Upon finding a wallet full of money

This baker, living from hand to mouth in a foreign country to feed a family far away, slowly counted out 5,000 baht and timidly extended it towards me

You're walking down a crowded avenue when a man in front of you drops a wallet. What would you do?

Most people would not think twice before reaching down to pick it up and shouting to the stranger. "Hey mister, your wallet!"
What if the stranger is nowhere to be seen? What if the wallet is bulging with money? What if you're in, say, Ethiopia, and don't speak Amharic? What now?

Here's my story, fresh from last week.

The first thing I saw entering the Bangkok taxi was the wallet, behind the driver's seat. It was longish and embroidered, with a fake designer logo. Within was 11,000 Thai baht (about Rs 24,000) and an insurance card with a name and policy number. Reading Thai slowly, I soon deciphered the name as Mr Tonmai.

No one would know or ever find out if I quietly pocketed the money. It wouldn't be theft since the wallet was already lost when I found it. Technically, I was not causing harm or loss to anyone.

It was nearly half my monthly rent.

Then again, I had the rare chance here to be honest. I have always been fascinated by the kindness of strangers but, to be honest, received it more than given it. Here was my chance to do unto others. All I had to do was call the insurance company.

A fascinating 2012 study on kindness by Harvard professor Dr David G Rand reached an intriguing conclusion: human beings react instinctively with kindness in such situations. However, as they think more about it, the more selfish their decision becomes. Quick decisions are altruistic; slow decisions become more self-serving.

But pushing me to be kind was also my own experience. A complete stranger called Parvez Handa, an Indian mining engineer in saffron robes and a god-like beard, had given me $50 at Lusaka airport to help me get a visa, knowing he would never get it back.

Another time, I'd left my Canon camera in a taxi and entered Bangkok's Shangri-La Hotel for a family lunch on my birthday. An hour later, the taxi driver was back with my camera. Without knowing my name or whereabouts, he'd combed through the hotel's restaurants until he found me.

I decided to follow my instinct. Minutes after picking up Tonmai's wallet, I was talking to the insurance company, explaining that I'd found money belonging to one of their customers and that he should call me back. I shared my phone number and asked them to assure Mr Tonmai that his 11,000 baht was intact.

An hour or so later, a woman called back. Tonmai was away at work, she said, but she'd pass the message on when - and if - he called. This was strange: why couldn't the insurance company reach Tonmai directly? Who was the woman?

She was a baker, it turned out, and Tonmai's ex-boss. He'd left the job and was no longer covered by the bakery's group insurance.

Meanwhile, my mind was in overdrive. I'd already foolishly disclosed my phone number and the sum I'd found. What if the claimant insisted there had been more than 11,000 and accused me of theft? What if some random hustler claiming to be Tonmai took the money - and the real Tonmai showed up later?

Late in the evening, a man purporting to be Tonmai called. He only spoke Thai but with translation help from a friend, I insisted on seeing his identification. A passport with a photo was WhatsApped.

I realised Tonmai was Laotian.

Friends and others had advice. The building office said that as a foreigner, I should just hand the wallet over to the Royal Thai police and let Tonmai claim it from them. But I feared that as a migrant worker he might just face harassment - and possibly be forced to pay a bribe.

I eventually met Tonmai at a nearby McDonald's. He was a contract labourer, short, masked and not a man of many words. My nitpicking mind suggested I needed to match his face with his passport.

"Please take off your mask," I said brusquely, instantly regretting my tone. Kindness should not sound so harsh, an inner voice said.

After he'd signed a letter of receipt, a friend videotaped the handover. I knew I was doing the right thing but inside I was petrified that I might be walking into a trap. I felt suspicious and wary, not kind.

Then something unexpected happened. This man, living from hand to mouth in a foreign country to feed a family far away, began slowly counting his money again. When he had separated 5,000 baht, he timidly extended it towards me.

I backed away. "No, no, please," I said. "No reward is needed." I bowed my head and joined my hands in a Thai sawasdee.

When I raised my head, I saw Tonmai shaking. It took me a moment to realise that he was crying with happiness.

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com

Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

The views expressed in this column are the individual's and don't represent those of the paper