Supriya Kelkar - That Thing about Bollywood

That Thing about Bollywood

Supriya Kelkar

American as Paneer Pie

Ahimsa

Bindus Bindis

The Many Colors of Harpreet Singh

Strong as Fire, Fierce as Flame

SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text 2021 by Supriya Kelkar

Jacket illustration 2021 by Abigail Dela Cruz

Jacket design by Laura Lyn DiSiena 2021 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Interior design by Laura Lyn DiSiena

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Kelkar, Supriya, 1980 author.

Title: That thing about Bollywood / Supriya Kelkar.

Description: First edition. | New York : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, [2021] | Audience: Ages 8 to 12. | Audience: Grades 4-6. | Summary: Middle-schooler Sonali cannot bring herself to share her feelings, but when she wakes up one day and begins to involuntarily burst into Bollywood song and dance routines that showcase her emotions, she realizes she has to find her voice and share her feelings.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020038928 (print) | LCCN 2020038929 (eBook) | ISBN 9781534466739 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534466753 (eBook)

Subjects: LCSH: East Indian AmericansJuvenile fiction. | CYAC: East Indian AmericansFiction. | EmotionsFiction. | BollywoodFiction. | DivorceFiction. | MagicFiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K417 Th 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.K417 (eBook) | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020038928

LC eBook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020038929

To the filmi magic that shaped my childhood, and the family and friends I got to share it with

CHAPTER 1

Y ou know how in Bollywood movies, people sing and dance on mountaintops when theyre in love? I wonder if they do the same when theyre splitting up.

I walked my dinner plate to the kitchen sink, searching for the answer as I thought about all the Hindi movies Id seen. The rules of classic Bollywood, from way back in the 80s and 90s, were pretty easy to remember: everything was loud, exaggerated, and colorful.

I scrubbed the miniscule remnants of green-bean shaak and daal bhaat off my stainless-steel plate. As the specks of spices, lentils, and rice slipped down the drain, I made a mental list of what you do when youre feeling a certain way in an old Hindi movie:

When youre happy, you sing, sometimes from a mountaintop.

When youre sad, you sing.

When youre really into what youre wearing, you sing. Seriously. There are songs about scarves, bindis, bangles, anklets any accessory will do. Ill bet one day there will be a song about thermal underwear.

When youre mad, nope, you dont sing. But you can do an angry instrumental dance or scream while shaking in rage, and the soundtrack behind you will be full of dishoom dishoom as you beat up the bad guys and save the day.

And when youre jealous, you can sing or take part in a bonus dance-off.

Basically, anytime you are feeling something, you show it. So, I guess, yeah, you would sing in a Bollywood movie when you were breaking up.

I dried my hands and walked past the window with the swaying jacaranda trees in our backyard. I glanced at the white house behind ours with the clay tile roof crawling with purple bougainvillea vines, my friend Zaras house, and I headed into our family room. My grandparents four pictures hung on the light-gray wall there with dried sandalwood garlands around them, symbolizing that they had passed away. Across from the pictures, Mom and my little brother, Ronak, were already snuggled under a blanket on our long gray sofa.

What are we watching tonight, Sonali ben? Ronak asked, adding on the respectful Gujarati word for big sister.

Something funny, I replied, accidentally bumping into the stack of dusty books about the history of Hindi films on the end table. I straightened them out and opened the wooden armoire in the corner, which was covered in family pictures of us whale watching and at Sequoia National Park. I was extra careful not to knock over the new framed photo of my aunt Avni Foi, grinning with her fianc, Baljeet Uncle, at their engagement party.

The armoire was stuffed to the max with old VHS tapes from when my grandfather owned Indian Video, a little store in Artesia that used to rent Hindi movie videotapes to people, before switching to DVDs. When Dada passed away last summer, he left all the stores retired videotapes to me, because he knew how much I used to love watching them with him when I was little. Luckily, Dada had passed his old VHS player down to me too, or Id have no way to watch the tapes at home. And now every Sunday, my family got together and watched an old Hindi movie.

I wasnt sure how long this tradition was going to last, but I was going to enjoy it while I could. I moved the red, plastic, convertible-car-shaped VHS rewinder and grabbed a movie off the top shelf of the alphabetically sorted tapes. It was fun and silly, and from the lines in my moms forehead, which seemed to be permanent these days, it looked like she could use the laughs.

I put the videotape into the rewinder so it wouldnt wear out the VHS player, popped it into the VHS player when it was back to the beginning of the movie, and settled in under the blanket next to Ronak as the ancient commercials that always played before these movies began. One was for a turmeric cream and featured a bride getting turmeric paste all over her legs before her wedding and a catchy song. Ronak sang along, tapping his toes. The next one was for a pain balm and also had a catchy song, of course, so Ronak kept singing. And then the censor certificate flashed, showing the movies rating.

Wait. Ronak reached for the remote in my hand and pressed pause. What about Dad?

What about him? I asked, swiping my silky black locks out of my eyes.

We always wait for Dad.

I sighed. And he always works and makes us wait forever.

Moms fingers were clenched tightly around one another as she squeezed her hands in her lap like she was trying not to say something. I block my whole evening schedule off at the hospital for this every week. But clearly he doesnt prioritize