This past July, I was lucky enough to travel to India with my parents to celebrate a family friend’s wedding. It was a wonderful, large, big, fat, Indian wedding.
Since coming home, whenever my parents begin to tell our friends back home in San Francisco about the trip, the story of how I got pickpocketed during the street wedding procession always eclipses other more upbeat parts of the trip. Why do I feel embarrassed that I got pickpocketed? I wish I had been more savvy. I’m embarrassed that I felt that attached to a few material possessions. And in an unreal turn of events, I actually found the stolen wallet on the street a few hours later. All’s well that ends well.
But perhaps, I feel most embarrassed that those kids who stole my wallet felt compelled to do so.