Carrying someone’s bag is not something most people enjoy. But a boy secretly in love with a girl, hoping to win her heart, might willingly offer to carry her bag. Or consider yourself: stern, a brave man maybe, but still compelled to tread carefully around your wife’s stern glances—yes, even you might become quite skilled at bag-carrying.But not as skilled, perhaps, as my friend Kushal and I have become. We’re neither married nor trying to win over any love interests. In fact, we ourselves didn’t realize we possessed such special skills until recently.
It happened just a few days ago. It was the end of May in Pune, Maharashtra, and the monsoon had nearly arrived. Around 2:30 in the afternoon, with a few drops of rain in the air, Kushal and I were waiting for an auto. With us were Barsha, Nandini, Seema—and about a dozen bags. Aside from our own, it was quite a challenge to remember which bag belonged to whom, especially at first glance. And that’s exactly where things took an unexpected turn. A few hours later, we realized we had revealed a hidden talent: we had carried every possible bag—sometimes our own, sometimes someone else’s, and at times confusing one for another. But what we didn’t expect was that, even with five of us and a dozen bags among us, we would end up “stealing” one more. Whether it was theft or something else—you can judge for yourself at the end.
We had been attending a training program at Yashada in Pune, which ended at around noon on March 24. Everyone except Kushal had already packed, since our train from Pune Junction, the Duronto Express, was scheduled for 3:15 PM. Rushing to catch the train, we quickly finished lunch and set off for the station. Seema and Nandini left first in an auto, while Barsha, Kushal, and I took a cab. That’s when the bag incident started to unfold. About twenty minutes later, just as we were nearing the junction, Barsha, feeling nauseous, groaned in discomfort. Kushal and I quickly pleaded with the driver to stop the cab. Every second felt like a lifetime. Within a minute, we jumped out. Barsha was trying to catch her breath, and Kushal was busy paying the driver.
We had just fifteen minutes left before the train’s departure.We still hadn’t met up with Seema and Nandini and had no clue where they were standing. In a frantic rush, we pulled out all the bags from the cab. Not once did we stop to check whether we were picking up an extra bag.After walking for about a minute with all the luggage, we started to wonder—why do we have so many bags? Why did Barsha pack so much? Still, we didn’t think to ask her if that one particular bag was even hers.The bag wasn’t mine, nor Kushal’s, and apparently not Barsha’s either. When we got off at Nagpur Junction, it hit us—this bag didn’t belong to any of the five of us. Kushal, slightly lowering his head, said,”Bro, the cab guy messaged on Google Pay—‘You guys took my bag.’”
There wasn’t much we could do by then. The bag didn’t contain anything too valuable—just a change of clothes and some food. But maybe, just maybe, it carried a touch of love. Perhaps the man’s mother or wife had packed it with care.Because of our bag-carrying skills, someone was deprived of a homemade meal, crafted with love.
A hungry stomach remained in Pune, while the food-filled tiffin box ended up in Nagpur.
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