In love, there's no scheduled moment to fall. It just happens, in an inexplicable way. However, not all love stories are remarkable; some are peculiar. Defining whether Sonamon and Ribhu's love fits into any category is beyond words. Let's delve into that day.The weather was moody, rain showered, clouds lingered in the sky, and the café was bustling on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Ribhu, with a serious face, was engrossed in his laptop. A large mug of coffee sat beside him, ordered by Beira. Soon, the fish fry, a popular item here, would arrive. The colossal fish fry, artfully presented, was a highlight of this café.Calling out to the person I summoned, I met Prabhat Ray, Ribhu's friend. Unable to recall his own name, Prabhat, out of respect for his grandfather, was known as Ravan. His friends endearingly called him "Ra One." They admired how he managed this beautifully designed café on the streets of Goriyahat. The ground floor of the house belonged to his uncle; he transformed it into this café. His father was never fully onboard; however, he had one condition—if the shop turned a profit in two years, it would continue, otherwise, his dad would take over.Ra was determined. He was turning into a Beira-like figure. Rain or shine, the café was always bustling on Sundays. Among all these characters, there was one particular person—his prospective son-in-law, Birupaksh. Birupaksh wrote Bengali poetry. His poetry was impressive, but after a few drinks, he turned into a four-letter word.Alright, alright, I get it. At the outset, you're meeting these characters, entangled in their own ways.
Let's bypass the past.Now, let's begin the sequence of our love story. Ribhu was engrossed in his laptop. What was he working on? Ribhu was, in fact, writing—the sole desire of his life. He aspired to be a scriptwriter for films. He aimed to transform troubled Bengali cinema into something like Tamil or Telugu movies. One producer had assured him that if Ribhu could bring a suitable story, a film would be made out of it. Fueled by this hope, Ribhu began writing his story. A software engineer by profession, he endured criticism at the office throughout the week. On Sundays, if he stayed home, his mother would pester him about marriage, so he frequented his friends' café.Ra, when idle, loved to engage in discussions. He insisted Ribhu to have something for free, but Ribhu never accepted anything for free. This attempt by Ra...He highly respected Ribhu's choice. Oh no, here comes Shiva's song again! Let's return to the sequence. Crowded café, rain outside. Ribhu was busy on his laptop when Sonamon entered the café. Sonamon, with thick-framed glasses, wasn't plump but had a lively demeanor and a penchant for fierce arguments.As she entered the café, she looked around and exclaimed, "Gosh, thought I'd find some solitude. Instead, it's crowded."Everyone in the café heard that. A burst of laughter erupted, but Ribhu didn't notice. At that moment, his hero was hanging from a train track behind the villain's villa.Ra heard Sonamon's words. He asked, "Madam, what happened?" Sonamon replied, "Can't you see? Can't find a quiet spot."Ra pointed to Ribhu's table. "That means? There are people there," Sonamon said in confusion. Ra chuckled, "No madam, you don't understand. Those aren't people.""Meaning? Not people? Who, a robot?" Sonamon asked.Ra said, "He's my friend. Please sit there. No problem at all."Sonamon shrugged, "Alright."Ra came over, pulled out a chair in front of Ribhu, and said, "Please, madam, have this seat. What will you have? Will the fish fry do?"Sonamon said, "That's fine. And a liquor tea, please. I'm on a diet. Do you have green tea?"
Ritu glanced irritably towards Ra. Her gaze meant one thing – "I'm trying to connect here, and you're making a mockery of it?" Ra, eager to explain through his anxious eyes, looked towards Laxmi for help. Ribhu, with a serious expression, fixed his gaze on his laptop.Sonamon got busy on her phone, and moments later, Ribhu overheard Sonamon speaking on the phone, "Hello... 'Won't you come?... Have I said something wrong?... Alright... Hang on... You're cutting your hair into eight parts..." Sonamon hung up abruptly.A wave of laughter erupted in the café. Sonamon, looking around, exclaimed, "What's with all the laughter? Because I said my boyfriend isn't coming due to a 'black' reason, is that so amusing? You all..."Everyone turned serious.Sonamon muttered, "Idiots."At that moment, Ribhu's hero was pounding the villain in the villa. He heard Sonamon's remark and said, "Please don't curse."Sonamon was visibly annoyed. Upon hearing Ribhu, she asked, "Why, are you a policeman?" Ribhu, with an irritated face, apologized, "Alright, my mistake. Please forgive me." Sonamon retorted, "I can forgive you for a lifetime. That's my job. What's your job? To beg for forgiveness?"Ribhu didn't respond.Ra brought Sonamon her green tea. Sonamon sipped her green tea and teasingly said, "Looks like I'm drinking cow's urine. Come on, bring me coffee. I'm reducing weight. I won't change myself for anyone."Ra shrugged and said, "Alright, as you wish."Sonamon remarked, "Is it? Won't you charge for this? Bring me coffee. I'll have this too. What to do, I've ordered it, haven't eaten yet."With a sip, Sonamon finished her hot green tea. Everyone in the café was watching her. Eyes met and then turned away. It was evident everyone was having a good time. A waiter brought Ribhu's fish fry. Sonamon inquired, "What's this?" Ra replied, "It's fish fry."Sonamon remarked, "Looks quite good. Add another plate to my order for today."
Ra replied, "Alright."Ribhu took a small piece from the large fish fry and placed it on a plate, letting its aroma fill the air. Sonamon exclaimed, "What did you just do? Did you think I was looking?"Ribhu responded, "You can have it. But you didn't ask; it's a habit from my childhood. Whenever someone gave me something, I used to set aside a bit to savor later."Sonamon nodded in a mocking manner towards Ribhu, saying, "Looks like educated folks, isn't it?"Ribhu retorted, "There's no difference in wisdom between one who savors the aroma and one who doesn't. Understand that first. I'm very particular. I have a stomach issue."Sonamon scoffed, "Ridiculous."Ribhu started eating the fish fry quietly while Sonamon kept making faces in her own thoughts. This is her quirk. She murmured to herself.Ribhu's hero would now engage in a conversation with the heroine. Sonamon's preoccupation made her unable to concentrate. She said, "Will you pause for a moment?"Sonamon asked, "Why? Why should you stop? It's a free country. Do as you please. Will you pay my bill?" Ribhu, with a sigh, diverted his attention back to his laptop.
The spirit of poetry resonated through the halls as anticipation brewed. Soon, a contrasting figure's call would echo forth. Birupaksha, with a bag slung over his shoulder, carried a flask of Ram mixed with coke. Sipping intermittently, he awaited.
Tamaltaru, a young poet, approached Birupaksha with a plea, "Master, grant me just two sips."
Birupaksha retorted, "Haven't you seen me drink with my mouth?"
Tamaltaru replied, "What's the harm, Master? I'll take it as divine offering."
Birupaksha pushed the flask forward, saying, "You won't drink from the mouth. You know my temper; I'll thrash you."
Tamaltaru, nodding, took a sip, distorting his face, and exclaimed, "Good heavens, give me water!"
Birupaksha chuckled, "You expect me to drink water with this? Have you not seen the days? Where's Subhadra? Have you seen Jamildar dozing with someone? Is he agreeing? Is he enjoying or sharpening his wit?"
Tamaltaru, sticking out his tongue, questioned, "Oh Master, your wit has soared. What are these words?"
Birupaksha retorted, "Nonsense! Can't a poet jest? Isn't Satipana joking?"
Tamaltaru retreated, surveying the surroundings. Dhoomabati Raychowdhury, conducting the event, watched Birupaksha's reading. The name Birupaksha was called. He settled in a chair, placing his bag aside, ready to recite. Dhoomabati, with an inquisitive gaze, whispered, "That was brilliant."
Birupaksha asked, "Really?"
Dhoomabati confirmed, "Yes."
Birupaksha replied, "Let's not dwell. The venue awaits."
Dhoomabati suggested, "Yes. Shall we see Sudhir?"
Before Birupaksha could respond, Sudhir Rudra Pal arrived, praising, "Birupaksha, splendid words today. Extraordinary. They resonate with strength."
Birupaksha thanked, "Your blessings, sir."
Sudhir asked, "Are you leaving?"
Birupaksha regretted, "I have work tomorrow. What to do?"
The conversation mingled with poetic essence, creating an atmosphere of vibrant intellect and camaraderie.
Sudhir said, "Oh, alright then. Take care. The magazine will be out soon, your contribution will be there." Birupaksha, beaming, thanked him profusely, "Thank you, brother. Thank you."
Retrieving two thousand rupee notes from his pocket, Birupaksha handed them to Sudhir, saying, "I forgot the change, brother. Sorry."
Sudhir, pleased with the money, replied, "That's fine. Take care. A few members of a group mentioned another award. I recommended your name, though."
Birupaksha humbly responded, "All your blessings, brother. I'll be there."
Sudhir patted Birupaksha's shoulder, urging, "Go on, go on. Take care. Keep writing poetry."
As Sudhir left, Birupaksha muttered, "Stay young. Engage in group discussions. Cheerio, brother. Dhoomabati, let's go."
Birupaksha started walking, and as Dhoomabati rushed out of the auditorium, she caught up with him. As they reached the street, Birupaksha hailed a taxi. Sitting beside him, Dhoomabati, as the taxi started, Birupaksha leaned on her shoulder, asking, "Did you enjoy the poetry today?"
Dhoomabati was taken aback by the question and replied, "What's with you again?"
Birupaksha said, "Suddenly, my head spun. I feel a bit pressured."
Dhoomabati scoffed, "Oh, how will the taxi driver understand?"
Birupaksha assured, "No one will understand. Everyone is occupied with their own work. Tell me first, how did my poetry feel?"
Dhoomabati hesitated, saying, "It felt good. But if you don't rise, the lady will feel distressed."
Birupaksha teased, "If a Bangla poetry enters her world, will it cause distress, dear, or will it be brave, my girl?"
Dhoomabati exclaimed, "Oh, you're something!"
Birupaksha retrieved a bottle from his bag, took a sip, and asked, "Will you have some?"
Dhoomabati agreed, "Pass it here." She took a few sips.
Birupaksha smirked, "Will you call me Mintu? No one calls me that anymore. Life has become mundane."
Dhoomabati chuckled in response.