My So-Called Bollywood Life(12)

Now that it had been a few days since she’d broken into Raj’s house, she felt guilty for breaking and entering, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“Okay,” she said, raising her hands, palms up. “Maybe I used the garage code I had and went to Raj’s room to take some DVDs, but everything I took was stuff I bought for him. None of it was actually his in the first place. If you want me to apologize to Raj, fine. I’ll do it, but I won’t mean it.”

Her dad snorted, and when her mother shot him a death stare—all big, wild eyes with thin lips—he buried his face in his reading material.

“Winnie, you’ve embarrassed me and your father in front of the whole Indian community. You know what respect is called in Hindi? Izzat. We lost the respect of our friends because of your behavior. Because you didn’t think of anyone but yourself. How are we supposed to face Raj’s parents in public now? You know we belong to the same Indian association. If it wasn’t for this man, I’d send you to boarding school!” She pointed at Winnie’s father with the rolling pin.

“Mom, the Indian community in Princeton, New Jersey, is like fifty thousand people who just happen to all be in your ‘association.’ I doubt everyone knows that I took my revenge. And besides, I have bigger problems to think about right now.”

    “What’s bigger than stealing? You broke into their house, Winnie. You’re lucky that Raj’s parents haven’t called the police. I can’t even say my daughter was innocent because someone saw you. Do you know what they’ll say to me now? That we are bad parents. At any party we go to from now on, they’ll worry that I’ll be sliding their Lenox flatware into my purse when the host isn’t looking.”

She resumed ranting, this time in Hindi and then in Punjabi, each word punctuated by wild hand gestures. Winnie linked her fingers together and waited from her spot in the middle of the kitchen. After a few more minutes, Sita Mehta quieted and slipped the last roti onto a plate before running a thin slab of ghee over it.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” Winnie said.

Her mother shut the stove off with a quick jerk of her wrist. “Tell me, what started all this? You two were destined to be together. Everyone saw it, even Pandit Ohmi.”

“I may have asked for a break at the beginning of summer, but technically he broke up with me when I came back and found out he cheated. He’s with someone else, and I don’t want him anymore.”

“But your future happiness relies on him, Winnie. We’ve been over your prophecy already. Don’t ruin your chances.”

“Nice, Ma,” Winnie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I should sacrifice happiness to be with someone who isn’t right for me because you think he’s my only hope. It’s not as if I’m enjoying all of this. Remember, Raj was one of my best friends next to Bridget.”

    “He wants something different from his life, too,” her father said. His soft voice ricocheted through the kitchen with more presence than her mother’s tirade. “He wants money like his father now. Different path than film. You don’t have much in common anymore.”

“See? Even Dad knows that Raj went all Shashi Kapoor like in that Wall movie.”

“Deewaar,” her father said. “But it was Amitabh Bachchan who was focused on money. Shashi Kapoor was happy he had his family. His life was content and—”

“No!” Winnie’s mother shouted. “You two don’t even think about going off on one of your movie conversations right now. Winnie, you should’ve talked to Raj instead of stealing—”

“He wouldn’t speak to me, Mom. Not even at film club. He isn’t Pandit Ohmi’s answer to my destiny. Not anymore. I know you really wanted that—I sort of wanted that, too—but we’re not meant to be.”

“Well, not if you don’t try. Destiny needs to be believed in for it to come true.”

The problem was that Winnie didn’t want to believe in her destiny anymore. She knew arguing with her mother was useless. They were never going to see eye to eye on this issue. She dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table set with three place settings and a covered dish. Winnie grabbed the water jug and poured herself a glass.

    Her mother put one roti and a serving of vegetables on her plate before pressing a kiss on the top of Winnie’s head and settling down across from her. A moment later her father joined the table as well.

They ate for almost five full minutes before her father spoke. His tone was calmer than her mother’s.

“Winnie, beta,” he said. “You know this could have hurt your chances of getting into NYU.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And my dream school is so much more important to me than revenge, but I needed to do this. To take back something of mine. Like every Ranbir Kapoor movie that ever existed.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “I seem to recall that every Ranbir Kapoor movie was more about running away from problems instead of starting over.”

“What? So not true!”

Winnie was about to launch into her list of examples when her mother brought her hand down like an ax.

“Fine,” Winnie said. “But Dad’s wrong.”