An hour after he placed the call, a portly gentleman arrived at his door and handed him an envelope that bore the legend: Interlink Friendship Service. Bloody gave the man one thousand rupees. The man gave him the envelope and left.

Bloody had not opened the envelope all day. He turned it around in his hands over and over again. He tore a corner of the envelope, inserted his finger into the tiny cavity and ripped the top open. The plain white sheet of paper inside listed details of five potential women-friends:

Bloody turned on the table lamp and sat at his desk. He looked like he was going to embark on a self-inflicted mock test. He uncapped his pen and, like a father encircling suitable brides for his son in the Sunday matrimonials, ticked two names.

At first, he tried calling Dipti and Dolly. In each case, a recorded message informed him that the number he had dialled did not exist. With a sinking heart, he tried Priya. Her phone was switched off. It was down to the final two. Sudha, or someone claiming to be her, picked up the phone. Bloody heard babies squalling in the background. Yes, said Sudha, she was part of the friendship club network, except that these days she was very busy. The children were not keeping well. Besides, her sister was visiting for a few days. Would he mind calling later, please? His frustration mounting, Bloody called Sunita’s number. A man claiming to be a panwala answered the call. Yes, a girl by the name of Sunita had rented the phone for the day but it was now back in the shop. Bloody had never heard of a panwala running a mobile phone renting service. None of the numbers worked. This was daylight robbery. Not wanting to accept defeat so easily, he called the original number, the one in the ad. A woman picked up. Her voice sounded familiar. He had spoken to her in the morning.

Bloody decided to give her a piece of his mind: ‘Listen,’ he shouted, ‘I hope you remember me because this morning I had called your bloody friendship club but none of the bloody numbers seem to work. There is no Dipti and no bloody Dolly. You bloody well give me numbers that work or I want my bloody money back.’

The lady at the other end heard him out patiently, then said, ‘So sorry. Wrong number.’ She then cut the line. Bloody tried calling her number many times but only got an engaged tone.