The Quirky Souvenir

Late one night, around 2 a.m., a Canara Pinto Travels bus traveling from Goa to Mumbai was stopped by the police. Three officers boarded the bus. With a quick sweep of the passengers using their flashlights, they noted the bus was nearly empty, with only a few families asleep. One passenger, in particular, caught the attention of the lead officer—a man in his mid-thirties, who looked exhausted, deeply asleep in a reclined seat. He was traveling alone, with two bags on the seat beside him, which likely piqued the officer's curiosity.

"Excuse me, sir, please wake up," the officer said, shining the flashlight into the man's eyes. The light made the man squint as he groggily woke, confused and unsure of who had woken him. As reality sank in, he sat up quickly, now fully alert.

"We need you to open your bags," the officer demanded.

"Sorry?" the man asked, still dazed.

"I said, open the bags. Now," the officer repeated firmly.

The man, still confused, fumbled to find the keys to unlock the small padlocks on his bags. After a moment of struggle, both bags were unlocked.

The first bag was filled with various packets of cashews—salted, plain, masala-coated, chocolate-covered—and a collection of Goan masalas, including rechad, cafreal, vindaloo, and roast masala. The officer shot him a suspicious look.

"For family and friends back in Bombay," the man explained.

Before the second bag could be opened, the officer’s flashlight flickered and went out. In the dim light, the man unzipped the second bag, which contained his clothes along with more packets of goodies.

"Sir, I know the rules. I’m not carrying any liquor," he said, anticipating the officer’s next question.

The officer ignored him and instructed his team to search the bag thoroughly. The constables gathered around the bag as though it were a patient on an operating table, with the officer standing over them like a surgeon.

Despite the commotion, the man was so exhausted that his eyelids began to droop again, and he soon drifted back to sleep. But then, something happened that jolted both the man and the officers wide awake.

"Sir, look what we’ve found," one of the constables said with pride, holding up three medium-sized, zip-lock bags filled with a white powder.

The constables handed the bags to the lead officer.

"Care to explain this, sir?" the officer asked, holding the bags up to the man’s face.

The man started to sweat, his voice trembling with fear. "Sir, please believe me, I have no idea where this came from. This isn’t mine!"

The officer, glaring at him, replied, "Don’t worry. Once we get to the station, we’ll help you remember exactly where this came from."

He opened one of the packets and, in the dim light, sniffed the contents before preparing to escort the man off the bus.

Meanwhile, sitting in the last seat, terrified and confused, was me—a seven-year-old girl—watching this unfold alongside my father. I had seen police officers before, but only in Amitabh Bachchan movies. This was my first time seeing them so up close. I couldn’t understand why they were surrounding my dad and treating him like a criminal. I wanted to protect him, to tell them they were wrong—that my dad was a hero, not a villain. But I was helpless, and before I could act, my exhaustion took over and I fell back asleep.

Two days earlier, in Goa…

My sister Susan, who was five years older than me, and I were playing in a park in Ponda. I still remember that park vividly. It was the prettiest I had ever seen as a child. It had vibrant flowers, smooth white pebbles, and soft, white artificial sand spread across the playground. I had collected over a dozen pebbles in my play bucket and ran to show my mother, who was sitting on a nearby bench, calling us to head back to the hotel.

"Sharon, where’s Susan? I’ve called you both several times! We need to go; your dad’s waiting for help with packing," she said.

Just then, Susan came running over, eager to spoil my fun.

"Mummy, Sharon’s trying to take pebbles home! Is that allowed?" she tattled.

I shot her a dirty look.

"Of course not, Sharon. Empty that bucket right now," my mother ordered.

I sulkily emptied the pebbles and stood there, thinking of what else I could take back with me without anyone noticing, especially Susan.

I returned to the hotel with an empty bucket but feeling victorious.

What no one knew was that I had stuffed my shoes with artificial sand before we left the park. Later, I emptied the sand into small plastic pouches meant for toiletries and slipped them into my dad’s bag. As a seven year old I was excited. If not the pebbles I could take the sand as a souvenir of the trip.

That night on the bus, my mom and sister took the last row of seats to sleep, while my dad, sitting a few rows ahead, had no idea that one of the bags he was guarding held my “secret.”

The next morning, as we arrived home, the memory of the cops surrounding my dad flashed in my mind, jolting me awake. I looked around, relieved to see my dad sitting next to me, laughing with my mom and sister about the events of the night.

I overheard my dad describing how the cops had opened the bag, sniffed the powder, and even tasted a bit in the dark. I froze in shock. I was terrified, realizing that my little secret had caused all this trouble.

Just then, my sister pointed at me and said loudly, "Mummy, Dada, look at the guilty face of the real criminal!"

They all turned to me and burst into laughter. For once, I was speechless. But I leapt onto my dad, hugging him tightly. My sister joined in, and the four of us embraced. It was, without a doubt, one of the best moments with my family