Priya says, “Know what the Secret curry puff Ingredient is?”
Dini nibbles. “Onion?” she ventures. “Potatoes?”
“Nope,” Priya says. “Try again.”
“Flour?”
“Nope.”
“Butter?”
“Chocolate,” Priya says. “Everything they make here has Chocolate in it.”
Dini says, “Really? Chocolate?” She tries another bite. “Hmm, now I can taste it. It’s good.” It is surprisingly good, in fact. You wouldn’t think chocolate and potatoes would work well together at all, but they do.
“My friend Maddie would like this,” Dini says. “She really likes chocolate.”
“I Like it Sometimes,” Priya says, sipping at her rose petal milk shake, which she has ordered without chocolate.
“And how is your car doing?” Dad says to Chickoo Uncle. Just making conversation, Dini can see.
Priya groans. That is apparently not a good question to ask.
“The noise is worse,” Chickoo Uncle says sadly. “Now the songs are becoming slow and mournful.”
“Songs?” Dini is puzzled. “The car’s singing to you?”
“Yes,” Chickoo Uncle says, and he is sounding slow and mournful too. “And rattling. We looked under the hood. We checked the radio connections. But still it’s singing. And the rattling and clanking and clunking are still there.”
“Very puzzling,” says Dad.
“It’s my worst nightmare,” says Mr. Chickoo Dev.
Dini says, “What songs is the car playing?”
Priya makes a long hissing sound like an unhappy snake. “Dolly songs,” she says, “every single one.”
From the look on Chickoo Uncle’s face, Dini realizes she didn’t get what he meant about bygones being bygones. It looks as though he would like Dolly songs to be bygones in his life.
“How did you like those curry puffs?” Mr. Mani asks as they pay their bill at the counter.
They assure him the curry puffs were great. And they are. They are delicious. Delectable. The curry puffs are not the problem at all.
Chapter Thirty
There’s Maddie!
OH, WHAT A DAY IT’S BEEN, with song files and chocolate and mystery noises all clamoring for attention! Dini checks her e-mail that evening to make sure Maddie’s received her songs. She has. It seems from her e-mail message that Maddie is willing to let bygones turn into dance steps.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Songs
Date: Wednesday, June 23, 2010, 21:36:03 EDT
Thank you thank you thank you. How nice of you to send me those dancey Dolly songs. My feet have been tap-tap-tapping all day. P.S. Have you found her yet?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Songs
Date: Thursday, June 24, 2010, 18:09:53 IST
Maddie I’m so glad you liked them. No Dolly yet. Any ideas?
She gets a reply so swiftly it makes her dizzy. She looks at the time on the e-mail header, and it is as if Maddie has sent her reply before Dini even sent out her question. This is what happens when you are on opposite sides of the world and nearly a dozen time zones apart. It is a magical thing.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Songs
Date: Thursday, June 24, 2010, 08:42:37 EDT
Throw a party! Invite everyone you know. Invite Dolly. Just like MJTJ. Wish I could come. I miss you.
Now Dini’s feet are tap-tap-tapping. Her brain is buzz-buzz-buzzing. She can’t stand it. She has to talk to Maddie.
“Can I call Maddie on your phone?” she asks Dad.
“Wait just a minute,” he says, “we can do better than that.”
“How?” Dini is puzzled. What is Dad going to do? Is he going to take Dini back to Maryland this minute?
No, he is not. “Here’s a high-tech solution,” says Dad. “I’ve been working on this for a while. Internet-video call.”
“Wow,” Dini says.
Dad explains, “We thought it would be nice if you girls could talk to each other this way.”
“No kidding,” Dini says. “You set that all up?”
“That’s right,” Dad says, double-clicking away on his machine. “You two peas in a pod, bugs in a rug. You and your pal Maddie. What do you think?” He is practically dancing with delight himself as he pulls down the menu and click-click-clicks.
The computer brrrrrrings like a telephone. Then, “There’s Maddie!” Dini yells.
“Dini!” Maddie says. Her voice breaks up a little, and so does her picture, coming and going in small waves of color, but who cares?
“Oh, Daddy,” Dini says, “you are a genius.”
“Takes one to know one,” says Dad.
Chapter Thirty-one
Help
THE LAST TIME DINI looked at the clock, it was two in the morning. Now it is five. Dini has gone over the details of her party over and over in her mind, and it has kept her wide awake. She has decided on a date for the party—this coming Sunday. Mom and Dad said okay.
Now for the invitations, what filmi people call behind-the-scenes work. In their ten-minute computer video phone call, Dini and Maddie have managed to nail all the off-camera stuff it will take to pull off this creative project.
Since Dini can’t sleep anyway, she gets up and starts working on the invitations. She opened up a file the night before and typed one up and printed out copies. Now she writes a list of all the people she knows, and addresses an envelope to each one in her tidiest handwriting. Veeran and his wife and baby, c/o Swapnagiri Clinic. Mr. Mani of Dreamy-cakes Bakery.
And yes, Priya and her uncle. They are part of the plot fix whether or not they want to be, and Dini cannot afford to give up on them yet. Sampy the watchman. And of course there is one last envelope with only a name on it because Dini has not yet found that person, does not know her address.
She folds and folds again. She puts the invitations in the envelopes. She licks the envelopes closed. She finds stamps in the kitchen drawer where Dad keeps the stamps. She sticks them on all the envelopes that need stamps, which is all of them except the one for Sampy. This is a big job.
Oh, why is it that she always ends up having to send Dolly letters with incomplete addresses? Maybe they’ll know at the post office. It’ll work out. Somehow. It has to.
But when Dini finally goes downstairs clutching the bundle of party invitations in her hand, she finds another whole drama unfolding. Sampy is showing in two men who are lugging a red metal cylinder. They half lift, half roll it across the floor and right into Dini’s path.
“Yikes!” says Dini as the top of the cylinder tilts her way. The men grab at it. They catch it just in time. Narrow escape. That cylinder could flatten a person.
Mom is clutching at the wall. Dad is clutching the sofa he sits on. The invitations are all over the floor.
“Mind-mind-mind,” Sampy warns everyone.
“What’s all that?” Mom says as Dini gathers up her invitations.
Dini starts to explain, but in this scene, Mom is no longer waiting for an answer. The camera has shifted and is now on the cylinder, which is being half rolled, half carried into the kitchen.
“Watch out” and “Be careful,” say Mom and Dad together as the bottom of the cylinder grazes the door.
The cylinder delivery men ignore them all.
Sampy clears his throat and steps into the fray. “Left, left,” says Sampy.
The men shuffle left.
“Now right,” says Sampy. “Now more right.”
Shuffle-shuffle. Left-left, right-right. This is practically a dance. A little music, a few swirling rainbows, and—
“More, more,” Sampy commands. “Now go. Careful, this is not a warehouse where you can throw things around.”
Dini can see that when Sampy takes charge of something, he g
ets it done. That is one useful skill. Perhaps it is no coincidence that Sampy is here. Perhaps he has a role in this unfolding story.
“Finally,” Dini says, skipping out of the way, “we can eat food that’s not burned.”
The delivery guys take a long time to set the cylinder up and to attach it to the stove. Then they hang around expectantly.
Mom gives them each a couple of rupees. They hang around some more, discussing the weight of empty versus full gas cylinders. Then they finally take off.
Sampy sniffs. “They are from the plains,” he says by way of explanation. “Greedy people, these plains people. Probably waiting for you to give them a cup of coffee. And then what? Lunch they will expect, then tea, is it?” He snorts at the nerve of those cylinder delivery guys. Then he opens the door and exits with a final glare.
“I’ll be right back,” Dini tells her parents, who anyway are busy admiring the cylinder. And she follows Sampy out.
Who knew that Sampy could take charge like this? Dini sees that she has to turn this man from a bystander into an ally in the Finding Dolly project. It takes a sharp eye to recognize a potential ally, and Dini is suddenly feeling sharp-eyed.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dropping of Jaws
SUNNY VILLA ESTATES has a system for residents who want to post letters but don’t feel like going all the way to the post office. The system is a basket that sits by Sampy’s gate. If you have a letter to mail, you simply go drop it in the basket. Then the next time Sampy goes to town, he puts the letters in a bag and takes them to the post office for you.
By the time Dini catches up with Sampy, he has gone back to sitting by the side of the road and chewing on a bit of grass. He gives Dini a friendly glower.
“Will you take these out today?” she asks him politely. And now she can see it is just his eyebrows that make him look mad all the time. It is because they join in the middle, becoming one eyebrow. It’s not anything to do with who he is. Amazing, the things you can figure out when you bother to listen-listen, look-look.
Sampy looks up at the sky. He looks at the tea-gardens and the far horizon. “Maybe,” he says, “if there is time. Otherwise tomorrow.”
Dini explains that they are invitations to a party. “If they go out today, will they get to everyone by tomorrow?” she asks.
“Hmm . . . maybe,” says Sampy. “Party, is it?”
Dini gives him the envelope without a stamp. “This one’s for you.”
Sampy looks at her as if she has suddenly sprouted wings and is chirping like one of those green birds in the trees. He takes a deep breath. “Me?” he says. “Where does it say that?”
Dini points to his name on the envelope. “Oh,” he says. “Yes, that is my name.” He is quite excited by seeing his name on the envelope.
“Yes, yes,” he says. He picks up a stick and writes his name in the dirt. He writes like someone who is not used to writing. “A party?” he says thoughtfully. Maybe he is also someone who is not used to being invited to parties.
“Yes,” Dini says. “Will you come?”
Sampy considers the offer. “Certainly,” he says, “unless, of course, something urgent comes up on that day.”
“And you’ll take the others to the post office?” Sampy nods his head, side to side. “Why put it off?” he says. “I’ll take them right now. All local, right?”
“Yes,” Dini says.
“No problem. They’ll get there tomorrow.” He waves his hands in a kind of curving movement, and for some reason this makes Dini feel very sure that he is right. They will get there on time. No question. Sampy’s on her side.
Dini nods back eagerly to seal the deal.
But Sampy is not done. He’s looking at the envelopes with great interest. “Who all will be coming to this very important gathering?” he wants to know.
Dini reads the names out to him. When she gets to the last one, without a proper address, she hesitates.
Sampy chews on his grass stalk. He seems fascinated by the letters marching across each envelope. “I can write my name in Tamil and in English,” he confesses, “but that is all I know how to write. Someday I would like to write like that. Very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” says Dini, who has not thought of cursive writing as an especially important skill, not since second grade, but it is clearly a big deal for Sampy. “I can show you how, if you like.”
Sampy’s muscles twitch. That is possibly a smile, but Dini is not sure. He waves his grass stalk at the envelopes. “Who is that last one? Read that out for me also.”
“It’s Dolly Singh,” Dini admits. “I don’t have an address for her. I know she’s here somewhere. Do you think they’ll know at the post office?” She wonders if Sampy knows who Dolly Singh is, so she adds, “Dolly Singh the movie star. I really want her to come.”
Sampy says, “You will really teach me how to write like that?”
“Sure,” Dini says. She pulls out her green stripy notebook that is always in her pocket. She shows him the pages she has filled up. “Look. It’s not hard.”
And that is when Sampy drops his bombshell. He gets up. He stretches. “I know where is Miss Dolly Singh,” he says. “Many messages I have taken to her from cottage number one in the past month. Many-many, and return messages also, even some back and forth by Speed Post. Very sad story.”
Cottage number 1. That’s Chickoo Uncle’s house.
“I will deliver this one,” Sampy says. “Personally. Have you seen her newest fillum?”
“MJTJ!” Dini says. “Of course. It’s brilliant.”
“But so sad,” says Sampy. “Not even one happy song.”
Dini has heard of people’s jaws being described as dropping out of sheer shock or amazement. Dad, in fact, counts this dropping of jaws in his collection of nifty expressions that he uses with great glee from time to time. Dini has never actually seen anyone’s jaw drop. But as Sampy picks up the letters, steadies his old bicycle that’s leaning against the gate, gets on it, and wobbles off on his important errand, she finds that is exactly what has happened to her jaw.
She was right! Something sad was going on in Dolly’s life when she made that movie! It’s a wonderful thing when a true fan finds another who shares her views.
Chapter Thirty-three
Throwing a Party
THE TABLES GROAN under their load of curry puffs, chocolate cake, and other delectable edibles. The day is fine. The sky is blue. The silver and green ribbons that Dini threaded through the branches of the bottlebrush tree look fabulously dreamy swaying and lifting in the gentle breeze.
It seems all the invitations arrived at their destinations in a timely manner. Veeran is here, and his wife, Mala, and their baby, who is wearing tiny gold baby-size earrings and blinking at everybody.
“Hello, Miss Nandini,” Veeran says.
“Vanakkam,” says his wife in Tamil. Here in Swapnagiri, just by listen-listening to people around her, Dini is learning a third language, after Hindi and English. Maybe someday she will travel to lots of places like Priya’s parents and learn all those languages too. Filmi people are like that, always wanting to explore different settings.
“Eeee-goo-goo,” says the baby, who speaks her own language. She grabs Dini’s finger and cackles. Babies are odd little people, Dini thinks. Just having your finger grabbed by one is enough to make a person laugh.
Priya arrives with her uncle, followed by a tall, skinny lady with a whispery voice. She’s the one who was out working in her garden on the day that Dini first met Priya. Her name is Sita Chellappa and she lives in cottage number 4. Her sausage dog is here with her; his name is Inji.
“Means ‘Ginger,’” says Priya, who is speaking to Dini now, but only two words at a time.
“I Know,” Dini says, trying to capitalize. But Priya has not heard. Priya is following a bird into the branches of a bottlebrush tree, puzzling it with her pitch-perfect calls.
“Why all the filmi decorations?” Mrs. Chell
appa whispers.
“Our daughter’s work,” Mom explains.
“Young people,” says Mrs. Chellappa in a tone that indicates she much prefers dogs.
Chickoo Uncle praises the garden of cottage number 6. “Excellent,” he says to Mom and Dad. “Look at all these beautiful flowers.”
“That is my wife’s doing,” Dad says. Mom smiles. She has been digging in the dirt in her spare time, and surreptitiously singing to the canna plants in the hope that they will bloom big and bright, red and yellow. She will deny that this is what she does, of course, but Dini has caught her in the act more than once.
Mrs. Chellappa inquires after their gas cylinder, which seems to indicate that everyone in Sunny Villa Estates knows about the comings and goings and doings of everyone else. Dini leaves them chatting about the difficulty of getting those things into a house where the driveway is uphill rather than downhill.
Forget the gas cylinder—it’s doing fine inside the kitchen. Forget Priya’s frowny face—that can change later on. With all the cheeping and the buzz of conversation and the glossy green hillsides, the whole world feels alive and practically dancing in anticipation. But where is Dolly?
Sampy said he will stand by the outside gate and alert Dini when the guest of honor comes. So of course Dini keeps circling to the edge of the garden and looking down the red dirt road to make sure she doesn’t miss the grand appearance. What is the point of even going to a movie if you miss the grand appearance of the star herself?
Circle-circle. Listen-listen, look-look. It will all work out fine. It does in MJTJ, after all.
One . . . two . . . three . . . now! Sampy waves both his arms in the air.
Dini rushes to the inside gate of cottage number 6 and throws it open.
And there she is, Dolly Singh herself, getting out of a taxi. She is in a parrot green sari with sequins along the edges. On her feet she has silver strappy sandals, which are not exactly making it easy for her to walk along the red dirt road of Sunny Villa Estates, but she is bravely elegant in them nonetheless.
The Grand Plan To Fix Everything Page 9