A Childhood Theft and a Guilt that Lingered

I carried the burden of guilt from a childhood theft, but eventually, I managed to overcome it.

Once in a while, Maa came to pick me up from school. On the other days, a rickshaw-wallah was my ride home. The occasions when Maa made this special journey were like mini celebrations. There was never a set agenda for her visits. She didn’t bother to meet my teachers or inquire about my academic performance. Instead, she let me revel in the joy of it all. I could indulge in street food delights, run amok in the school playground, and be carefree.

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Occasionally, we would dine at the charming little eatery known as Amrapaali. She would usually eat dosa, and I don’t think I had fixed preferences, but I liked having ice cream.

It was one of these visits. I was in Class 1. Maa had come along with one of my father’s cousins, S. Even though my aunt by relation, S, is just 21 days older than me. And at that point in life, growing up in the same house, we were best buddies and almost inseparable.

Once our delightful meal had concluded, Maa impulsively decided to visit one of her cousins’ homes nearby. The wonderful old days when people just dropped by, and no one judged anyone for not informing. When guests showed up, hosts would be warm and hospitable. Samosas and rasgullas would be called for in an instant. Also, extended families didn’t feel extended; they were just family.

Upon our arrival at their house, one of Maa’s younger cousins of marriageable age greeted us, donning a face mask. She invited Maa to join in, but Maa, not particularly inclined towards elaborate skincare rituals, declined and opted for a cup of tea.

The elders moved towards the kitchen adjoining a huge courtyard. The two of us, the only kids, went to the terrace. The sun still shone bright. Varieties of papads and chillies were drying in one part, and bed sheets were hung on the parapet. The centre of the terrace looked empty. We chose to go there. “What if it was sunny?” When do kids care about such things? 

Spread out on the floor was a spotless tablecloth adorned with an array of miniature white things resembling tiny spatulas, spoons, brushes, and more. We hadn’t seen anything like them before. The ones in our toy kitchen set were pale before these shiny, polished little things.

S delicately examined these miniature treasures, her eyes eventually meeting mine. “Rakh lein?” she inquired with a mischievous spark. She proposed that these splendid miniatures would make an excellent addition to our humble kitchen set. The six-year-old in me was pulled in. However, if memory serves me right, I initially hesitated. “They seem quite valuable. Someone might notice they’re missing,” I cautioned.

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But S insisted. We ultimately reached an agreement. The pressing question, though, was how to execute this daring plan. Swiftly and slyly, we discreetly tucked some of the miniature utensils into the folds of my school tie. I was still in my school uniform. We hid the rest within the confines of her sleeves. “No one will ever suspect a thing,” she assured me with a sly grin.

We went back down and onto another terrace in another part of the house. It would have worked as a perfect foil if someone asked us about the disappearance of those things. We could have easily said we never went to that part of the house.

But soon, maa was calling me. After washing off her face, maa’s cousin went up to look for the fancy facial kit that one of her cousins had gotten from Singapore. It was a big deal to have something vilayati in the early 1990s. She didn’t find it. The initial suspicion was that perhaps a mischievous bird had absconded with it, though it seemed rather implausible. After all, it was inconceivable that a bird could have made off with all the kit’s components, perhaps one or two at best.

Maa, very sure that I wouldn’t have taken them, thought she would check with me to be sure. I couldn’t lie. She was humiliated.

That night, still visibly angry with me, she told me that she wouldn’t take me anywhere from now on, that I had disappointed her. Days and months passed, and it seemed like water under the bridge. But anytime I met anyone from Maa’s cousins’ family, I would recoil. Meeting them always stirred an uncomfortable self-consciousness. And that happened for years. That incident left me with some sort of endless shame.

Years later, while discussing childhood escapades, I spoke of this story and how it burdened me. S was also there. She had no recollection of the incident. I wondered why I was so harsh on myself for this childish misdemeanour. Perhaps because my mother was involved, I had unwittingly wounded her feelings. It weighed heavier on my conscience.

Two years ago, three of the four children of Maa’s cousin (the one with the face mask) came to my home for lunch. Among them were college-going twin boys, who have since become close friends of my brother, and their sister, slightly older than the twins.

Although apprehensive about their potential judgment, I decided to share the story with them.

They burst into laughter. “You were determined to enhance your kitchen set,” one joked. Oh, the relief!