Hero meets Heroine....

Continuing the saga of our pickpocket friend Abdul

Abdul spotted this slim, tall and determined looking young lady at the crowded restaurant. Not the kind of place where you would find a pretty lady of this kind, Abdul said to himself. The eatery was not known for style but definitely dished out tasty and inexpensive food. Quick meals, served by sprightly waiters who were deft with taking orders and dashing back with numerous plates and glasses…..

Abdul wasn’t really interested in more details. His eye was quick to spot that handbag that the girl had perched on the backrest of the chair next to hers. His thoughts went to what could be in the handbag, how much money could he make today.

Lifting the entire bag by itself was not his idea at all. Difficult to handle, even more difficult to run in case things got hot or crowded, he thought. Just then, as if lady luck had smiled specifically on him, the girl opened her handbag and pulled out a small wallet. The wallet looked nice and stuffed.

Abdul’s trained eye did not miss the fact that the girl was rummaging through a lot of cru

mpled pieces of paper within the wallet, to ferret out some notes. The wallet appeared to be full of notes. Of course, for a moment, another thought did cross his mind. Once more, actually. What was a girl like this doing in an eatery like this? But once more, Abdul’s single-minded focus drew his thoughts away to the wallet and its contents.

Waiting for an opportune moment when her attention would get diverted, Abdul sat, tapping his fingers on the table top. He consumed one more cup of tepid tea. Tea was not a hot favourite during this time. It was lunch hour, really.

And that opportune moment happened almost soon after. A bit of a commotion at the payment counter where the brooding manager sat, with a customer refusing to part with small change and asking for his balance fast. The girl turned her head to look at what was happening, and Abdul jumped. He quickly moved across to her table, and with a flash had gone past it with her wallet safely in his grasp. Even as he moved out of the restaurant, he simply slid her wallet into his ample trouser pocket, ran across to the other side of the road, and jumped into a BEST bus that was going towards Fort.

The wallet felt nice and full in his pocket. Hopefully a good catch, Abdul kept telling himself. Unable to contain his excitement, he pulled out the wallet and opened its clasp. His trained fingers pulled out the currency. There wasn’t much of that ! Exactly Rs. 230 and nothing more, except a few coins.

Abdul swore into the wallet and pulled out the papers, more out of frustration than curio

sity. He was sure there would be no cheques or anything to do with money. As he pulled at the different sized papers, a letter caught his eye.

It was written in Hindi, a language Abdul knew from childhood. In fact, the only language that he could read with some fluency. The letter had a date on it. Five days back. But it had no address. Neither the sender’s nor the receiver’s.

With nothing much to do at this point of time he decided to read the letter.

It read like this…

Dear Daughter Neha

You must be wondering why I keep writing only sad letters to you. Why I don’t have any happy news to share with you. Why do I keep pestering you with letters that demand money and help and nothing else.

This morning doctor uncle came home and met us. Your father was lying in bed in the other room. Doctor uncle has confirmed that it is cancer and in a very advanced stage. The only

way we can keep him going is to ensure that medicines are taken on time and his check ups are regular and he doesn’t miss any of them. I too am not very comfortable with my wheezing and the breathing problems, but this news about your father has shaken me up completely.

I somehow pulled all my strength together to write to you since I have no other choice. Don’t even think of coming back to our town now. This town will not offer you the kind of job you have, which pays you at least the money to look after your father’s health and his medication. I know you don’t like the city of Bombay. I know you are not at all happy with the place you stay and the food that you eat. The climate, the mad rush and the noise all seem to have made you a very serious and sad girl, quite unlike the chirpy and happy girl we brought up at home. Your little sisters often tell me that your letters to them are full of harsh comments about your work and your little room where you stay in Bombay. They say they you have written to them saying you have lost weight too.

But dear daughter, we don’t have a choice. Father has to be looked after, and your sisters have to be educated. You are our only hope.

I pray to God every morning and evening to make some miracle happen so that we can all be together and that no trouble befalls us. I do hope that one day He will listen to my prayers.

I was just thinking if you could look for a job that would pay you more. We need the money.

I am sorry if I am troubling you a lot. But we really have no choice.

Your loving and sad mother

Sarla

Abdul sat in the bus, shaken and shocked. The bus had reached its terminus. He hadn’t even realized that.

Sitting on the low wall of a bus stand Abdul carefully went through each piece of paper to look for any clue- an address, some card of identification, some way which he could reach the girl he had stolen the wallet from. But there was nothing that could help him. The letter's envelope too was missing from the wallet.

Hoping against hope he dashed back to the restaurant where he had robbed her.

She wasn’t there either. Not that he had expected to find her there. He had been sitting at the bus stand for over an hour wondering what to do with this gain of his..........