I woke up to the sound of my SMS tone one fine afternoon. With eyes still shut, I groped for my cell phone that was lying next to my pillow. I rubbed my eyes and squinted down at the screen. It was from ICICI Bank. Yet another offer, I grumbled. Then I slowly read the message.
You have made a Debit Card purchase of INR 3,990.00 on 18 Feb. Info: IPS*DAKSH SOLUT. Your Avbl. Bal is INR ______.00.
It was Sunday, February 18, 2007, and the time was exactly 1:48 pm.
A debit card purchase of Rs. 3,990.00 at Daksh Solution? For a brief moment, I felt as if I were wandering in a dream. Soon, I began to realize that this was real.
What the hell’s going on? I was sleeping the whole morning. How could I possibly go out and make a purchase? Did they send a wrong message to a wrong number? My debit card was in my wallet, safe and sound. But hey, where's my wallet? I suddenly sprung up from my bed and reached for the place where I always keep my wallet. Empty. I shook my head in disbelief. Again it was empty.
I was caught in a whirlwind of confusion.
I searched all the possible places where I might have left the wallet. The movement was hasty and rough. Rummaging, turning things over, pushing things aside, emptying contents. I had literally checked every possible place. Still no sign of it. I even called a friend who I went over to his place the previous night in hopes that I had dropped it somewhere around his room. Negative. It could have been that it slipped off on my way back home, though that still didn't seem likely to me since my wallet was securely tucked away in my back pocket, and I knew for sure it was still there when I reached my room. Yes sir, it was there last night – for I took out the key from my wallet to unlock my door. I was starting to believe it was stolen rather than me simply leaving it somewhere. I finally gave up the search.
My wallet's gone. And my world swirled into darkness.
I fell down upon my bed in bewilderment. I just laid there for what seemed like hours. I felt so dumb. I blamed myself for being so careless. This was the second time my wallet got stolen. I was pick-pocketed for the first time in the fall of 2004 at the infamous busy Sunday Market near Lal Qila, Delhi. They were professionals. I couldn't have really taken care of myself better. But now this happened right inside my room. My goddamn room. And all the while I was sleeping like dead.
Weekends are my off days. My roommate went out around 10:30 am that particular day, and I didn’t lock the door from inside. Hence, the raid must have taken place sometime between 10:30 am and 1:00 pm. If someone had indeed entered our room during that time, why would he choose to take 'only' the wallet? Most importantly, how did he manage to pick it up from a place so secure and safe? He came in quietly, took the wallet from its hiding place, and left. There was around Rs. 1000 in it, an ICICI debit card, a driving license registered in Manipur which my parents sent to me only a couple of weeks ago, visiting cards, passports, some pictures, and all. My cell phone and other valuables were left untouched.
I immediately called ICICI customer care, got my card blocked and requested for a new one.
It dawned upon my mind that the whole operation must have been planned far in advance. He must be someone who is well aware of our schedule – who knows the time when my roommate would be away, and when I would still be buried in deep sleep all alone with an unlocked door. He must be someone who 'knows' the patterns of our room, where we keep things and where I would always leave my wallet and all. Indeed, he must be a really clever punk.
I was seething with anger thinking about the way this guy slipped into my room, stole my wallet, swiped the hell out of my card, and enjoying my money like a big fat slug.
At this point, I honestly had no clue who the culprit was and was still quite shocked by the whole thing. I had to flip back and catch up on clues. Any clues. It was broad daylight, there was no damage, and so the possibility of the involvement of a local goon was ruled out. Must be one of us. He used my debit card to make a purchase at Daksh Solution. He didn't have to know the PIN. Just my name. Smart kid. And where the hell is that Daksh Solution? What does it sell? I was becoming more and more dazed as I struggled to find further clues and piece them together. But all these led me to nowhere.
I literally gave up the hope of getting back my money. Adiós, oh precious wallet of mine. May God bless whoever keeps it.
Two days passed. On Wednesday, February 21, Robert, a friend, came to me and said, "My sisters have just told me that this guy down the road was selling them a newly bought Motorola phone the past Sunday. I think the cost of that phone is Rs. 4,000. Isn’t that the amount swiped out of your card?"
“Yeah. Who is this guy?”
“That I won’t tell yet. We’ll meet him first.”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. It’s highly likely that he’s the one who took your ATM card. We will investigate.”
“But, we didn’t see him take the wallet. We have no evidence.”
At first I was hesitant but Robert was quite insistent. And so we decided to go to ‘their’ place after dinner.
The room that Robert led us in to turned out to be that of my friend, Biak (name changed). I protested to Robert.
“How could he? I can’t think he would be the one,” I mumbled as Robert knocked the door. It was difficult to imagine that he, of all people, would want to steal anything from me.
When we entered, Biak was ‘unusually’ anxious and nervous. He was different tonight. He was no longer the Biak I knew. He stammered as he said, “I wasn’t expecting you. What brought you guys here?” He asked, again and again, why we were there. He was restless and kept flipping a Motorola cell phone open and close. He dared not look at me in the eye.
“You’ve got yourself a new phone, huh?” said I.
“It’s for my brother.”
Robert joined in, “How much do you pay for it?”
“Four thousand.”
“Wow! This is cool, man! Let me have a look,” said I.
The first thing I do when Biak gave me the phone was giving a missed call to my number. I saved it (it was a Hutch number). He then went to the loo. On the pretext that Robert wanted to buy the same phone, we asked his roommate when and where did he buy it. He said it was Sunday and told us the location of the shop.
After we left their place, I said to Robert, “He’s my friend. Goddamnit.”
“Yes, he WAS your friend.””
It was getting late and all the shops were already closed. We were walking along the clogged lanes of Munirka when the Sherlock Holmes in me suddenly woke up. I began to see the possibilities of Biak being the one increasing more and more. And as I started to piece the baffling puzzle together, all roads seemed to lead to Biak. First, I have to make sure that my identity is not misused. I made a call to Hutch customer care and explained the situation to the executive. I gave the exec the number from Biak’s phone. Luckily, the number was not registered under my name.
As we reached the shop where Biak seemed to have bought the phone, I looked up at the board above the door. There, printed in bold, were the words, “Daksh Solution.”
And that was the beginning of the end of our friendship.
* * *
I wrote the above piece two years ago. After all this time some nagging questions still haunt me. Whose fault was this? Was he desperately in need of money and I failed to acknowledge that as a friend which led him to the point where he would steal? Wasn’t I there for him when he needed most? I am sorry for whatever happened between us. I have forgiven my friend and want us to start over again. In fact, he’s the most caring friend that I ever have.
