Life has its own sense of humour; I found it hard to laugh though when I was pick-pocketed at the Howrah Railway Terminus on the eve of my birthday.
It was around 10 pm, I was standing in the ticket counter queue when I first noticed this peculiar man. A fellow in his late twenties, he was wearing a hooded tee and sports shoes, seemingly from a ‘decent’ family. He looked like he had been crying for a while and was in a lot of trouble. He was just standing there next to the ticket queue, staring at everyone as if he wanted to say something.
I think he noticed me noticing him and walked up to me. After a minute of awkward silence I asked him, “Ki holo?” in Bengali, realizing soon that he didn’t speak Bengali. He was a “Hindustani”, as my grandma likes to call those who speak Hindi. I asked again, “Kya hua?.” He spoke in a broken voice, choking every few words, ostensibly due to the crying. He told me that he was from Delhi, and that all his stuff including his wallet, watch, cellphone, and luggage had somehow got stolen in the train. I was almost at the ticket counter and realized that I could just ignore him. After all, you see people like him everyday trying to knock people off for some quick buck all the time.
After a few cross-questions to verify his authenticity, he showed me the copy of a GD (general diary) made at the GRP and finally requested me to get him a ticket to Delhi and maybe some food. Meanwhile it seemed my train was on time for the first time.
As much as I wanted to help, I had very little cash on me. Finally he told me that he had a duur-ka aunty in Dhanbad. I bought him a ticket to his aunt’s town and spared very little cash so that he could buy some food before running to board my train.
It seemed my night of misery was just beginning; I accidentally boarded the wrong train in a hurry. I quickly disembarked, habitually feeling my back-pocket for my wallet and realized to my horror that it wasn’t there. I figured that it must have been pick-pocketed in the train. I had lost all the IDs including my PAN card, voter-ID, my driving license as well as my debit card. Oh! and guess what, I had lost my ticket to travel as well.
I’ve often wondered why the police didn’t help that man contact his family or why he didn’t just use my cellphone to call someone, or maybe use Facebook to ping some friends of his situation. Maybe he had just panicked and couldn’t think of anything, or maybe I got taken for a ride. Who knows!