning chill but from a problem that had unsettled him since the night before. In his pocket was a single 500-rupee note, and he needed smaller denominations to pay for the two buses that would take him to university.
The problem seemed trivial but carried real consequences. Bus conductors rarely accepted large bills, and in Kashmir, where digital transactions remain inconsistent, the availability of smaller notes can often dictate whether one reaches their destination on time.
With uncertainty weighing on him, he climbed onto the back of a load-carrier and reached his next stop. The first challenge awaited him: finding change. His best bet was the ATM nearby, but as he approached the screen and inserted his card, disappointment struck—“This ATM is currently out of service.”
The first setback of the day.
A second ATM stood a few minutes away. He hurried there, clinging to hope. This time, the machine was operational. But just as quickly as his hope had risen, it crumbled. The screen displayed: “Please enter nominations of 500 only.”
He sighed. It was a familiar problem—ATMs in Kashmir often dispense only high-value notes, making it difficult for daily commuters and small-scale vendors to conduct transactions smoothly. He stood outside for a moment, staring at the machine, wondering what to do next.
Just then, he noticed a man standing nearby, watching him. The man was smiling—not in mockery, but with something unreadable in his expression. The student found himself smiling back.
The man hesitated before asking, “Does it work?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Did you get the money?”
“No, only 500s. I already have one.”
“I need to withdraw, but I don’t know how to use it,” the man admitted.
The student had been warned against helping strangers with ATM transactions. But before he could stop himself, he said, “Let me help you.”
It took longer than expected, but the transaction went through. The man left with a grateful nod, while the student remained where he was, his problem still unsolved.
The First Bus: A Gamble on Trust
Back at the bus stop, he decided there was no choice but to try his luck with the conductor. He boarded the bus, choosing a seat at the back, hoping to delay the inevitable.
The conductor approached.
The student hesitated, but with no other option, he pulled out his crisp 500-rupee note and muttered, “Did you really have to come to me first today?”
The conductor smirked. “I sensed it.”
Unlike past experiences, the conductor didn’t protest. Instead, he asked another passenger for change and sorted it out without argument. A small victory.
Yet, as he stared out the window, he realized the real challenge was still ahead. The second bus awaited. Would his luck hold out?
At his final stop, he faced the same problem again. No smaller notes, no ATMs in sight. This time, he decided to approach the bus conductor directly.
“Is there an ATM nearby?” he asked, hoping for a different outcome.
“I don’t know… Maybe somewhere around,” the conductor replied, barely interested.
The maybe was enough to spark hope. Not because of the ATM, but because the conductor seemed approachable.
He tried again. “Actually, I only have a 500. I was hoping to withdraw change.”
Silence. No immediate response. Had he miscalculated?
With growing nervousness, he asked: “Do you accept online payment?”
The conductor glanced at him before responding, “Ask the driver. He’ll know.”
That was enough. He stepped into the empty bus and walked up to the driver.
“Can I pay online? I only have a 500, and there’s no ATM nearby.”
Would this be his final stroke of luck?
The driver barely looked at him and nodded. “Sure, you can transfer it.”
Relief.
But as he took out his phone, a new worry emerged—did he even have enough balance in his bank account?
He hesitated, tapped on his phone with shivering hands, and… it worked.
He transferred the 20-rupee fare.
The problem that had consumed his entire morning was finally over.
An Everyday Struggle in Kashmir
For many in Kashmir, this is not an unusual ordeal. The region’s banking services often fall short, with ATMs frequently running out of cash or dispensing only high-value notes. The shift to digital payments remains incomplete, with many public transport operators and small vendors still reliant on cash transactions.
Beyond transportation, this dependence on limited cash circulation affects shopkeepers, daily wagers, and people in rural areas who lack easy access to banks. It’s a daily inconvenience that highlights a deeper infrastructural gap—one that policy changes alone have struggled to fix.
For the student, this was just another morning in Kashmir. Another day navigating a system where even the smallest transactions require negotiation, patience, and, at times, blind faith in luck.
Would tomorrow be any different? He didn’t know. But as he walked toward his university gates, one thought lingered:
“This is the way of the world.”
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