A Mumbai Story: Faith in Humanity

Malad West Metro Station

On May 19th, I lost my gold chain at Malad West Metro Station, Mumbai. This happened in the evening, on my way back from work. I realised it was missing only after I boarded the train. The first thing I did was call a colleague and request her to look for it on the office premises. My colleague was kind enough to do so and kept updating me. She was incredibly reassuring and kept telling me that I would find the chain.

I had to tell Mom about it. As expected — and yet completely unlike her usual reaction — she stayed calm, consoled me, and said that if it was truly meant to be ours, it would find its way back to its rightful owner. Once I got home, she continued to reassure and encourage me.

I informed my boss about the loss, after which I wrote to the admin staff, who directed me to the IT department to request CCTV footage. There is a young guy in our office who is like a little mouse; he is everywhere with his phone camera, constantly clicking away. That habit of his came to my rescue when he shared a photograph in which the chain was clearly visible around my neck.

This chain is an heirloom. It means a lot to me. It is the last material reminder of my grandmom. More than anything, the fact that I had lost it was what bothered me the most. I blamed myself for being careless and made all sorts of declarations and promises to the universe.

By the next morning, I had made up my mind to check the CCTV footage at both my workplace and the metro station to understand where I could have lost it. Usually, I would have simply let it go, believing that if something was meant to be mine, it would find its way back to me. But this time felt different. I wanted closure. I wanted to know the possible time, place, and circumstances in which I had lost the chain. It would help me “let it go,” especially because it belonged to my family and not just me. I felt answerable to Mom.

On my way to the office that morning, I approached the security staff at Malad West Metro Station and requested access to the CCTV footage. I knew it was a serious security concern for them; nevertheless, I tried my luck. The staff politely informed me that they would need a formal police report before they could show me the footage.

I then retraced my steps between my workplace and the metro station — a 10–15-minute walk I undertake every day. I searched roadsides, potholes, and gutters, hoping to spot the chain somewhere along the way.

It was then that I noticed two women sweepers I had often heard speaking in Tamil, my mother tongue. I approached them and shared my plight. The kind ladies listened patiently, took my number, and assured me that if the chain was meant to be mine, it would find its way back to me. Even in that moment of stress, their kindness comforted me.

Once at the office, the IT team promptly helped me access the CCTV footage. I confirmed that the chain was still around my neck when I left the office the previous evening. Unfortunately, the building’s CCTV footage disconnected just as I entered the lift, making it impossible to confirm whether I still had it on me when I exited the building.

It was still a mystery. Had I lost it on the way to the station, or at the station itself?

Still determined to continue searching, I visited Bangur Nagar Police Station and was then directed to the MHB Colony Police Station in Borivali. Though I had been to a police station before — mind you, for the right reasons — going there by myself still felt overwhelming.

But the officers I met changed that feeling almost immediately. They were patient, respectful, and genuinely willing to help. There was no irritation, no dismissiveness, and no unnecessary intimidation — only professionalism and guidance.

The duty officer explained the process clearly, arranged the required letter for the Mumbai Metro authorities, and two officers accompanied me to the Metro car shed. Even during the drive, the officers maintained a quiet professionalism that made me feel safe rather than anxious.

Then came the moment I will never forget.

At the Metro car shed, a senior officer confirmed that the GOLD CHAIN had been found.

I cannot describe the relief I felt. But more than relief, I remember feeling overwhelming gratitude toward a stranger I had never even met — the lady who had found my chain.

She could have easily walked away with it. Nobody would have known. Instead, she chose honesty. I was later informed that she had carefully handed the chain over to the metro authorities and had even documented the process properly to ensure it reached its rightful owner.

That single act spoke volumes about her character.

Back at Malad West Metro Station, the security staff recognised me immediately and escorted us through the formal process. The officials insisted on proof before handing over the chain, and I appreciated their diligence. Systems function only when the people within them choose integrity over convenience.

After paperwork, ID verification, and formalities, the chain was finally returned to me.

But what stayed with me long after was not just the recovery of the chain. It was the people.

The colleagues who reassured me.

The sweepers who comforted me.

The metro staff who followed due process responsibly.

The police officers who treated me with patience and respect.

And above all, the unknown lady who chose honesty when nobody was watching.

We live in times where negativity often dominates conversations. Stories of dishonesty spread quickly, while quiet acts of goodness often go unnoticed. But this experience reminded me that there are still people who choose integrity simply because it is the right thing to do.

Sometimes, humanity reveals itself in the smallest acts — a reassuring word, a patient officer, a diligent staff member, or a stranger returning something valuable that they could easily have kept.

This is a story about people who reminded me that honesty still exists, kindness still matters, and goodness still quietly survives in the world around us. 

Crochet Karnama

Recently, I found myself with a lot of free time. I wanted to pick up a skill—something that required me to use my hands, stimulate my mind, and did not burn a hole in my pocket.

I found the answer in an amigurumi shark, a gift from a cousin. Amigurumi is the Japanese art of knitting or crocheting small stuffed yarn creatures.

Growing up in a South Indian middle-class family, a girl child was usually taught to sew (which included crochet, knitting, and allied skills), besides singing and/or dancing. Nevertheless, by the end of my tutelage under the veteran ladies, Ms N. Kamala and Ms N. Savitri, I had produced two beautiful table covers and one never-ending muffler. I would often show off to friends that I could crochet and knit. Very childish, but it felt good. It still feels good, but in a different way now, when I see them. It reminds me of my quest to learn something new.

After so many years, crocheting, knitting, and several handicrafts were back in vogue, thanks to the lockdown during COVID-19. Cooped up in their homes, many people took to these crafts, posted them online, and started a movement of sorts. It proved to be life-altering for many—and now I understand why. It is very calming and satisfying.

Cut to the present day. I was at a 'PLACE' following a life-altering decision. That is when the amigurumi shark comes into the picture. I decided to give crochet a try. Armed with a crochet needle and yarn, I tried the basic stitches from memory. It turned out that my LTM (long-term memory) had erased my crochet skills. At times like this, it is YouTube zindabad! And it truly helped. Thanks to the many people who have uploaded their crochet videos, I was back on my feet and churning out swatches using various stitches. After several swatches of varying designs, I decided to move to the big league.

One of the first creations was a stuffed heart, followed by Frankenstein and a ball, which could be used as a Christmas decoration. I am supremely proud of my Christmas decorations: an angel (in white), holly leaves (green), and gift boxes (maroon and green with white ribbon) of varying shapes and sizes, all in Christmas colours. The crochet gift boxes were given to my friends as goodbye gifts. The angel is packed up somewhere, I think. However, the most difficult thing to create was Frankenstein as a beginner. I am really proud of myself. I wish I could share pictures of my creations. In a fit of helplessness, frustration, and anger over not knowing what to do with all my creations, I gave them away. 

I gave away my early creations because, over time, nobody really values them, and they just pile up in a corner. They become just ‘some useless things’. Nobody quite understands what goes into making them. I suppose I wanted to be a responsible artist, in my own way.

That call for purpose was answered when I heard about a lady, Mrs Jayashree Ratan and Saaisha Foundation, a non-profit organisation that supports women cancer survivors with crocheted prostheses called “knockers ”and beanies (caps) for children undergoing chemotherapy. Maybe this is why I returned to crocheting.