My So-Called Bollywood Life(39)

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.



* * *



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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 of 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.