The fact that I am sharing my story makes me feel strong and proud. This recovery has happened only because I have a supportive family — a rational husband and understanding children. They were all there with me when I sat in front of the mental health counsellor, telling him that I am a kleptomaniac. That I just could not resist, at times, pocketing things from shops, hotels, friend’s homes and also things belonging to members of my extended family. We all lived under one big roof.
The first time I got into trouble was in a store in Hong Kong. I was just not aware that 30 years ago they had cameras to monitor customers in the store. I was caught slipping maroon lace lingerie into my bag. And at that time my English was not fluent as I came from a small town in North India. So when the store security cornered me with questions and I fumbled and mumbled answers, it was my husband who came to my rescue. He argued that I was a village girl and had no idea of billing and that it was a mistake. My act was condoned and I was pardoned without a penalty.
After this incident, where my husband gave me the benefit of the doubt, he kept monitoring me secretly. He found that many things went missing from our house: silver bowls, his sister’s earrings, new perfume bottles, his mother’s face cream, a wallet from Atlantis and such. His suspicions grew stronger but he was unable to catch me in the act.
One day when he found that his sister’s missing earrings was under my side of the mattress, he confronted me but I made an excuse that the cleaning lady had barged into the room and I had to hide the earrings before she saw them. Things like this went on but he, without my knowledge, told his family about his suspicion, requesting them to handle the situation with care, as he did not want mud flung at the mother of his children. Many years went by and I continued stealing things whenever the urge was excessive and the object irresistible.
So when did I decide to take treatment? It was during my daughter’s wedding that a necklace went missing from her jewellery box; a necklace that her mother-in-law had presented. It was too tempting and I remember it shining bright with winking gems. There was no malice in my heart as I pocketed it. As soon as it went missing, my daughter confronted me for the first time. She locked the room, sat me down and spoke the harshest of truths. “I find it so difficult to come to terms with the fact that my mother is a thief. Can you please see a doctor and take treatment? Accept that you have a clinical disorder and that this act brings shame to you and to us.”
For the first time, through my daughter’s tears, I could see and feel the magnitude of my crime and my disorder. I broke down seeing my daughter’s humiliation. I now have the confidence of a person who has been cured.
