A Love Story is Born!

I have traversed the seven continents and have crossed seven seas to find the truth behind why most of the perfect women in Kolkata date almost all the wrong kind of men in this city. Why the smart and beautiful Bengali girls are going out with the slimy haired, cigarette smoking, sling-bag flaunting 'Ekta chumu dao na, shonamuni?'-waale Bengali boys. And as you would have it, I have emerged enlightened in this quest. All I needed was to travel by a mini-bus from the archaic Howrah station to the upscale Park Street on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.After seeing off my uncle, aunt and my cutest, youngest cousin at the Howrah station, I got on the relatively empty bus and found myself a place in the second last seating by the window. Before the bus could find a way out through the routinely heavy traffic that follows once you get on the Howrah bridge, I found the entire bus filled. Including of course, the seat behind me, where sat a relatively young man in his early twenties. Quite possibly of my age.Suddenly he spoke up on the phone.Oh but wait, before I start, I will need to call him something. And to make some sense of the one-sided conversation that I overheard from the seat in front of him, I will instinctively complement his verbal locutions on the other side.Mr. Desperate speaks, 'Hello yes, I had called you the other night and also had sent a message the following morning. Did you receive it okay? Well, I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am to have called you at such late hours into the night. I'm sure you'd be pretty annoyed that day. The thing is, I intended to call a friend of mine, but accidentally ended up dialing your number. Yes, it indeed was a wrong number.' How is that for a conversation starter?!Mr. Desperate: 'Achha, may I know from where you are speaking?'Ms. Despairing: 'Some lane in Bagha Jatin..' (Too much information for a wrong number conversation, innit?)Mr. Desperate: 'Wow! That's some coincidence. I live exactly two lanes after yours!'Ms. Despairing: 'Oh how wonderful! But how did you get my number?'Mr. Desperate: 'Arrey I went on to call a friend but dialed your number instead. Purely accident! I swear, had no idea! I was also a bit sleepy.'Something told me he wasn't being quite truthful. And I've got a fairly good idea on how he may have come across her number. Read this post here, for further information on that matter.Mr. Desperate: 'Achha tumi, sorry aapni ki koren?' May I know, what you do?Ms. Despairing: 'Something in Netaji Nagar College for Women.'Mr. Desperate: 'Oh tahole toh tumi amar theke onek khani junior! Aamar post-graduation hoye geche, ekhon aami arekta Masters course korchi..' Oh then you're much junior to me, as I've completed my post-graduation but have been pursuing Masters in some other course nowadays.And I call myself an academic! The horror, the horror..Mr. Desperate: 'Achha aami ki tomake tui bole shombodhito korte paari? (my sister would stumble repeatedly at that 'shombodhito' word) If you don't mind of course..' He asked if he could consider the whole addressing one another with mutual respect, and bring it down by a few notches. Ms. Despairing seemingly relented.Mr. Desperate: 'Tomar naam ta jaante pari ki?' May I please know your name?Ms. Despairing: 'Pooja Something.'Mr. Desperate: 'Tumi ki Bagha Jatin'ei thako, Pooja? Na aami ekhane thakina, aamar bari West Bengal'e..' His saying that his home is in West Bengal was weird, as where else does he think Kolkata is anyway?! I must have missed something there.Ms. Despairing asked something related to his work to which Mr. Desperate gave a controversial answer, 'Actually I'm an actor, I was on my way to the studio right now. Night shoot ache toh, tai!' But.. but.. didn't he claim to be an academic, only moments ago?Mr. Desperate: 'Achha tomake ki aami friends korte paari?' Even though it is seemingly getting harder to translate with each sentence, our desperate friend wanted to 'friends' her - whatever that meant! 'Na jodi mind na koro tahole..' As long as you're okay with that.Ms. Despairing: 'Yo, I do remember an account on Orkut, homie!' That's me, using my imagination.Mr. Desparate: 'Tomake aami facebook'e ekta account khule dichhi! Email id ta bolo toh dekhi?' This guy, whom Ms. Despairing is talking for the first time, owing to a supposed accidental call from him, is going to create a brand new Facebook account for her. Him for her. Boy, we have a lady-killer! I wonder where it went wrong for me, when I was growing up?!I detached myself from encroaching further into other people's privacy after a while. Enough of tomfoolery on everyone's part anyway. But just before I got down from the bus, I overheard the crème de la crème of the entire conversation.Mr. Desperate says 'Tomar facebook'e password iloveyoupooja dilam kintu, dekhe niyo!' Would you believe it if I say, he just asked her out covertly?! It was hard on my ears too.Demonstrating some very foxy skills, mister Smarty-pants asked out yet another Bengali girl-next-door and of course, the girl said yes! They always do in these parts of the country. Indeed, they're meeting tomorrow after the girl is done with her college. Maybe a Jhaal-muri here, and some Gol-gappas there. Senseless love blooms once again, in the dingy lanes of Kolkata.Strangle me someone, strangle me! Please! I hereby welcome catharsis with open arms, as an equal..