My So-Called Bollywood Life

by Nisha Sharma

Winnie sighed. “Well, the good news is if I leave the festival, I don’t have to worry about dealing with Raj anymore. Or Mr. Reece. He is such a rule follower.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  “I think it’s important to appreciate rules, but to not follow them blindly. I’ve been going to film festivals with my dad since I was a kid, and he always says the same thing when it comes to movies. Bollywood should appreciate certain rules established by the industry like love triangles and musical numbers, but not every producer has to follow those rules all the time. Mr. Reece is the kind of guy who will always be a follower. He’ll go by the book on this one.”

  “Would you do things differently if you didn’t have to follow Mr. Reece’s book? For the festival.”

  “Oh, totally. But I need the school to approve everything.”

  “Why do you need the school?”

  “Because it’s a lot of money to come up with on my own. I doubt anyone would come to a festival that I hosted by myself, either. The school has a built-in audience. It has credibility.”

  He shrugged. “You never know until you try. Anyway, I must go, but I wish you the best of luck, Vaneeta Mehta. Follow your heart. Oh, and those dreams you’ve been having? Maybe they can lead you to help with your problem.”

  Before she could ask how he knew about her dreams, he’d shut down the monitor with a wave. Winnie pulled down the screen of her laptop and collapsed against her pillows.

  “Pandit Ohmi strikes again,” she said. Well, he’d made her feel better about her situation, which she guessed was a good thing.

  Since she didn’t think she was getting any more sleep, she walked over to her DVD library and looked for some of her favorites. She had other things she could do, like write a new blog post or finish up her paper for advanced European film studies, but she didn’t think she was going to be productive.

  Winnie ran a finger along the thin spines until she found Baazigar. She pulled it off the shelf and examined the image of Shah Rukh Khan. She thought about the premise of the movie and remembered one of the most famous lines that came out of the film:

  Sometimes you need to lose something to win something. Someone who wins something by losing is called a gambler.

  “Film festival…,” she said out loud. “Pandit Ohmi said…holy baby Shah Rukh Khan.”

  Winnie dropped the movie as the idea formed in her brain. It was three in the morning. She couldn’t wake up her mom and dad to ask them for help. They’d kill her. Who else was there?

  “Of course,” Winnie said, and grinned.

  She opened her bedroom door and peeked outside. The hallway was dark save for the one night-light. After tiptoeing past her parents’ room, she reached the last door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, and in the shadows she saw a lump in the middle of the bed. The sound of loud snoring filled the room.

  “Nani?” she whispered. She nudged her grandmother in the side. “Hey, Nani?”

  Her grandmother grunted, but didn’t move.

  Winnie repeated herself, louder this time.

  “Haan,” Nani said with an irritated growl.

  “Nani, wake up. I need to talk to you,” Winnie said.

  “Winnie?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  Winnie switched on the light.

  Her grandmother’s hair was pointing in all directions. Her hot pink paisley nightgown with white lace trim contrasted with the emerald-green blanket.

  “What happened?”

  “Nani, we need to talk. I spoke with Pandit Ohmi again, and I have a plan to fix everything.”

  Nani looked up at her, squinting. “Okay…”

  “You have to help me,” she said.

  Her grandmother sat up slowly and absently ran a hand down Winnie’s back. “You want to do this now?”

  “I’m going to have to tell Mom and Dad eventually, but I need a team huddle before they wake up. It’s important.”

  Nani nodded. She swayed for a moment, then yawned. “Beta, I’m not as young as I used to be. Why don’t you put the chai on downstairs?” She opened her bedside table, took out a flask, and handed it to Winnie. “I’m not going to have chai in the middle of the night without my medicine. I won’t get back to sleep.”

  Winnie looked down at the pink flask covered in red rosebuds. She shook her head and took it with her downstairs. One thing was certain: her plans were going to be a lot more interesting now that Nani was involved.

  * * *

  —

  Winnie knew that Dev wouldn’t be working the same shift as hers on Saturday. If she’d been in his position, she’d have avoided herself, too. She hoped she was wrong, but when she reached the movie theater that afternoon, Eric was running the ticket booth himself.

  “Dev is sick,” he said. “You willing to help after splicing the last reel?”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s great that you work with your own film so much.”

  He stepped into the lobby. “Listen, about that. Winnie, I was talking to the boys, and I think that I’m going to start going digital after all. I know that I hired you a few months ago, but I won’t need someone to splice film anymore. You’ll still have a job, though. Just in a different role. I’m so sorry—”

  “No!” Winnie said, holding up her hands to stop him. “I mean, no, don’t start apologizing. I’m happy I get to still work here. And going digital is great.”

  “Wait, you’re not upset?”

  “No, not at all! This is going to be good for you. Wait…you’re going digital. Oh my God.” She stepped forward and rested her palms against his shoulders. “Eric, please tell me you’re going digital before next week.”

  “Uh, I ordered the projectors already. They should be here by then. Why?”

  “There are moments in Bollywood movies where a character realizes their mistake and tries to fix it, usually through a montage. I need your help for my montage. But first I have to talk to Henry. Is he here?”

  Eric pointed toward the stairs leading to the projection room. She patted his shoulders and rushed off to find the one person who might be able to help her pull off her crazy plan.

  When she entered the projection room, Henry was working on putting back together a platter tower that held the reels.

  “Yo,” she said from the door.

  “I’ll be out of your way soon,” Henry said. His voice was so cold that it heated her temper in return.

  “Hey! Why the hell are you mad? You call me a friend but then lie to me.”

  “Well, you hurt my friend and my girlfriend. Duh.”

  “So, what, I’m automatically the bad guy? You don’t even know my side of the story!”

  He stopped what he was doing and faced her. “Life isn’t like one of your Bollywood movies, Winnie. You can’t press the pause button on a remote here. You should’ve told Reece to screw himself. I thought you were smart enough not to believe in a stupid horoscope.”

  “I’m so sick of self-righteous jerks telling me what to believe in and what not to believe in, what to do with my life and what not to do. No one knows how important my janampatri reading is like I do. I grew up with it, not you. It’s a part of my culture, not yours. And yeah, I have a tendency to compare everything to a movie. It makes me happy, and it’s worked for me. So screw your stupid judgmental standards,” she said as she walked over to the closest projector and kicked it. A booming sound echoed through the room, and the film on the screen flickered before normalizing.

  When the rattling sound died, Winnie pressed a finger to one nostril, breathed in, and then pressed a finger to the other nostril and breathed. She then sucked in her stomach and pushed it out in a few quick short pants.

  “What are you doing?” Henry said after a moment.

  “My grandmother does it. It’s supposed to help with stress,” Winnie said, and then tried breathing through her nose again. When she felt like her head wasn’t going to explode anymore, she stopped and opened her eyes. “The
re.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel better?” he asked. He was standing in the same spot as before, with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Yeah, actually. Who would’ve thought all that weird stomach breathing worked? Anyway, listen. I didn’t do anything to you, and for what it’s worth, after a week I know that I screwed up with Dev. I screwed up with Bridget, too, but you guys should’ve told me, Henry. Not cool.”

  He blushed but nodded. “Yeah, okay. I should’ve said something.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now I have to ask you a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “Yeah, I need you and Eric to help me. When I first started working here, Eric and Dev mentioned something about flash screenings. I haven’t seen one since I’ve been here, but from what I understand, they sell out.”

  Henry grabbed the back of the chair he was sitting in, flipped it around, and straddled the seat. “Yeah, but mostly in the summer. Why are you asking…oh. Winnie, this is a holy baby Shah Rukh Khan moment!”

  Winnie laughed. “Exactly. In a Bollywood movie, the hero has to do something big to show the heroine that he’s fighting for her, right? This is gender-role reversal. I’m fighting for my hero.”

  Henry’s lips parted in an O, and then he grinned. His whole face lit up. “I’m in. What do you need?”

  21

  SATTE PE SATTA / SEVEN ON SEVEN

  ★★★★★

  Whether the movie is the Hollywood original or the Bollywood remake, the message is the same: go big or go home.

  Winnie sat in Mr. Reece’s office, in the same chair that she always seemed to occupy when there was bad news afoot.

  “Are you sure this is your final decision?” Mr. Reece said.

  “Yes. I’m positive.”

  “Winnie, I don’t understand. I’m glad you’re still part of film club, but leading the film festival has been something you’ve worked toward for months. You spent a lot of time begging me to bend the rules. Is it that easy for you to give up?”

  “No, it’s definitely not easy,” she said with a snort. “But I think you’re wrong about all of this, and I can’t stand by my beliefs and still be in charge of your festival. So I’m out. But I’m not giving up altogether. That’s the second part of what I wanted to tell you. I’m going to host my own festival.”

  She had the pleasure of watching his mouth drop. “I’m sorry. I swear I thought you said that you were going to host your own film festival.”

  “Yup,” she said. The idea had become more of a reality after she’d told both Eric and Henry her preliminary plans. She had a place, a crew, and a week to pull it together. “I have pretty much everything set up, but I am missing one crucial part. That’s where I’m hoping I can ask your help.”

  Mr. Reece took off his glasses. “Why do I feel I’m not going to like this?”

  “Well, that really depends on you. The student film festival is only able to accommodate twelve shorts. We haven’t informed the applicants who didn’t make it yet. Instead of giving them some bad news, I was hoping, with your support, that I could offer the strongest contenders a spot in my festival. Before you ask, this doesn’t break any rules. I checked.”

  He frowned, his eyes narrowing on hers. “You want to use school submissions for your own personal use?”

  “With the permission of the filmmaker,” she said.

  He paused. “Why? Why host your own when you could stay and be a part of the most prestigious student-run festival on the East Coast?”

  “You know, I’ve been trying to think of a movie that could explain exactly why I’m doing my own thing, exactly why I feel the way I do about this, but I can’t. Not a single movie comes to mind. This is, I don’t know, right. And you’re the one who suggested that I do something different, that I act like a leader.”

  He pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “I didn’t mean you should start your own film festival, Winnie. Do you know how much time and energy that’s going to take?”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I know exactly how much time and energy it takes, Mr. Reece. I’ve been doing this way longer than you’ve been film-club faculty advisor.”

  “Good point.”

  “So?” she said after a moment.

  He adjusted the sleeve of his tweed jacket. “Where are you having your festival?”

  “The Rose.”

  “A good location, I suppose.” He looked at his wristwatch. “We can continue this conversation after the club meeting.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going. I’ll talk to Raj later today—I’ve put that off too long—but I can’t see him now. And if Jenny is in there, I’m going to go Kill Bill on her ass, so I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Fair enough. Thanks for letting me know about your decision.”

  “Sure thing,” she said. She got up to leave, but he called her name.

  “Winnie? As long as you ask for permission from the filmmakers and they give it to you, in writing, then I see no problem.”

  Winnie whooped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it.”

  “Don’t forget to send me an invite,” he said as she yanked open his office door.

  “You bet! And, Mr. Reece? I know you’re a Trekkie, but Star Wars is way better. Maybe you should look into being a double for one of those guys instead.”

  She heard him laughing as she raced down the hall.

  One confrontation down for the day, and one more to go.

  * * *

  —

  Winnie spent a few hours packing up some things in her room, and then headed out with a box and a silver bracelet. She needed the time to get herself in the zone before she talked to Raj. She’d figured he’d be at the film-club meeting anyway, but according to a text from Jessica, he was absent, along with Dev, Jenny Dickens, and Bridget.

  She got in her car and, for the first time in a while, didn’t turn on theme music. The storm that was brewing darkened the sky and made the familiar drive to Raj’s house feel ominous.

  Throughout most of their childhood, Raj had lived in a small town house, but last year, when his father became uber-rich, they’d upgraded to a mini-mansion in Princeton Junction.

  Instead of going through the garage like she used to when they dated, Winnie walked up the stone path and stood in front of the large French doors surrounded by stained glass. She blocked one nostril, breathed in, then pressed a finger to the other nostril and breathed out before she rang the doorbell.

  The sound of shuffling came through the front door until finally it swung open. Raj’s mom stood inside the foyer, her hair in a low bun and her small belly stretching the thin fabric of her tunic top.

  “Winnie?”

  “Hi, Chaya Auntie,” she said slowly. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if Raj was around. I have some things that I want to give him,” she said, motioning to her box.

  Chaya Auntie’s surprised expression changed to one of irritation. “Did he know you were coming?”

  Winnie shook her head. Raj’s mother sighed and stepped back so she could come into the house. The door closed behind her with a resounding slam.

  “How are your parents doing?”

  Winnie bit back her groan. Stupid Indian small talk always made things a lot more complicated. What Chaya Auntie really meant to say was I don’t care about your backstabbing mother who didn’t invite me to her pooja. I had one of my own.

  “They’re good. How are you and Uncle doing?” I couldn’t care less and I don’t want to talk to you at all. I really want to give this to Raj and leave.

  “We’re good. You know, so busy with Uncle’s work these days, but doing well.” We’re so rich now and have so many better friends that I don’t need your mother or your father anymore anyway. We’re better off, so have as many poojas as you want.

  “That’s great! Well, I’m glad.” You suck. “Is Raj in the garage?”

  “He’s
outside right now. Near the stone wall in the yard. Here, let me show you.”

  Winnie followed Chaya Auntie through the house to the patio doors. Thunder rumbled, but she ignored it as she stepped through the opening and onto the deck. Less than a hundred yards away, Raj sat on the short stone wall that separated his property from the neighboring field.

  “Hey,” she said as she approached him.

  Raj whipped around. “What are you doing here?”

  She settled the box between them and shifted to get comfortable. “I have a few things I wanted to return to you.”

  He was wearing a sweater that she’d bought him with the money she’d earned from her first paid movie review. He combed his hair the same way she’d told him to junior year, when he was getting a bit shaggy. It was the first time she’d looked at him in so long.

  “Winnie, I didn’t mean to hurt you when I told you about Dev.”

  “You were the only one who told me the truth. So thanks. Really.”

  “But after you guys broke up…you didn’t come find me.”

  She swung her legs, the heels of her feet hitting the worn stone of the wall she sat on. A brisk wind whistled around them. “No. I’m sorry, but I still believe that our story is over. What we had—”

  “What we had was real, Winnie,” Raj said. He looked at her through bitter eyes. “You keep telling me that it’s your horoscope to believe in. Well, it’s my feelings. Don’t tell me that I didn’t really love you. Because I did.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I know. You did. And I loved you, too. It was hypocritical of me to tell you what to feel or not to feel. But you have to admit, Raj, what we had was Vaseline on the lens.”

  “Vaseline?”

  “You know. Vaseline. Or panty hose. It’s that old cinematography trick that makes everything dreamy and hazy because it’s shot through this crude screen. Totally obsolete as a method now, but I feel like that’s what we had growing up. Vaseline on the camera lens.”