In life, we all meet a person who is so much like us. We love and respect them so much that there isn’t anything that we wouldn’t do for them. But not everyone is lucky to meet that perfect and spend their whole life together. Only a few couples get such a destiny. Mr. and Mrs. Sengupta had had a similar heart touching love story.
They fell in love in the ’70s when it was considered taboo. Despite the odds, they married each other and lived together. Their story proves that true love stories never have endings. They go and go even when lovers are not together. So let’s read their love story.
Heart Touching Love Story of Arup Dalia Sengupta
You can read about Arup Sengupta here, what he is doing now, and his social work.
I first met Dalia in a youth club in 1970 during the Bangladesh Liberation struggle in Kolkata. I worked there as an Asst Secretary, and Dalia was a member. She used to come there for meetings. The seven seas channel swimmer Padma Bhushan Shri Mihir Sen was our club, President.
Meeting Dalia was a different but beautiful experience. I can never forget it because, for me, it was love at first sight. She was a 19-year old pretty girl who looked as fresh as red roses, as innocent as a newborn, as beautiful as the moon. Her long hair added stars to her beauty.
During the 2 hours of our meeting, I made it known to all my seniors, including Mihir Sen. It was visible on my face how much I liked her. But Dalia was utterly clueless about it. When she came to know she thought I was mad.
All her siblings told her that I was an idiot. For a change, it didn’t offend me. However, she was impressed with my looks, fair skin, deep rosy cheeks, and the way I sang songs. At that time, I used to play in a rock band in Park Street Night Club.
A few days later, I was invited to her home for lunch as we were working in a refugee camp due to the war with East Pakistan. Her family wanted to meet this Idiot (MAD). You won’t believe they didn’t know my real name except as they used to call me MAD. During the meeting, my father-in-law asked my name.
I said Arup, but it didn’t change my last name. I was still referred to MAD even after our marriage.
Dalia never called me Arup. I mean never. Pagal (mad) was my name, and all her letters to me or notes had Pagal (actually Pagol as pronounced in Bangala)
24th December, her elder brother and she stayed over at our home. Dalia encountered my mother, and she liked Dalia so much, but for Dalia, we all were a problem. Dalia didn’t have such feelings in her heart, so maybe she hadn’t realized at that time.
I invited them to come to Trincas (The most happening Night Club in Kolkata) to take things forward. I was performing with Usha Irer (Uttup) and Bidhu, the Trojans, and other stars and bands, and was a drummer/Guitarist in the band. It was Dalia’s first exposure to English Rock music and dance. She fell in love with rock music and till death loved listening to it but softly.
The following week, she was dancing on stage, and I went to see her performance. She was looking like an angel, dressed as a man yet very feminine and damn pretty. Her moves were equally awesome and magical.
The function ended late at night, so I walked her home. I could feel butterflies dancing in my stomach as we walked together on an empty road. Much to our dismay, Naxalite infested. At that time, Kolkata was burning in 1968-the 1970s due to Naxalite movements. There and there were pockets or dens where even the cops refused to go. They spotted us in the darkness, and a group of unknown people ruffled me up. I was stabbed and left to die. A police patrol took me home, and Dalia’s parents were rung up.
My mother went wild with fury when she saw me in that condition. She said nasty things to Dalia, and Dalia just cried and begged. You won’t believe a Shahrukh Khan film plot unfolded at the spot. Regardless of my mother’s fury, she continued to see me, and I slowly healed. Throughout the time, we understood each other, fell in love, and you see “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai” was happening for sure, but she was uncomfortable even if I touched her hand or fingers.
Back in the 19’s, we weren’t as forward as today’s couple, even though our first hug was very stiff. But I was a Darjeeling Libra boy, so Ek hug to banta hai. The language barrier was a problem between us. She didn’t speak English or Hindi, and I couldn’t speak Bangla properly. But she had learned little English and the “NO WAY” word was always a part of her dictionary. She would use it when I tried to hold her hand.
Our romance wasn’t like today’s time. Dalia was timid, and for about a year, NO ENTRY was written all over her face. Yet we dated each other. We met each other daily, went to all her relatives or my relatives. We were ONE from day one. As I said before, our love stories were too different.
We were One Soul Two Bodies, but we never romanced each other except “ILU ILU..I love you” we never romanced each other. For me, Bangla was a massive problem, so she was comfortable with not speaking much. Dalia was a lady of few words. She wasn’t demonstrative, but we could hold entire conversations. We understood each other this much. The language barrier couldn’t separate us.
Throughout the time, she would smile, smile, and smile though I found it cute but trust me, it was pretty frustrating. No rewards, no kisses, and no holding hands, no hugging on you must be joking. NO WAY!!!! But we are talking 70’s, so I had no option but to put up with it. Besides, she meant a lot to me. More than this closeness, I loved her soul.
In 1971 May, I decided to tell her in Bengali that I loved her and wanted to marry her. I wrote it down in English, conveying Bangla words (Benglish I invented in 1971 much before today).
AMITOMAI BHALO BASHI…. I wrote it down on the palm of my hand.
I took her to a crowded place in Bata Sports Field opposite Park Street in Maidan, where I used to play professional sports to execute the plan. I confessed my love and said those magical words. She flinched, and her entire body became stiff. To comfort her, I said, ‘I love you, my mother, my elder sister, my Nani, my aunt, and my younger sister, we all love you. It’s not only me.’ I sounded funny, so she burst out laughing but said nothing in return, she only laughed, and I sat like a zombie, not knowing what that reaction of laughter meant.
When I walked her to the bus stand, she allowed me to hold her hand. It was a reward, of course—her way of saying YES. For me, move one was successful. One full year of dating, and I am on Base One (Summer of 1942 Base One, remember the movie)
Cut to June 1972. Once I attempted to kiss her, she just cried, cried, and cried inconsolably. She was distraught, so she took the bus and went back to her home. Three days later, she came to my office and told me that she was upset as she thought if couples kissed, a baby would be born. I was like Lo Kar lo baat, but it’s Dalia, who we are talking about. She is innocent, simple, beautiful yet mysterious.
I took her to Biology and sex education classes (all in English) to sort it out. I got her magazines (underground types in Bangla). Through which, she educated herself, her siblings, and her friends as well. Then she became comfortable with hand-holding and little romance. They were my true treasures. I still cherish them.
We were from 2 different religions. She was a Hindu, and I was a Christian and a TB survivor. Even in 2021, intercaste marriage was taboo in our society. And we wanted to do it in the ’70s. You can understand how grave the situation was for her family.
Without her knowledge, her parents fixed her marriage, and all hell broke loose at her home when she said she wanted to marry me. Her mother was okay, but her father was stubborn and not at all in favor of our marriage. My father-in-law invited me to meet in his office. There the elders of her family spoke to me and told me about the issue. They said they weren’t comfortable with an intercaste marriage. I was firm and told them that we would marry each other at any cost. We both are adults, so they cannot stop us, etc.
Dalia hadn’t replied to my proposal, at least not in words, and I was talking about marriage and running away with her. Wow, bring on the cavalry!
Finally, they agreed, and the date got fixed. It was 12th August 1972, and I met her the next day in her home, and sweets were exchanged for us, but she hadn’t said ILU yet, which she did later. Yes, this is 70’s love for you.
For marriage, I was financially not ready. My day job was in Bata Show Shop as a counter salesman, and in the evening, I played professional sports to earn an extra income. My mother was sick as well. I was the only anchor they had as my father had died years ago. I wanted to wait, but her father gave me no time. It was either get married or leave her. Leaving her was impossible, so I decided to marry. We got married on 12th August 1972.
My best friends got us one room in a Bustee (slum) area. I paid Rs 30 as rent, and they gave household stuff like a stove, cooking utensils, pillows, a mattress, etc., as gifts. It wasn’t easy for us to stay and manage our happy home.
We struggled a lot, stood in a queue to use washrooms, ate whatever we could get. Life was tough back then, real tough. But we loved each other madly, so we worked out.
I was a TB survivor, so that no one would offer a decent job. Society did not want me. Due to my sports, I got a better job in Kanpur and joined Sales as a Sales Executive in an FMCG company, and we left in a first-class train to set up our home in Kanpur. Within a bit of period, our life changed completely. Our kids were born, and our social status grew as my promotion happened. We saw so much happiness together.
Yes, our marriage was designed in heaven, scripted on Earth, and we lived a wonderful life together for 48 years with two lovely children. Sure we had our ups and downs and weathered many storms, but we were always there to hold each other. Then one day, Daila was gone. Death separated us. She wasn’t sick, but she just left quietly without a goodbye.
At her funeral, she looked beautiful in a golden sari surrounded by her children, friends, and me in one corner away from her as I felt her next to me. That day, my entire life played like a tape in my head. I was thankful to God for allowing me to be with her, to marry her.
She was always there silently beside me, supporting me in whatever I did. I’m not alone. I have her memories with me. Today, I have 6 of her plants with me in my village in Sundarban, bearing flowers daily. After her death, you won’t believe those plants she nurtured since 2014 but didn’t bear flowers are adorned with many flowers now. I could feel her in them like she was there in her flowers, telling me how much she still loved me.
I wanna tell her, ‘Sometimes I miss you in ways I didn’t even know someone could miss a person. Each day, I love you more. In our upcoming lives, I want you to be there with me. I’ll always choose you as my partner. You’re the only one for me. We are a perfect match: you and I. We truly are.
You can read about Arup Sengupta here, what he is doing now, and his social work.
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