ami tomake biye korte cai

I received my first marriage proposal this week . . .

At school, which is our home, there is a large class of Japanese volunteers (semi-equivalent to the Peace Corps—but better, from what Melissa and I have heard) who have been doing an intense language class for the past three weeks. I have not interacted much with them since I have not been around a whole lot this past week.

However, one day while walking through the hallway, one of the Japanese students suddenly starts asking me all sorts of questions in Bangla. Haltingly, I answer in Bangla, and then he returned to class. It was an abrupt, odd conversation, but not unusual at the school.

The next afternoon while Melissa and I are sitting in the drawing room waiting for class to begin, this same student who had talked to me in the hall came out of the bathroom and announced to Melissa and I that he had diarrhea. Immediately, we start laughing . . . along with all the teachers in the room. This guy was quite the ham. He sits down on one of the couches and proceeds to tell us all in Bangla that Japanese women are the most beautiful women in the world, but in the next breath, he says that he wants to marry an American. Hmmm . . .

Someone then proceeded to ask him if there were any girls waiting for him in Japan. He said there were. Well, how many? 99.

We all laughed hard, and then this Japanese student left to go play futbol.

The day after that, right after my class, while the Japanese students were having a break, this same student sits down close to me and begins by asking me if I have “done marriage” yet. After I tell him that (according to Bangla culture) marriage “happens” to women, I inform him that, no, marriage has not happened to me. He then declares (all in Bangla, mind you), that he wants to marry me.

I doubled over laughing. My two female teachers were shocked. The other students who were able to understand him began to listen.

Somewhere in this conversation (it was quite a blur), after the proposal, he asks me if I have a boyfriend in the States. Because I did not know the word for boyfriend, I had to have help from the teachers to understand. My two female teachers were making eyes at me trying to tell me to tell him I did have a boyfriend, but I could not lie. So, when the bell rings and the students have to go back to class, I ask him what his name is (Yoshi . . . wasn’t that a character in Mario Brothers?), and he tells me, “You better remember your boyfriend’s name.” Ha!

As Bangladeshis, my female teachers were quite aghast at the audacity of Yoshi. As an American, I just laughed . . . and was kind of flattered when I was told that over the last week he has been asking about me. I think I was supposed to find that scandalous.

Yesterday, he plopped down beside me and declares that I am the most beautiful girl in all the world. What girl doesn’t want to hear that . . . after the same person says that Japanese girls are the most beautiful? Sadly, I am not Japanese, so I cannot be the most beautiful, so I told him I did not believe him. He acted hurt. This guy was pulling out all the stops.

Don’t worry, all you folks at home; I did not agree to marry him, and today the Japanese class is finished. As fun and flattering as it was to know Yoshi, we must go our separate ways.

In a world where I am always hot and sweaty and gross, it is nice to be told I am beautiful . . . even if the guy is just a tease.