Albert Out-Ninjas a Pickpocket (Maybe)

vs.

(that's me)

Every ten years or so Albert does something so ninja he brags about it for the rest of his life. At 16 it was besting "The Pepsi Challenge" without taking a sip. At 6, punching Johnny Stikes in the nose for saying there is a kind of gold you can write with... Almost right on time, Albert's Third Ninja Moment...

Taking the overnight bus from McLeod Ganj to Delhi, I found myself sitting to the right of a small and beady-eyed but otherwise not-so-evil-looking woman. She wore a big poofy maroon coat and cradled a big bag and had a big blanket thrown over the whole deal and I thought Wow, what a big bundle of comfy. She held a wooden rosary in her hand, which together with the maroon gave her away as a Tibetan Buddhist. McCleod Ganj is a Tibetan refugee town situated a few minutes walk from the Dalai Lama's home (saw him), and one of the first things I said upon entering (to my now absent travel companion Jess) was "I love Tibetans!" because they were all smiling at me, and not in that creepy Indian "You're white and I'm staring" way but in a "You're human and we're at peace" kind of way. So this Tibetan sitting next to me was already one up in my Book of Books (I do have one... Rich Old White Ladies are at the bottom [the Upper East Side will do it to you--no offense to my UES aunts I love y'all] and Sikhs are at the top, a recent upset of longtime champions Old Black People).

My only real concern regarding her was to not let loose any of the toxic gas I had been producing during a troublesome sickness the past few days.

When the bus started rolling she leaned her seat back and rested her head against my upright seat. I was sad to think that eventually I would have to lean my own seat back and thereby deny her what appeared to be a very comfortable little nook. But eventually, it was time for me to doze and I found a moment to lean back when it wouldn't upset her head. I also pulled a dark gray hoodie from my bag, put the hood on my face backwards to shield from cold and light and wrapped the rest around my neck for support. I had never tried such an configuration before, and giggled to myself at the thought of my neighbor waking up and finding herself face to face with a Hanged Man.

After a while laying like this, the woman very deliberately laid her head on my shoulder. There was no shake of the bus that lolled an unbalanced cranium onto me, it was a conscious and deliberate placement. But I was still in love with her and indeed the world and people in India are always all over each other in many ways that seem weird to me and honestly it wasn't the first time a stranger had cuddled me since I'd been on this trip so I shrugged it off (figuratively, so as not to disturb Sleeping Buddhist.)

Now in the boundary war that is a public bus ride, I had already conceded a fair amount of territory before this. The middle armrest was hers, and I had allowed her leg to stray onto my side of the invisible division but that was all I was giving up and was holding my ground against further invasions because there's nothing worse than being a nice guy and then realizing you've been slowly pushed into a very uncomfortable and unrecoverable position. "Holding my ground" meant that our bodies were touching at a number of points, those points being all the points from my shoulder to my foot. I was considering laying my head on hers to complete the connection and pondering if it could be considered a show of solidarity with the Tibetan cause, one more human bond being one more step towards a Free Tibet, when a dark thought entered my head.

Somebody told me once that pickpockets often rely on physical distraction. While you would probably feel a person pulling your wallet out of your pants, you might not if he simultaneously bumps you hard in the shoulder while running for the subway train. I began to consider the possibility that something was rotten in Tibet, with no real reason to other than the fact that I have the instincts of a Ninja. If she was picking my pocket, she would have to be doing it very slowly to maintain her sleeping act, and banking on the fact that I was probably dozing in and out a bit myself and wouldn't notice the small movements. I got flashbacks of sleeping next to girls as a teenager, our bodies mysteriously getting closer and closer as the night went on, innocently touching while maintaining plausible deniability. You know who you are.

I decided to give her my usual pickpocket test: push back suddenly and observe any unexpected resistance. In NYC, if it's possible someone is fiddling with my backpack I'll jerk back and to the side quickly but casually, with the idea that I'll feel the pressure of their hand on my bag and know to check things out. Or at least shake 'em off. On the next big bounce of the bus, I exaggerated the movement and bumped my hips toward her. Inconclusive but worrisome so I did it again and sure enough there was some extra pressure right on my pocket, not a soft Tibetan body pressed against mine but something bony and sinister. Could have been a book. Or the corner of her bag. Or it could have been tricksy little Buddha fingers reaching for my precious, which at that moment was a $5 watch. A broken $5 watch. But below that open pocket was my zippered travel pocket, which held my passport and cash reserves. Still feigning sleep, I ninjaquickly reached my right hand across my body to the open pocket, as if to scratch an itch, and flesh met with flesh as I discovered two fingers knuckle deep inside.

Her fingers darted out and my left arm came down, sealing the open pocket and resting across the zippered one. We lay there motionless for minutes. I didn't raise a thief alarm and she didn't break her dozing act. She eventually turned the other way with an (to my ears) overdone sleepy snuffle, but my arm remained in place for the rest of the night.

The only other moment that could be suspected as an attempt ("Maybe he really was just acting reflexively in his sleep, surely he would have said something if he thought I was picking his pocket maybe I could just...") was later in the night when she decided to curl up into a ball on the seat and as she got into position her knee very forcefully pushed against my Guardian Hand, strongly enough that the only way it would have remained is if I was deliberately holding it there for a reason. She gave up after that.

Now is it possible that this was all a misunderstanding and she just gets a little grabby in her sleep and accidentally puts her fingers where they don't belong? (those really were the days) Of course! Which is why if she is a pickpocket it's a very good strategy. Plausible deniability! It's one of the reasons I didn't call her out for it. If she wasn't a pickpocket, I'd feel terrible. If she WAS, she could put on a very convincing innocent act and I'd STILL feel terrible. The other reason is the same reason I used to correspond with Nigerian scam artists--I'm interested in how these things work.

Oh, and I stopped worrying about holding in that toxic gas.