From the dairies of a Mumbai pickpocket.
Honestly, I don’t need this shit anymore. But, it’s become more like those habits. You can’t help it; you need to scratch that itch once in a while. I’m one of those fellows who can resist anything, but I can’t resist the temptation to steal pockets.
I have this technique I follow, my father thought it to me. It’s one of the few things my father said that I completely heard and understood thoroughly. “It’s like a magic show. You just play with the 2 basic hunches of human nature, distraction and compassion.” However hammered he was when he said that, it made sense and I made my bread and butter for a good 15 years of my life using these commandments. The best thing about being a pickpocket, you barely get caught and even if you do, well you sure are out of that slammer in a day.
It was no remarkable day; I just decided to ride the local bus to meet a friend from my heydays. But the highwayman wouldn’t really loose his groove so soon. I skipped all the buses; until I came across a heavily loaded one, rather jam-packed. I hopped in and immediately started looking around for the next butt. There was the perfect one, an old man who looked like he was in the year Lord-Only-Knows. I decided to spare his retirement cash so that he could use it for buying the candles on his birthday cake. There is the usual one, wearing his jeans so low his bum-pocket was touching his knee, and he was making sure that people around a 5-meter radius could hear the noise he was listening to through his earplugs. I would never waste my time on a person with ‘Dickhead’ written all over him. I needed something more challenging. And then, I saw her.
The first thing that really struck me- what was a woman like her doing in this shoddy bus. She looked well off and sophisticated. Not to mention she was one hell of a bonny. For a second I forgot about my embezzlement plans and I marched towards her to get a better look at her. Long, brown hair, lightly tanned however flawless skin, a slender build, she looked like one of those Victoria’s secret models, with their clothes on. I pushed my way closer to her. This time I think I made my gawking a little too obvious, as she looked back at me. Man, she had the most mesmerizing eyes and that very second she smiled at me; the smile was angelic. I had just seen a perfect ten in real life, no wonder I was so spellbound.
My stop had arrived, but didn’t want to leave, for obvious reasons. Other people in the bus didn’t share the same motive as me, so they left. Thank God for that there was more space and I went and stood closer to her, returning that angelic smile with a rather moronic one which was long overdue. “It’s written all over your face.” She spoke; it took some time to register this particular fact. “What?” Another pea brained response from me. “What’s on your mind!” It took some more time to register the fact that she was flirting with me. This time, I did not give dense reply. I just shut up. She came closer and whispered. I could actually feel her breath in my ear. “Want a taste of your own medicine?” And saying so, I felt her fingers pinch my buttocks and slap it a second later. She winked, and instantly the angelic smile turned into an impish smirk. Just then, the bus approached the stop and he walked out, slowly.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Sir, you do realize, you need to get yourself a ticket.” The nigger spoke. A second later I found myself muttering as I reached out for my now-absent wallet, “Bloody hell. Distraction and compassion.” A minute later, I was thrown out of the bus. An hour later, I was still baffled by the mastery of it all.
I don’t regret being conned. I don’t regret feeling like a complete blockhead. But I will regret something, if I never see that bonny again. Interesting day, ain’t it?