Kolkatans are generous by instinct. Not in dramatic chest thumping ways. In quiet, almost unconscious ones. The kind that shows up in how they grow plants, not how they guard them.
Most Kolkata homes have gardens. Real ones. Not lonely money plants kept alive for Vastu and family reputation. Hibiscus bushes with strong opinions. Aparajita creepers that ignore boundaries. Tulsi plants that look sacred, slightly judgmental, and permanently unimpressed.
Some neighbours take this a step further. Especially those living in elite housing complexes formed decades ago by respectable central government offices, and the kind where politeness came with the appointment letter. Residents arrive with built in civility a lifelong habit of punctuality and an unshakeable belief that rules should work if everyone behaves properly. People who lower their voices even when irritated. People who still trust complaint registers.
Next door live dada and boudi.
Extra gentle. Extra civilised. The kind who say excuse me to auto drivers who have already cut them off both physically and emotionally.
Then the flower thief entered.
Very early in the story.
And very early in the morning.
For a few days, flowers began disappearing from their garden. Not the plant. Just the flowers. Cleanly plucked. Professionally done. As if by someone who respects flowers but does not quite believe they belong to anyone.
Soon a pattern emerged.
The thief arrived at dawn. On a motorcycle. Parked briefly. Plucked efficiently. Left. This was not casual theft. This was a well timed operation.
At this point most housing complexes would have reacted appropriately.
Security alerts.
CCTV footage.
WhatsApp messages with multiple exclamation marks and moral panic.
Boudi did something else.
She set an alarm.
After thirty six years of government service, waking up early for files, meetings, and circulars that achieved very little, she chose to wake up early not for yoga or temple but to catch a flower thief.
One morning, when the man arrived, boudi stepped out.
Calm. Curious. Polite.
She did not shout. She did not threaten. She did not mention society rules.
She asked very gently,
‘Aapni keno phool tulchhen?’
(Why are you plucking flowers?)
Not ‘tu’.
Not ‘oye’.
‘Aapni’.
Anyone familiar with North Indian neighbourhoods knows this moment could have gone very differently. The language would have started at tu and escalated rapidly to family history volume and crowd participation.
The man froze.
He had clearly prepared for shouting abuse guards chaos. Not respectful Bengali curiosity at dawn.
Before he could fully recover dada arrived.
Dada asked just one question. No raised voice. No drama. ‘What is your address?’ Since when do thieves give addresses?
However the man said Garia.
But then rode off confidently in the exact opposite direction.
No one wrote anything down. No one called anyone. No escalation occurred.
As the man mounted his motorcycle dada added one final sentence.
‘You know she woke up early today… She set an alarm. For you.’
That line did not shout.
It sat quietly and did its work.
Since then the flower thief comes every day.
Openly. Shamelessly. Almost respectfully.
He no longer rushes. He selects flowers thoughtfully like a customer browsing. Sometimes he waits if boudi is watering plants. Sometimes he nods at dada. Occasionally he smiles as if he has been quietly absorbed into the neighbourhood rhythm.
No permission has been granted. No scolding has been issued.
Somehow without paperwork the thief has been emotionally regularised into the system.
This is Kolkata logic.
A city where confrontation is replaced with conversation. Where moral policing is avoided but moral pressure works beautifully. Where shame is delivered softly like a wrapped gift with careful handwriting.
The flowers still disappear.
But so does the urge to complain.
In an age of instant outrage this situation was resolved with an alarm clock and impeccable manners.
And somewhere between Garia and the opposite direction a flower thief learned that the most disarming thing in the world is not security.
It is being woken up early for.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
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