I Didn’t Steal It, My Lord!
“What do you call a rich and enormously successful man, with a penchant for stealing expensive souvenirs from every hotel he ever stayed at?,” asked Mr. Ghosh, completely out of the blue. “Kleptomaniac,” pat came the reply from Mr. Basu, spoken as nonchalantly as he was plopped on the dull orange sofa in the living room of the Ghoshs.
It was yet another lazy, hot summer evening that the two retired Bengali babus were spending together. They had just finished discussing CPI vs Congress politics over a round of hot tea served by the always affable Mrs. Ghosh. Which was preceded by 6 hours of watching Day 4 of the 3rd cricket test match between India and England, being played at the famed Eden Gardens in Calcutta. Not that they couldn’t afford to go watch the match live at the Eden; the stadium was only a 15 minutes taxi ride away for the two cricket-crazy, middle-class septuagenarians. But why deal with the sweltering heat when one can enjoy the comforts of an air-conditioned living room? And of course, the guilty pleasure of having home-cooked Pomfret served over rice, prepared the way only Mrs. Ghosh could, while watching their favorite sport!
Per Mayo Clinic, Kleptomania (klep-toe-MAY-nee-uh) is the recurrent failure to resist urges to steal items that you generally don’t really need and that usually have little value. Kleptomania is a serious mental health disorder that can cause much emotional pain to you and your loved ones if not treated.
“Is Kleptomania real?,” asked Mr. Ghosh lifting his head from the newspaper he had been engrossed in for the past hour. “It is real, and I can vouch for it,” said Mr. Basu. “Here they go again; this is going to take them another 2 hours at least,” thought Mrs. Ghosh. Not that she minded having the widowed Mr. Basu at their home almost the entire day for all 5 days of every cricket match, but she wasn’t a fan of making hot tea every couple hours. And she knew another round was upon her, very soon.
“We used to call him Dr. Thomas,” continued Mr. Basu. “A rather tall, well-built and very good looking man in his mid-60s, Dr. Thomas was an exceptionally intelligent and extremely sociable human being. A man with very high work ethics, 12–14 hour work days were normal for him. I know this because I worked for Dr. Thomas when he was the Director of Research and Development at Union Carbide India Limited at Bhopal, India, between 1978 and 1980. Even prior to his arrival, Dr. Thomas’s successful career and his strenuous work ethics were well-advertised at our Bhopal factory,” gushed Mr. Basu.
“Union Carbide was one of the most successful multinational companies in the world at that time, with a massive business empire spread across 64 countries. To be a decorated researcher at such a big corporation would be a big deal even today, much more in the late 70s,” pondered Mr. Ghosh but he didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Basu because he was keenly interested in the anecdote now.
“Needless to say, we were quite overawed when he joined our R&D facility at Bhopal”, continued Mr. Basu. “With his depth of knowledge, hard work, ability to connect with employees of all cadre and his willingness to ‘get his hands dirty’ in every minor issue in both R&D and the factory, Dr. Thomas quickly conquered Union Carbide, Bhopal. He would often stay at work very late at night yet would be back in his office at 8:15am sharp, rain or shine. He commanded respect by showing respect. He commanded allegiance by practicing punctuality, by practicing what he preached.” Mr. Ghosh could sense the sheer sense of pride his dear friend Basu carried for being associated with the great Dr. Thomas.
“Wish our political leaders were like Dr. Thomas,” thought Mr. Ghosh, the insides of his gray matter meandering and magically connecting Mr. Basu’s tale with their discussion on politics earlier in the afternoon. The sudden ‘kyonki saas bhi bahu thi’ music from the room next doors broke his chain of thoughts. “Sure enough, Mrs. Ghosh has settled into her daily routine of watching that annoying saas-bahu soap on the TV in the bedroom,” thought Mr. Ghosh to himself.
“I was a much junior researcher those days but Dr. Thomas took special interest in my work,” carried on Mr. Basu. He had neither drifted from his story-telling nor had he noticed Mr. Ghosh zoning out for a few seconds or the loud music on the TV next doors. “Maybe it was my sincerity he liked or the way I spoke with him, but we bonded very well. I learnt a great deal from him over many a drink at the venerable Arera Club as well as his official residence, a beautiful house with an extremely well-manicured lawn, huge even by the standards of the many rich homes in the neighborhood. It was during one such happy hour that Dr. Thomas revealed his deep dark secret to me. He started by telling me how he had traveled around the world and stayed at the most expensive hotels. Somehow, he got into the habit of pinching one or two beautiful articles from his hotel room, to keep as souvenirs. What started as a minor indulgence had soon turned into a recurring impulse until his home started resembling a miniature museum filled with artifacts from around the world. His compulsion growing, Dr. Thomas started taking increasing risks until it all unraveled and got him into a rather embarrassing spot.”
Dr. Thomas was apparently leaving a grand hotel in Tokyo. Compelled by his urges, he could not resist packing the beautiful Japanese Silk bed sheet that adorned his bed into his suitcase. No sooner had he finished the hotel checkout formalities, one of the hotel staff at the reception noticed a small portion of the silk bed sheet hanging out of Dr. Thomas’s suitcase. The cat was out of the bag, literally!
Mr. Basu resumed: “For Dr. Thomas, it was the most humiliating moment of his life. He told me that single incident changed his entire life. Not only did he lose his Kleptomania, which is apparently a very hard addiction to get rid of but also helped him respect everything else in his life — his time, his colleagues and his work. This was my first direct encounter with a Kleptomaniac.”
“Wow,” exclaimed Mr. Ghosh.
“Heck, I didn’t even know such a disease existed; I kept wondering why would such a rich, successful man steal such trinkets?,” concluded Mr. Basu.
“That was some story, my dear Basu! This deserves a round of chai,” exclaimed Mr. Ghosh. A palpable grudge came out of the room next doors.
