My So-Called Bollywood Life

by Nisha Sharma

  “Oh my God, Dev.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And my parents had what the priest called a ‘perfect match.’ Their star charts matched over twenty-five points, which is supposed to be excellent. They let others tell them what to do, and it ruined my mother’s life. She should’ve trusted her instincts.”

  “Dev, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

  Dev reached over to cover her hand with his. “Say that you understand. That you realize predictions about destiny, astrology readings, whatever, can be incredibly misleading. However, if they match what you want for yourself, you won’t avoid someone just because destiny and free will are the same. Screw pandits and star charts and prophecies. Sometimes you have to trust yourself and let destiny follow.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she mumbled. “My problem is, how can I know for sure if my prophecy is what I want since it’s been crammed down my throat since birth? My mother even mentioned it at the pooja just now.”

  “Have you tried to go with your gut?”

  She looked up at him. “If I had, then maybe you and I would’ve dated freshman year.”

  He smiled and pulled her closer. He tilted her head back and then rested his lips against hers. As kisses went, it was pillow soft and cotton-candy sweet. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

  “Go out with me again,” he said when they came up for air.

  She dropped her head to his shoulder. It felt right, so she said the only thing her filmi soul wanted her to say.

  “Okay.”

  13

  AISHA

  ★★★★★

  Regardless of whether a film is a Hollywood or Bollywood production, a shopping montage must always result in the perfect outfit.

  852-4655: Why cant u leve Raj ALONE?? Isnt Dev enuf?

  WINNIE: I want nothing to do with Raj romantically. We just work together so STOP TEXTING ME.

  852-4655: STOP TALKING TO RAJ.

  WINNIE: Get over it. I’m blocking you.

  Winnie surveyed the chaos around her. A laptop sat on the dark wood coffee table next to a cup of iced chai latte, her cell phone, and a stack of textbooks and notebooks. Pulled up on the computer screen was the final draft of her essay for her application. A v-chat box was open in the right corner. Bridget’s face filled the small window, her long hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. Instead of her usual contacts, she wore large hot-pink frames that dwarfed her face.

  “I’m exhausted,” Winnie said. Her words were muffled by the royal blue decorative pillows edged with silver mirror embroidery.

  “You asked for it,” Bridget replied. “Your application is finally finished, though!”

  “Yeah, but I’m not submitting it until I know for sure about this film festival.”

  “Right. All the entries are coming in, apparently. Raj asked you to review them, right? It looks like some good stuff, too.”

  “I hope so, since we have a guest judge who is also teaching the master class.”

  “You’re about to take on all of the work for the festival, aren’t you? Raj has been waiting for this moment. I bet you even have the fund-raiser dance on your plate.”

  Winnie grunted.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand pathetic.” Bridget clapped her hands, and the sound was like an alarm blaring through the speakers of her laptop. “Come on! What’s up?”

  “Nothing. You’re right, it is going to be a lot more work if I get to be festival co-chair again. I thought I’d be excited about it, because my college application is going to rock, but there is so much more going on now, you know? Dev, Raj…and Jenny is still being all psycho and texting me. I finally blocked her.”

  “She texted you again? How does she know if you and Raj talk?”

  “Because she has spies, Bridget.” Winnie leaned close so that she could peer into the webcam at the top of her laptop monitor. “Jenny has spies everywhere.”

  Bridget snorted. “You’re a freak, you know that?”

  “I’m losing my mind. Did I mention that I have a calc test on Friday? That’s right before I go to work at the theater.”

  Before Bridget could respond, Winnie’s grandmother strolled into the living room holding two glasses filled with a smoothie drink. Her mother walked in behind her with a plate of spicy potato noodles.

  “The girl doesn’t eat,” Nani said as she handed Winnie one of the glasses. “This is good for you. Mango lassi. Drink it.”

  “Oh, okay. Where did you get the aloo bhujia?” Winnie said, pointing to the plate with her other hand. “I thought Dad ate the rest of the bag. Did you take a trip to Subzi Mandi today?”

  “No, we tried the new Patel Brothers grocers that opened next to Neelam Auntie’s development.”

  Her grandmother put on the glasses that were hanging from the collar of her sweatshirt and sat down on the couch. She peered at the screen and scrunched her nose.

  “Ai ki hai?” she asked. “What is this?”

  Bridget waved, and Winnie made the window wider. “Hi, Nani!” Bridget said. “Hi, Auntie.”

  Nani leaned closer and started yelling, loud enough for Winnie’s ears to ring. “Oh, Bridget! Nice to see you! You come over soon and I feed you, okay? We make Indian food. No spicy for you! Come soon!”

  “Nani!” Winnie said, covering her ears. “Bridget and I are both going to go deaf. You don’t have to yell at the screen. And why are you talking so weird? She knows that you speak better English than that.”

  Nani smacked Winnie on the back of the head.

  “Ouch!”

  She yelped again when her mother smacked her, too.

  “What was that for?”

  “Disrespect,” both women said in unison.

  Bridget was laughing on the other end. “What are you two beautiful women up to?”

  Sita Mehta got close to the screen and motioned over her shoulder at Winnie. “You know, this one works too hard. We’re thinking of taking her out.”

  “Drink your lassi and eat some bhujia,” Nani said. “After that, we’re going shopping!”

  “I have to get to school early tomorrow, and I have homework and film-club stuff to do.”

  “You need a mental interruption,” her mother said, patting her thigh. “Eat your share of bhujia before your father finishes this, too, and then get ready. We’re going to Oak Tree Road.”

  “Wait, we’re going Indian shopping?”

  Bridget started squealing on the screen. “Can I come, too? Oh my God, I love Oak Tree Road! We can get the anklets you’ve been promising me.”

  “Yes, you come, too!” Nani shouted before getting up to go. “See you, Bridget!”

  “Ten minutes,” Winnie’s mother added. “Bridget, if your mother approves, we’ll drive, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks, Auntie.”

  Winnie waited until they left the room before she placed her lassi on the coffee table and fell into the cushions and throw pillows again. “Why would you egg them on, Bridget? You know how bad Indian shopping with my mother and grandmother can be. I spend most of the time trying to convince them not to buy out the entire store for me.”

  “Do you know how lucky you are to have a mom and grandmother who love bling? We’re going to have so much fun.”

  Winnie slammed closed the lid of her computer.

  * * *

  —

  Oak Tree Road in Edison, New Jersey, was one of America’s finest Indiatowns. Even on a weeknight, the long two-lane street lined with Indian restaurants and clothing stores was congested with drivers and pedestrians wearing a mix of western and traditional Indian clothes. Although there were a few Indian stores in Princeton and even more in North Brunswick, Winnie’s mother still liked to drive the forty-five minutes to Edison so she could get her eyebrows threaded and buy groceries. Today they were skipping the groceries and heading straight for the clothing boutiques.

  “Let’s go in here,” her mother said, pointing to one of the shops toward the end o
f the strip. They passed the kebab store with its opened windows and meat cooking on three-foot-long skewers. The rich, pungent smell was mouthwatering.

  “Ma,” Winnie groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Let’s stop here first. The lassi and bhujia weren’t enough for dinner.”

  Her mother kept pulling her along, past a group of elderly women dressed in saris. Bridget trailed behind in her tight jeans, her blond hair waving like a yellow beacon.

  “Right now we have to go see some outfits for you.” Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to press a sloppy kiss against her cheek. “This is all for you, beta. Don’t be rude, otherwise your grandmother is going to throw her shoe at you.”

  “She’d have to be paying attention first,” Winnie muttered, slowing her step as her mother and Nani marched ahead into the store.

  “I bet you she can hear you from back here,” Bridget whispered at her side. “She has superpowers.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Winnie replied as she entered the store.

  Everything in the boutique was new, including the shiny hardwood floors and crystal-clear mirrors, with that fresh, rich smell that only came from new Indian fabrics. All the clothes were packaged in thick plastic, so somehow that scent straight from India was trapped, and released only when the outfit was pulled from the bag.

  Winnie looked around at the walls lined with hanging rods filled with covered clothes, and she took a moment to inhale. It was oddly comforting.

  “Winnie, come here!” her mother said. She was holding up an electric pink ankle-length skirt while Nani showed off the matching halter top and chuni.

  “Oh!” Bridget said. She walked over and ran a hand along the rhinestone-encrusted bodice. “Sparkly.”

  “It’s too pink,” Winnie said as she moved closer to them.

  “This is the present we wanted to give you,” her mother said. “Not this particular outfit, but we know that you have a dance coming up to raise money for your festival….”

  “So I am buying you the lengha you’ll wear,” Nani said as she patted Winnie’s cheek.

  “Oh,” Winnie said. “A lengha? For school?” She’d been hoping to just wear a black dress.

  “I think this is perfect for the function,” Nani said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Winnie’s grandmother’s and mother’s faces grew stony.

  “Uh-oh,” Bridget said. “I think I see the anklets I want. Off I go!” She slid away to another section of the store.

  “Wearing a lengha or a salwar kameez is traditional for Indians attending a function like your dance. What, are you ashamed of your culture?” Nani asked.

  “I thought I raised you better than that, Winnie,” her mother added.

  “And people wonder where I get my drama. Of course I’m not ashamed. Hello, Bollywood movie junkie. But a hot-pink lengha will draw too much attention, and I’ve been doing enough of that on my own lately.”

  Winnie’s mother sighed. “Beta, that’s the point. Raj will be there all dressed up.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Well, it should. What if he tries to make you jealous again and brings Jenny?”

  There was no way she’d ever be jealous if Raj took someone else to the dance, and although the idea of looking better than Jenny appealed to her for a hot second, she didn’t need to show up her ex and his on-again, off-again girlfriend. “Still, the dance is, like, a few weeks away, and—”

  “And you need time in case there are alterations,” her mother said. “You know very well alterations can take weeks. Are you really going to say no to me, beta?”

  Winnie looked between her mother and her grandmother, who were both staring at her with smiles full of encouragement and excitement. They wanted to do something nice for her. Maybe if she found something plain enough, she wouldn’t look too conspicuous. She slowly reached out and touched the lengha.

  “If I say yes, I need veto power.”

  “Done,” Nani said. She held the chuni against her chest. “Well? Let’s play dress-up.”

  Winnie smiled. It was no surprise that her love for wardrobe montages came from her family.

  After forty-five minutes of trying on clothes that were either too fancy, too colorful, or too gaudy, Winnie pushed the dressing-room curtain aside. She was back in her yoga pants but hadn’t put her sneakers on yet.

  “Ma, are we almost done? I want to eat at Shalimar’s before they close. I could really go for some kebabs right now.”

  Bridget was nowhere to be found, and Winnie’s mother and grandmother weren’t even paying attention to her. They were consumed in a conversation with a short, stout woman gripping a worn black leather purse. Dev’s mom. The moment of recognition gave Winnie a jolt.

  “Hi, Sharda Auntie,” Winnie said as she approached the woman.

  “Hello, beti, tu kaisi hai?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

  “Fine, fine, thank you.”

  “We’re getting Winnie an outfit,” her mother said. “It’s a gift from her nani.”

  “Oh!” Dev’s mother grinned at Winnie. “So nice to have a nani who cares so much, no?”

  Winnie nodded. “Yes, absolutely. Ma, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve tried on everything. I think we should go….”

  Winnie’s mother made a flicking motion with her fingers. “This girl, nah? So picky. Did you see anything while you were shopping?”

  Dev’s mother tapped a finger to her lip. “You know, my friend Jyoti who works here was telling me about the latest parcel from Delhi. Jyoti! Jyoti, come here.”

  The sales assistant who she called over was painfully thin, with frizzy black hair that was ferociously bound in a thick ponytail. She had a large red bindi pasted to the middle of her forehead. “Can I help you?” she asked in a thick accent.

  The women spoke while Winnie forced herself to wait patiently. Jyoti then left to get a few options.

  “Ma, where’s Bridget?”

  “She’s upstairs trying on the men’s clothes,” her mother said. “Something about gender-bending pants. I didn’t think they sold those types of pants here.”

  “I’m going to wait in the fitting room.” Winnie slipped behind the curtain and perched on the bench. This night was never going to end unless she did something about it. She reached for her phone and called Dev.

  “Hey,” Dev said when he picked up the phone. “I’m in the middle of shooting, so you have two minutes before I gotta go.”

  Winnie heard the sound of people talking in the background, and maybe even bells. “I thought you already finished your movie for the festival,” she whispered.

  “I’m making some last-minute changes. And why are you whispering?”

  “Because I’m in a dressing room, and your mother, my mother, my grandmother, and the saleslady are trying to get me to buy an Indian outfit. I don’t even want to buy an Indian outfit.”

  “Wait, wait. You’re in a fitting room? Naked, possibly? I don’t believe you.”

  She smiled only because she knew that he wasn’t there to see it. “Please do something.”

  “I have no idea why my mother is there, but I can call her if you do one thing for me.”

  “I’m not taking pictures for you!”

  “No, you perv,” he said with a laugh. “Go on that date you promised me. On Saturday. We’ll go somewhere. Or come to my house and we’ll watch movies.”

  She felt her fingers go numb, and she gripped the phone a little tighter. She didn’t want to drop it midswoon. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten you in three years, Winnie,” he said.

  Winnie closed her eyes at the sound of those words and pressed a fist to her beating heart.

  “Dev,” she said. “This is fast.”

  “Not for me. I have to go.”

  “Winnie!” The sound of her name coming from outside the curtain raked on her nerves.


  “Dev, call your mom.”

  “You got it. I’ll call…as soon as I finish this scene.”

  “Dev!”

  “Just a few minutes,” he said, and hung up the phone.

  She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or amused by him. She put her phone away. Everything faded out and her eyes locked onto the delicate lengha in Jyoti’s arms.

  The skirt was bright red with a thick gold border at the bottom. She could already tell that it was so full that if she twirled, the fabric would fan around her. The top was black and belly-baring, with a matching gold border right under the bust line. The sleeves were black and plain. The chuni was a sunset yellow with gold trim. The three different colors shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason they melded together perfectly. It was unlike any other combination of color she’d seen in the store.

  “This is it,” Jyoti said, beaming. “This is perfect for you. With your height and hair, and your curvy midsection, you’ll be the most beautiful person at the dance. I’ll be right back with some jewelry.” She hustled away.

  “You like it, beta?”

  “I love it. Thanks, Nani. Really. Is it too expensive, though?”

  “You let me worry about that. You need to dress like the heroine you were meant to be.”

  “Here we are,” Jyoti said as she presented a felt-lined box filled with different types of jewelry. Dev’s mom reached in and pulled out a silver bracelet. The bangle was a thin rope of sterling silver that had two silver balls locking together at the top. A paisley pattern wrapped around the curve of the bracelet, adding a traditional twist to the modern. If Winnie had to wear one bracelet for the rest of her life, the one Dev’s mother was holding would be it.

  “What a beautiful piece,” her grandmother said.