The lost purse...

Sometime in early 2015, while cycling in the Kopar Khairane area of Navi Mumbai, I found a purse lying on the road.

I picked it up. It contained a voter id card, about 40 rupees and a paper with a few phone numbers written on it. The voter id card said that it belonged to one Ramesh Prasad, son of Ramcharan, belonging to the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh.

I tried calling a few numbers on the paper. Some of the numbers were no longer available. Of those available, some answered, but most of them did not recognize Ramesh. Others who did, said that he was working as a helper in some truck service in Mumbai. One guy who claimed to know his family told me that he will inform Ramesh about my call an ask him to call me back. I left my number with him.

No one called back.

I left Mumbai ...

I moved back to Bangalore. I brought the purse along with me. The idea was to send it by courier to the address mentioned in the voter id card. I did not want this 'Bhoj' (load) of 'Karz' (debt) on my shoulders. I packed the purse thoroughly and made it courier ready. Somehow I did not get around to sending it.

Every time I sat at my table, this purse was there too, as an uncomfortable reminder of my procrastination.

Finally, some time last week, I got around to taking some action.

I checked the contents of the purse to ensure that I had not missed anything. There was that white sheet of paper with the phone numbers, the voter id card and three photographs of a young man. There was an ad by an employment agency for a job that gave between 8000 to 20000 rupees per month. There was also a visiting card of a person named Gajanan who was running a truck / logistics service.

Knowing that Ramesh was a helper in a truck, I pictured an innocent looking young man, unhappy with his current situation, looking for a better occupation to improve his station in life...

I felt a lot of sympathy for this young man. The voter id gave his year of birth as 1965. So he was just tow years younger to me and was not so young after all.

I tried to visualize his family. May be he is married. May be she is living with his parents in MP, while he is travelling around as an employee of a logistics service provider. May be he has school going children.

He must be missing them as they grow up.

Despite knowing that truck drivers and cleaners are known for their unhygienic lives, my mind could not imagine Ramesh to live that way. He looked far too innocent in the picture. And his handwriting was neat and legible. Unhygienic life and such handwriting did not belong together.

I dialled one of the numbers in the list, not with much hope though. The list said it belonged to one Varun Pandey (Varun Pandey ji). The name was written in Hindi in that neat handwriting. The phone kept ringing. I left it at that. It is more than three years since I found the purse. Things change. People change. Phone number change...

After about 10 minutes I got a call from an unknown number. I swiped to answer.

"Hello, Kaun?", asked the caller.

A fascinating aspect about India is that people will not just respond with a 'Hello. 'Hello is always followed by 'Kaun' (who) or 'Kaun hai?' (Who is this?)

Even if they are the ones to call, as it was in this case.

"It is you who called me. Who are you?", I pointed the obvious.

"My name is Varun Pandey. I got a missed call from this number. I was calling back", he responded.

"Varunji, my name is Ramaswamy. I called you because..."

Suddenly I stopped. The whole situation was ludicrous. The purse had just about 40 bucks and a voter id. It is already 3 years. Whoever lost this purse, would have got it repeated. Wasn't I making a big deal trying to follow some esoteric concept of 'Bhoj' and 'Karz'?

".... I found a purse 3 years ago in Mumbai. It had a paper with your number mentioned. Does the name Ramesh Prasad, son of Ramcharan ring any bells?", I asked.

There was a pause at the other end.

"You say you found this purse three years ago?", Varunji asked

"Yes"

"It had 40 rupees and a voter id car?"

"Yes"

"In three years, the person would have got his voter id replaced and we are talking of just 40 rupees. Aren't you making a big deal of returning it to the owner? He may not even care.", Varunji pointed out the obvious.

Having jumped in, I had to continue swimming. I gave him the spiel about 'Bhoj' and 'Karz'.

"Bhai saab, aap mahan ho (Bro, you are great)" Varunji replied. 

"Do you know this person?", I asked

"Friend, I am a local politician. It is my job to know people. Of course I know his father Ramcharan and his family. They stay about a kilometre from my place. Today I will be meeting them. I will ask them to get in touch with you", Varunji replied.

Having sorted this out, we moved to other topics.

"By the way, where are you from?", Varunji asked me

"I am from Bangalore", I told him the truth. No point in hiding, if you see what you mean.

"You speak Hindi very well, how come?", he was curious

"I am an Indian first, ha, ha", I joked, "on a serious note, I spent 10 years working in Kolkata. You have to know Hindi to survive there", I told him

"India is playing West Indies some time later in the year in Bangalore. I will be coming there to watch the match. Let us meet up", he informed me

I was zapped. Despite living in Bangalore for almost 20 years, I have never watched a test match in the stadium. Here is this gentleman, travelling all the way from Madhya Pradesh to watch the match. I was impressed with his commitment and slightly ashamed of myself.

We decided to save each other's number. We decided to connect on Whatsapp. We decided to meet up over dinner when he visits Bangalore. 

I might not have found the owner of the purse. But I found a new friend.

Awesome....