Not all gifts are about price tags

How a Rs-150 purse turned me into a sleuth in Udaipur

My mother is frugal, content with just roti, kapda, and makaan. Gift her anything non-essential or in excess, and a lecture on ‘Don’t waste money’ is guaranteed. But this time, I had erred doubly: not only had I bought her yet another purse, but I had also forgotten it at the very shop I bought it from.

I was in Udaipur for work, and it was 9.15 pm. The Jagdish Temple Street bazaar, where I had picked up the gorgeous embroidered clutch, would soon shut. Even trying the next morning didn’t make sense. The purse cost Rs 150. The auto fare to retrieve it? Double that.

Should I ask the shopkeeper for a refund via UPI? But wait — what was the shop called? I didn’t have a photo of the shop, let alone the number. My UPI receipt read: Bharat Handicraft. But Google Maps drew a blank.

My only bet was the mithai shop — my last stop in the bazaar. The shopkeeper and I had chatted heartily, him insisting I pack gulabi pasa and me about Bengaluru. “Bhaiya, remember me?” I asked, then let my story tumble out, slipping in the “gift for my mother” bit.

“There’s no Bharat Handicraft here,” he replied but promised to investigate in the morning.

That night in my hotel room, I went full detective. On my phone, I zoomed through Google Earth, combing bylanes despite the nausea its immersive feature gives me. There it was — the temple, the paan shop in front of it, and seemingly my shop to its left. Its signboard was hidden behind tote bags. I passed on my intel to mithai bhaiya — screenshots from Google Earth and UPI transactions and photos of the purses I had shortlisted at the shop.

Morning came, and I was out chasing breakfast and boat rides. Soon, it was time to leave. Only once I got into the cab to the airport did it hit me: I hadn’t followed up. And now, mithai bhaiya wasn’t responding. Seeing my face droop, the driver enquired. Touched that it was a gift for my mother, he offered to track down the shop and courier the purse.

Less than two hours to my flight, mithai bhaiya called: “I will check now.” Five minutes on, he rang up again: “Here’s your shopkeeper. I am handing him the phone.”

I apologised to the man, guilty that my request would start his day with a loss! He sounded wary because of UPI scams, but after a quick check, he saw I was genuine. Moments later, my phone lit up with a refund of Rs 150.

Two days later, I was in Jamshedpur, visiting my mother. I took her mobile phone, slid it inside a hand-block printed mobile sling bag, and gave it to her. I blurted, “Got it for free on the work trip.” She smiled and slung it across her body.