At San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, it is easy to lose track of how much you have spent. A snack here, a small purchase there, and suddenly you are looking for change again. On a recent visit, I found myself doing just that. Several of the small vendors I stopped at wanted cash.
It was a minor inconvenience. I could find an ATM or pass on the purchase. Still, the repeated search for notes and coins made me think about how rarely I have to do that at home in India.
UPI has made paying almost too easy to notice. At a neighbourhood shop, I scan a QR code, enter an amount and wait for the confirmation. The same routine works for a quick snack or a larger bill. There is no need to know which bank or payment app the shopkeeper uses. That shared system is what makes it so useful.
We tend to discuss digital payments in terms of transaction volumes and technology. Those things matter, but the everyday change is more interesting. A small seller does not need to rely on a customer carrying the right amount of cash. A customer does not have to abandon a purchase because there is no change. The payment takes only a moment, and both sides can get on with their day.
That does not mean every place should work like India. Vendors make choices based on their costs, customers and circumstances. Nor is UPI flawless: a weak connection, a failed transaction or a dead phone can quickly remind us why cash still matters. I would not want to travel without some.
But standing at the Wharf, cash in hand, I realised how thoroughly UPI had changed my expectations. I had come to think of a quick, interoperable digital payment as ordinary. It took a small interruption, thousands of miles from home, to notice what an achievement that is.