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“No, Ma’am, I Don’t Want to Buy That Knife From You”: A Love Story

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First Comes Marriage

Editor’s note: Have a good “how we met” story? Email us at thedatereport at howaboutwe dot com.

He says: It was of September 2008 and near about 12 noon. I was sitting at tea stall with my friends as usual after each class of my MBA course. At same time I saw sexy white blonde girl walk by on street close by and she needed help. My friend told me, “Go man and ask her” and so I went her and asked, “What are you looking for ma’am?” Her American accent was difficult for me and I could not understand what she wanted. It seemed she wanted to sell me some multi-purpose knife and I told her, “No ma’am, I don’t want to buy that knife from you.” But she explained again what she wanted and that time I got it. She was looking to buy the same knife again, so I took her to many stores but we could not find. I was getting late for my Maths Class so she told me It’s OK and she offered me for cold drink. And while we were having drink I asked her contact number and email. She was so pretty, I was dreaming to have her in my life. Fortunately, she is my wife now.” —Monty

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She says: “I was in Pune, India for a few months in the Summer of 2008 studying the Indian Monsoon. One of my scientist colleagues asked me to find him a Swiss army knife like the one I had found at a market in Mumbai for 90 Rupees ($2), so I was on a mission, but was getting lost in the back roads of Pune. I went from shop to shop holding up the scissors, asking if they carried the same, but not many shopkeepers seemed to understand me, and I was getting frustrated, and I was lost at that point. When I saw Monty come towards me on the road, I got the good kind of chills. He had on obnoxious cologne, reeked of cigarette smoke, and was wearing really tight clothes over his big, hunky muscles — all these things were totally aggressive, and “not my type”, or so I thought, but even so, he was fiercely handsome and had this gorgeous smile. (Today, if you ask him his first impression of me, he will say I was his “big white cow”, or refer to me as his sexy, heavy wife. I was offended for awhile, but now I see they’re terms of endearment.) His English wasn’t great and nor was my Hindi, so it took a while to communicate. Eventually, we gave up the search but exchanged phone numbers.

Later that night, I was in my living room. I had left my phone in the bedroom. When I went to check my phone, I saw that Monty had called me 29 times already! I feared he was a complete psycho stalker, but then I thought maybe he needed my help, since he was so kind to help me earlier that day. So I called him back, and sure enough, found out that he had been drunk-dialing me all night from his birthday party. At some point, he told me he thought I was his birthday gift from God, and we should get married. Obviously, a little fast for an American! I didn’t even know his last name (by the way, he doesn’t have one, which made immigrating to the U.S. a VERY LONG PROCESS). Anyhow, since it was his birthday, we arranged to meet for a movie and sushi (not the easiest thing to find in India, by the way). On the third day, I had taken him to a home for juvenile delinquent boys where my friend and I had taken a true interest in supporting these boys academically to improve their chances of not becoming a statistic of crime or poverty as they became adults. When I saw him playing with these kids, and later talking about how much he loved his family, I was completely sold on this man.

We went to Café Coffee Day that evening and sat with lattes and our homework/research. I passed him a little note across the table that told him I wanted him to get on one knee to propose, so at least some of the falling in love experience wouldn’t feel so exotic. Hence, three days after we met, Monty had me on our balcony that night telling me some of the kindest, unscripted things, formally asking me to marry him. I left India three days after that, not knowing when I would see Monty again. He had two years of his grad school in Pune ahead of him and I still had one year yet to go in NY. Despite the terrorist attack in Mumbai thwarting my December 2008 trip, I met Monty a second time in Pune nine months after we first met. I met his family in Varanasi, although his mom and I have never had a direct conversation, due to language barriers. The third time I visited Monty in January 2010, we were married in a one-room concrete courthouse with bars on the windows. Four years after we met, and three-and-a-half years into our marriage, we are very happy together. Soon I plan to visit my in-laws able to speak Hindi, too!” —Yvonne

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