Saurabh Paul

Drama Crime

4.0  

Saurabh Paul

Drama Crime

The Pickpocket's Valentine Day

The Pickpocket's Valentine Day

10 mins
245


A branded full-sleeved shirt delicately tugged inside the denim black trousers; a matching, glittering leather waist belt; polished shoe; a thin spectacle frame, expensive wristwatch, and an impressive laptop bag slinging down my right shoulder: precisely my attire every time I board the air-conditioned bus during the peak hours- office timings. 

       I can easily pass off as another corporate employee on my daily march to the office, but I am a Pick-Pocket. And my naive look further accentuates the impression that I want to deceive onlookers with.  

  Throughout my 'career' I have a set of few rules which I follow religiously.  

Always board the costlier air-conditioned buses (not the conventional ones) where I can find gullible preys in abundance and a much deeper pocket to dig. · The office hours are the most preferred time of my operation because the buses are usually crowded, not a single seat is vacant to occupy, with a sizeable crowd standing and clutching to whatever support they can hold on to. Unmistakably, always give the impression that I am one of them- a corporate employee in a hurry to reach office, or an imperative meeting to attend. On rare occasions, even if any seat is free to be occupied, still consider standing near the door of the bus, the ideal place for my master-stroke, to be executed just at the time the passenger is about to dismount. By the time the victim realized that his pocket had been picked, the bus would have already left.  Never frequent the same bus route -lest my face should become familiar with the on boarders.  

Despite all the precautions that I took to elude being caught, I was caught 'in the act' when initially into the trade - thrashed mercilessly, and even ended up being in police lock-up to be released in a day or two. I still remember my first day on the 'job' vividly. I had planned it. I had been keeping an eye on my first probable 'victim': he always had his headphone on his ears, apparently listening to songs and occasionally humming - blissful in his world.  

"Perfect person to start with," I thought to myself. 

A fortune-teller, a certain 'awakened' person in whose prophecy I had a lot of faith, advised me: 

"Monday morning, 12th day of the month, between 11 AM to 11:30 AM, is auspicious for you," he said with conviction. 

I was happy because the time that he had mentioned was, as I supposed, pretty much about the time my perspective victim used to alight the bus.  

But on that day, due to incessant rain and slow traffic, the bus was running slow. I kept an eye on my watch, it was almost 11:30 AM, and his bus-stop was nearing. As I waited anxiously for him, near the exit door clinging on to the overhead bar, he eventually made his move. I observed him as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." 

       And at the stroke of 'Zero'- as the exit door was switched open for passengers to get down - I slid my hand inside his pocket. My shaky hand movements were far from swift and it seemed to get stuck somewhere inside his pocket. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that his pocket was infringed. But when he did, he removed his earphones, and on spotting me and what I was up to, he furiously started pushing and slapping me. Soon others joined in thrashing me, and the bandwagon ensured that I was fairly bruised before being kicked out of the bus. Fortunately, none seemingly had time to hand me over to the police. I did not lose faith on my dependable Babaji though because I believed my failed attempt was beyond the 'auspicious time' that he had suggested. By the time I could make sense of things around- recovering from the physical onslaught- it was well-passed midday. Experience, gradually, turned me into an 'accomplished hand' and ensured that I evaded detection and even failure- almost always.    

 But that day was the fourteenth day in February- my birthday.  

"Birthday must be off day- no business today!" I told myself. 

"Be helpful to somebody today" – another pledge I keep every birthday. 

      I had a faint awareness that the same day of the year is celebrated as Valentine's Day –the day of the year, I presume, when lovers spend time in the mutual company, exchange gifts- professing love for each other. But I was convinced that such occasion was not meant for me: of course until that birthday. 

     I had boarded the bus that day for on every birthday I take a spiritual journey to a certain Shiva temple. My monthly bus-pass always comes in hand.  

            And on that day, I looked for a relatively less crowded bus, entered it, and quite uncharacteristically, seated myself comfortably in an unoccupied seat by the window: relaxed. A few minutes hence, a ruffled young lady boarded the bus and hurriedly placed herself in the aisle seat next to me. The lady soon occupied herself in exploring her mobile handset and hardly anything around seemed to bother her. An occasional furtive glance hither and thither-and then she was again back to her business. 

   A few minutes had elapsed and the bus-conductor came asking for tickets. She had not bought the ticket yet and searched her carry-bag, and eventually, a sense of despair descended on her face. 

 "I forgot my money-purse!" she exclaimed in desperation. 

The bus-conductor took her agonized outburst with a pinch of salt.  

"Please dismount madam….I come across passengers now and then who claim to have forgotten their wallet at home," replied the conductor with insolence visible in his face. 

 The initial despair in her face, as I noticed, soon gave away to embarrassment. The nearby passengers looking at her -few with suspect, few with sympathy- did not help the precarious situation that she found herself in. She remorsefully got up from her seat and proceeded towards the exit door as the bus-conductor whistled the bus driver to stop abruptly. 

    I, who had been a keen spectator of the events unfolding, spoke out in an impulse: 

 "Will you mind me paying your fare?" 

 ("She must be the one I am intended to help today: Godsend," I thought) 

The lady, who seemed to be oblivious of my presence while she was seated beside me, suddenly turned around on her way to the door. 

   I confirmed her with an assuaging smile. 

  With the conductor making hurried gestures to the lady to get down after the bus had stopped, she, as if in a daze, pointing her finger towards me, indicated the conductor to collect the fare from me. 

 I kept my promise.  

Thanking me profusely, the lady again placed herself in the same previously vacated seat next to me. 

 "Going to your office?" I started the conversation. 

   "Yes," the lady acknowledged with a meek smile: the sense of humiliation hovering over her. 

  "Where do you work? What is your name?" I added in the same breath. 

  "Srishti," she said," I am a Software Engineer." 

  "And you?" she asked almost immediately. 

     "I am into Sales," I replied quickly. I deliberately 'picked' up a different work profile so that I don't face uncomfortable questions regarding my 'assumed' job profile.  

"And I am Rahul," I continued: the name that occurred to him at that instant. 

     A brief smile was exchanged, followed by a very short chat about the weather and traffic that day. I was conscious not to speak much fearing that might not suit her sensibilities. I did pick up some mannerism of the corporate guys, which helps me in my line of work, but speaking decently on any topic was a different proposition. 

     The slow-moving, and sometimes stagnant, traffic ensured that we had a reasonable time together. I was never in a hurry, and now the lady also seemed to be at peace-with her mobile handset inside her bag. 

Our eyes occasionally met, and every time it did, I could sense my hear-beat accelerating.  

I never took notice of the fairer sex before as they were not my prospective 'clients' either on the bus or on-road; I am not a bag snatcher after all. 

"I missed out on better things in life in pursuit of pockets…. bigger pockets," I rued. 

     But I loved the experience of seating beside her and occasionally exchanging a glance with a smile. 

  A sudden vibration of the cell phone in the lady's bag came in as an interlude. She hurriedly reached out for her mobile handset and picking up the call, spoke in a very hush-hush tone: hardly audible to me. 

    But the call was not a short one, and with each passing moment, I could sense anxiety within me. I was not sure why- I had never experienced similar emotion before. And when eventually the lady got over with the call, I exuded a sigh of relief. 

 "So what are you doing today? It's Valentine Day, right!" the lady recommenced after a brief pause, smiling. 

"Hmm..," I blabbered. 

"Are you married?" she continued.  

"No." 

"You have someone special in your life?" she asked digging further. 

"Well…ha…yes.., I mean," I muttered undecidedly. 

"What is her name?" asked the lady suddenly getting excited. 

 "Hmmm…" 

 Just as I kept mumbling, she came to my rescue- 

"I guess I am getting too far, it is only our first meeting after all," she added with a semblance of regret. 

 I managed a smile. 

Soon the bus was about to reach the stop where I was planning to get down. Because near the stop was the Shiva temple and on every birthday I bow down my head in front of the lord seeking redemption for all my misdeeds, particularly, for all the pockets that I had picked.  

      I wanted to ask the lady her mobile number; I wanted to talk with her. Talk to her every day. But I held myself back- how could I forget that my way of 'earning' a livelihood forbade me to nurture a healthy relationship? 

 "I need to get down at the next stop; my office is near the bus stop," I said rather sadly.  

    I picked myself up from the seat, and on reaching the exit, looked back: my beautiful companion was smiling at me weaving me goodbye. 

 I returned that with a smile of acknowledgement. 

And if I ever despised my way of making a living it was at that very moment. 

"What a wretched existence!" I cursed myself. 

"Had I been engaged with a better job, I could have talked more with her, befriended her, and then one fine day maybe …."  

        And as I made my way from the bus-stop to my destination, I started day-dreaming of a blissful, conjugal life with Sristi. The clinking bells, on reaching the temple, ensured my shock-awakening.   

             Bowing on my knees in front of the Lord, I remembered that it is time to bring out the one rupee coin and deposit it at the feet of the Lord: the price that I pay to enable Shiva to grant me salvation. Digging my hand inside the back-pocket I could not feel my wallet…it was empty! 

  I might have cleaned so many pockets, but this was the first time that I found my pocket empty. 

"Had I not brought my wallet? No, that cannot be-I paid for the lady's bus fare, I displayed my bus-pass," were my first thoughts. 

"Did I lose it on my way from the bus to the temple? No, it can't be –there was hardly anyone on the road, and none within my arm's length at least: I might have been day-dreaming but I am never so absent-minded." 

 Scratching my head, and rewinding the events since I ascended the bus, I was soon open-mouthed in disbelief: I recollected how the lady had bent forward to fix her shoes (so she pretended) while I was passing across her seat. 

"I had applied the same tricks myself, so many times! She must have picked my pocket on her way up; how can I mistake it!" 

 And then I realized that as the lady had unzipped her carry bag to get hold of her ringing cell phone, there were notes- tens, hundreds. I happened to see it by the corner of my eyes. 

"How did it not make me suspicious?" 

"And just like I am not Rahul…she can't be Srishti!"  

 Bewildered, I looked straight at the Lord Shiva's face- it was calm as ever: in deep meditation. And suddenly I felt calm inside- for I was convinced that the Lord has granted me salvation: for all the pockets that I had picked, my pocket got picked once. 

 Lord has chosen his day so well, I thought, "on my birthday!" 

"It was a pleasant Valentine's day also…" I blushed, muttering to myself. 

"Only that my pocket got picked," I contented myself.


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