You don’t know me. Or rather, you don’t remember me. You only know me by my photo. So, this letter will surely come as a surprise to you. I am one of the guys whose wallet and passport you stole last July.
It is both ironic and exasperating to me that I am writing to you, while I don’t write letters to my own parents and relatives who live two continents away. But there are reasons, as you will see.
It has been over a year. I had blithely assumed that the indignation and the anger I felt would dissipate. Last July, whenever I was reminded of what you did (which was dozens of times a day) I would feel something harsh the size of a mango forming in my stomach. Today, when I do get worked up about my passport loss, I feel something that is more the size of a lemon. It is still there though.
First, let me remind you as to who I am. I am the schmuck with the glasses who got on the train from 
Amsterdam's Schipol airport. I was headed for Arnhem, and as you well know that meant two train changes (at Divendrect and Utrecht). In keeping with your routine, you followed me and got on to the train. You must have watched me while I took my passport from my shirt pocket and transferred it to my money belt. You must have perked up when I foolishly shoved the money belt into the front pocket of my backpack, being too lazy to wear it underneath my shirt I way I was supposed to. I was being incautious even though I knew better. And you must have been ecstatic to see such a display of carelessness.
The Divendrect station was announced, and struggling with the huge duffel bag, I plodded towards the door. I was wearing the backpack, and my money belt in the front pocket was practically inviting you. You came, you saw, you conquered. Easy pickings, as they say in your parlance. You know, some days I wish I had at least made it a little more difficult for you.
In addition to my passport,
I had my Green Card in the money belt. And a few passport-sized photos. I made it real convenient for anyone planning to misuse my documents. I also had close to USD 100 (in crisp twenties) and some older European currency which I was hoping to convert when possible.
Still not quite sure if you remember me? May be you swipe too many wallets for your own good. You should slow down a bit, pal.
Hey, would it be okay by you if I called you PP, short for pickpocket? Of course, you are a passport pickpocket, which makes you a PPPP, but that would be stretching it. I don’t want you running off, thinking of PP as a term of endearment. It is merely a way for me to refer to you, a handle. Also, it helps me humanize you, and isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?
You knew, of course, but I didn’t that my passport was long gone. You had swiped it before I got to Arnhem. The funny thing is that on that day I was having a good time, in my own way.
It was the fourth of July. Every single TV set in the town of Arnhem that was turned on was showing the final game of the World Soccer Cup. 
Germany was facing Brazil. If I had been back home in the States, I would have been seated in my couch, glued to the TV, very possibly munching on potato chips. But I was in Arnhem, and I was content wandering the streets. I had the small backpack on my shoulders, and I had time to kill. The only places open that afternoon were bars packed with fans. In order to get a chair, I would have to order something, but I wasn’t interested in buying alcohol. So I stood and watched in one bar until it got uncomfortable, and then I moved on to the next bar. I was blissfully unaware of my missing passport. I would only discover the loss that night, just as I was getting ready for bed.
PP, listen. Just because I am writing you a letter doesn't mean that I am a softy. The week after, while I was knocking on every possible police station and lost-and-found office between Amsterdam and the Hague every day, the thought of shooting you right in the spine if I ran into you did cross my mind on numerous occasions. Now, with the passage of time I have mellowed. Even today, if I get hold of you, I might be tempted to grab your neck and shake you hard until your teeth fall out, for all the agony you have caused me.
But you can chill, dude. I am essentially non-violent, I don’t own a gun, and anyway how likely is it that you and I will meet again? Read on. Also, you performed such a clean pick in the train that I am forced to admire your technique. I admire artists and craftsmen everywhere, even those who steal from me.
My story gets steadily uglier and mired in the bureaucratic process after this point. But you know, PP, I sometimes wonder about you.
I wonder where and how you trained to be a pickpocket. I wonder if you had to graduate up the scale to tougher and tougher gigs. Do you operate single handedly (pun not intended) or do you have partners? Do you practice a lot, the way they portray pickpockets in movies?
You, of all the people know what a dangerous way of making money you have. I wonder if you have a drug habit that needs to be fed constantly. That can give anyone the boldness to do crazy things. Curiosity is in my blood, I cannot help it. I wonder if you are homeless, and if a wallet or a passport buys you some desperately needed food money. Where are your parents, and why are you involved in such a high-risk endeavor?
I was such an easy target for you; I have no delusions about my alertness. But I wonder if others have caught you in the act. Getting caught must mean jail time, I imagine. Is it the danger that draws you to such a profession? Maybe you have been to jail a few times. But to your way of thinking, this easy money must be worth it. You probably laugh at the rest of us who work in an office 8-9 hours every day.
Also, I wonder if you ever have misgivings about your profession. Don’t you sometimes feel that you should be doing something more constructive in life? Like I said, I am a curious fellow, but enough about you. Let’s get back to me.
You may be surprised to know that I actually have a few things to thank you for. I learned a lot of things that I wouldn't otherwise have.
The obvious lessons had to do with learning how things work in consulates and embassies, how the railway system's lost-and-found offices work and the Police operate.
But there were also a couple of small psychological lessons. When my mind went into a spin between regretting my carelessness and reliving the events as if that could somehow retrieve my passport, I found that I was able to ask it to stop. It was gratifying to know that I have enough control to stop these pointless lamentations. Another small lesson was learning that I had the option of whether or not to feel the stress. When there wasn't anything more I could do, instead of bemoaning and feeling frustrated about being forced to stay there for an extra week, I decided to go out and enjoy Holland.
After everything that I have gone through, I know one other thing. Today, if you successfully steal my passport, and minutes later, come up to me and wave it in front of me and ask for a 1000 dollars, I will happily hand over the money. And, I would still think I came out the winner. That should give you an idea of the hassle that I have gone through after losing my passport. And yet, I know that last July, I would absolutely have not paid you. I would have indignantly maintained that you didn’t deserve it. Isn’t it funny how there are no shortcuts to learn certain lessons, no matter what?
Hey PP, I hope I didn’t come across as too bitter, and that I didn’t rant too much. I’d like to think that I am above exchanging wounds. Maybe you didn’t intend to hurt me in any way, maybe you really needed the money. In time, I am sure, even the lemon-sized hurt in my stomach will dissolve to the size of a pip, and eventually it will be gone altogether. But I don’t want to wait until then for forgiveness.
I hope that a few of the reasons for writing this letter came across. The final reason is that I am hoping that the act of writing to you will be cathartic for me, will be my way of forgiving you for all the trouble you've caused me. Life is too short to hold grudges, don’t you think? Therefore, I absolve you of everything.
Okay, that's all I have to say. More than anyone else, you know first-hand that it is a dangerous world out there. I don't think I will be writing to you again, so you be careful, okay?
Peace,
Ram Prasad
(Stolen PP number A-8053206)
Ram Prasad
October 2003
