My So-Called Bollywood Life(48)

I would like for Bollywood movies to address the true awkwardness that happens right before the party. Realistically, the heroine probably stabs herself in the eye with her mascara wand and her parents make her take a thousand selfies to post in the “India Family” WhatsApp group. The struggle is real, guys.





DEV: Time for another date.

WINNIE: I’m not losing count of our dates here. Don’t be late. <3



“You’re not thinking about him, are you?” Bridget asked from the v-chat screen on her dresser. They weren’t getting ready together because Henry was going to pick up Bridget from her place and Dev was driving Winnie.

“I’m not thinking about who?” Winnie asked as she smoothed a hand over her curls.

“Raj,” Bridget said. “You’re not thinking about him, right? Because you got really quiet really fast when I asked if your parents are finally okay with you and Dev. Now you look annoyed. Looking annoyed will crease your makeup. You hardly ever wear any, so you need to keep that flawless look.”

    Winnie chose to ignore the makeup comment. “No, I’m not thinking about Raj. Well, sort of. Today when I saw him while we were setting up the ballroom, he looked so sad. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s all about getting his way. He wants the girl, the school, the future. I heard a couple days ago that he’s going to the dance with Jenny Dickens even though she was being all crazy and spreading rumors about you guys. I bet you it’s because he’s trying to save face because no one else wants to go out with him now.”

Bridget disappeared offscreen, and Winnie heard rustles of fabric. When she returned to her spot in front of the camera, Winnie gasped at the vision she made. The stunning shimmer of the gown wasn’t nearly as bright as the sparkle in Bridget’s eyes.

“Oh my God, you look so beautiful! I think you look even more stunning now that you’re with Henry. You know, I’m going to keep reminding you that I’m the reason you and Henry are together.” She patted her shoulder. “Good job, self.”

Bridget rested her hands on her hips and leaned in closer to the computer screen. She said in her best British accent, “?‘Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy!’?”

“Okay, Jane, no Pride and Prejudice quotes allowed tonight. I don’t have a lot of brain space to spare for a witty retort.”

    “It’s better than a Say Anything quote.”

“We really need to get you to watch more eighties movies. That’s not even the best one.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Winnie walked over to her bed and looked down at the lengha that her grandmother had purchased for her. She had been doing stomach crunches for weeks to prepare for the belly-baring top. Hopefully it would look as good, if not better, when she slipped it on.

“By the way, Henry texted and said that the ballroom looks awesome. I’m assuming that’s because you were hovering this morning.”

“Did you really expect me to let the decorating committee do their own thing?” she asked as she slipped into the skirt.

“Are you going to make a lot of money for the festival, or is this all for nothing?”

Winnie put on her top, and then twisted and struggled to pin the chuni to her shoulder as the final part of her outfit. “With ticket sales? We got this in the bag. We have more than enough.”

“That’s so awesome—Whoa. Winnie.”

Winnie had stepped in front of the camera again. “What? Do I look bad? If it sucks, I’ll wear something else. I’ve got a backup.”

    Bridget shook her head, eyeing her up and down. “You look…like a Bollywood diva.”

“I what?”

Bridget nodded. “Check yourself out!”

Winnie walked over to the mirror hanging over her closet door. Her reflection was like a jolt to her system. The lengha was made for her body. Her cheeks warmed, and she couldn’t help but smile at the almost surreal image of herself staring back from the mirror. Thankfully it was the exact reaction she’d been hoping for. With her feet sparkling in jeweled juttis, the lengha made her appear more…feminine.

She flipped her hair over one shoulder. “I do look good. Okay, I have the jewelry, the shoes, the hair, and the outfit. What do you think about adding a final touch? Bindi or no bindi?”

“Definitely bindi,” Bridget said.

Winnie walked over to the drawer that held her jewelry and bindis. When she opened it, she saw the twisted silver bracelet sitting on top. She reached in and ran a finger over the ornate design. She’d worn that bracelet everywhere for almost a year. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as the bracelet she’d seen in the Indian shop, but it had meant something. She kept forgetting to take it to school so she could give it to Raj. She couldn’t make excuses any longer. Right after the fund-raiser dance, she’d hand it off with a check for what she owed him and they’d be square.

    “Yo! What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m finding a bindi,” she said, pushing the bracelet aside and out of her mind. She took a small white square envelope from her dresser drawer. Lifting the envelope flap, she exposed five artfully displayed bindis stuck with a simple adhesive to a thin sheet of plastic. Winnie peeled off a deep red bindi in a paisley design with a jewel in the center. She stood in front of the mirror and, holding her breath, stuck it on what she hoped was the center of her forehead. After a second she let go. The little sticker managed to pull her entire outfit together.