Dreaming of Bollywood

The author would like to acknowledge the input of Garima Nigam Saxena who read drafts of this novel to check it for authenticity and cultural sensitivity. Garima also contributed some ideas for one section of the book, based on her personal experience as a person born and raised in Delhi, India.

Soraya Briggs (11 years) generously read an earlier version of the novel and gave it her ‘young reader’s stamp of approval’! She strongly recommended that I change the original ending of Dreaming of Bollywood and write a sequel where Daya discovers the truth about her past. You can read this as Robots in Bollywood, available on Smashwords.

Jeannie Meakins of Storm Cloud Publishing is the creator of this book cover as well as the little glyphs (chapter heads of Daya and Kavi). Thank you Jeannie for your artwork and your encouragement to me as a writer and publisher.

Chapter 1

Daya

That smell. Nose-tickling Indian spices. I love them.

My whole family is at the Bollywood outdoor cinema where we go every Sunday in summer. Everyone’s eating, talking and laughing, all waiting for the sky to go dark. As usual Mum is forcing us to eat more. I’ve already stuffed in lots of samosas full of gooey potato and sweet peas. Now I just want the film to start.

‘Come on, Daya. Eat some more,’ Mum insists. I rub my stomach and pretend to throw up. That always annoys her. ‘Can’t. Too full,’ I groan.

‘Great. All the more for me,’ Dad says. Naanee and Naana, my grandparents, are sipping on their chai tea from a thermos. My stupid brother Kavi is reading.

Finally, the huge screen flickers with the words ‘Bollywood Under the Stars’ and I scream with everyone else as the film begins.

The title, Mujhse Shaadi Karogi in Hindi (Will You Marry Me? In English) flashes on to the screen and the crowd roars. Every Indian family living in Australia knows this one so when the main guy looks like he’s going to get the beautiful girl, everyone cheers.

People are even saying the words with the actors, me included. My favourite line is ‘No Sunny! I can’t be with you. I love Sameer.’

My brother blocks his ears and buries his nose in his boring book.

During the dance scenes we all sway and wave our arms in time to the music and I get up to dance. People behind yell at me to sit down.

Near the end of the film, in the chase scene, we call out ‘Go Sameer’ when he’s running to the cricket match to tell Rani he loves her. Everyone cheers like crazy when he makes it. Everyone except my mum who’s packing up our picnic––scraping bits of rice, curry and dhal into a plastic bag.

The crowd goes quiet and my stupid brother says in a loud voice, ‘Is it over?’

‘No, Kavi, but we’re going now. Anyway, you know how it ends,’ Mum answers and tells my dad to help her pick up the rug. Naanee and Naana fold up their chairs and lead the way through the crowd.

People shout ‘Sit down’ and I moan ‘Why do we have to leave? I want to see the end.’

‘Hurry up, Daya, you know it’s your school camp tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep,’ Mum says.

I annoy everyone by singing the closing song really loudly as we drive home. Kavi yells at me to keep still but I just can’t. I know all the dance steps and I do the arm movements sitting in the back seat.

‘You wait and see, Kavi. I’m going to be a famous Bollywood dancer one day,’ I tell him.

‘You’re just dreaming,’ he mutters.

Well, yes, it is my dream but I’m way too old to believe in fairy godmothers granting wishes so I have to work out for myself how to get to Bollywood.

[dhal – a dish made with dried, split pulses]

[Naanee – Grandmother & Naana – Grandfather]

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Chapter 2

Kavi

I finish my book before going to sleep. It’s about the first humans who left Africa 70,000 years ago and spread out across the world. It gets me thinking about how my parents came to Australia from India eight years ago and how that made me an Australian whether or not I wanted to be one. Whenever we go to ‘Bollywood Under the Stars’ I know I’m in Australia but really we could be in India! Everyone looks the same, eats the same food and talks the same language. Your first paragraph goes here.

My sister is so embarrassing there. Dancing and carrying on at those soppy films. She acts so dumb. She could never have won a scholarship like I did. I’ve just started at Selwyn Boys’ Grammar and already know I’m going to love it. We get heaps of homework but that’s OK with me. I just wish I could make a friend there.

I mostly go to the library at lunchtime. I don’t really want to be in with the cool kids but it would be a lot easier if I had someone at school to talk to about stuff.

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Chapter 3

Daya

‘Watch me fly Rosie.’

It’s my turn on the flying fox. I think my stomach has fallen out when I jump off the platform. I scream as I sail to the other side. Then it’s my best friend Rosie’s turn.

‘I’m gonna catch your feet,’ I call, running underneath her.

The camp leader yells at me, ‘Daya, don’t be stupid! Come back immediately.’

Rosie sail back to the start and jumps down.

‘That was so dangerous. Go to the back of the line,’ the leader orders us.

‘How was it dangerous?’ I ask.

‘Rosie’s feet could have hit you and knocked your teeth out. Or worse!’ he growls. His face looks like it’s going to burst open. Rosie is laughing into her T-shirt.

As we slink off, Jimmy sneers, ‘He’s learnt your names already. They always know the trouble-makers.’

This is our first day at Camp Sunshine. I’ve been looking forward to this so much and now I’m in trouble. School is so boring and I hate just about every subject. My brother went on this camp when he was in Year 5 and he told me about it. I know it will be the best thing all year.

After the flying fox we have to get in groups for a scavenger hunt around the campsite.

‘Here’s a list of items to find in the bush. You need to check them off as you get them so take a pencil too,’ our teacher Mrs Hunter says. When she calls out the names for the groups, Rosie rolls her eyes at me because Mae is with us. She’s such a goody-goody so we have to get rid of her somehow.

‘Have you all got sunscreen on?’ Mrs Hunter asks. ‘If not, come and get some from me now.’ We smear it on our faces and then set off, our feet crunching on the paths as we walk deeper into the trees.

‘Owwwww!’ Mae calls out. ‘There are huge ants! I’ve been bitten.’

‘Yesss!’ Rosie whispers as we help her limp back to Mrs Hunter who takes her off to get first aid.

‘Hey, let’s go!’ I yell and Rosie chases me into the bush. As we run past Genevieve and her group who are busily writing on their pads, I call out, ‘Finished yet?’ and Genevieve answers, ‘Nearly. Bet you haven’t even started, you stupid monkey.’

‘What did you call my friend?’ Rosie shouts. ‘That’s racist, you know.’

It isn’t the first time she’s called me that. I go kind of shaky inside but I yell back to her ‘If you want to see a monkey, watch this’ and I start climbing a tree. It isn’t easy. The trunk is tall and thin but I’ve got strong legs and up I go really fast. I can hear them laughing and Rosie calling out to me, ‘Come down, Daya. Take no notice of them.’

We dump our pads and pencils on the ground and run through the bush to get as far away from them as we can. I sit down and hug my knees, trying not to cry. Rosie picks up armfuls of leaves and throws them over her head. They get stuck in her red curls. ‘Hey, look at my camouflage!’ she laughs. That helps and I copy her. Then we pretend to be soldiers crawling through the jungle.

We have to go back when we hear Mrs Hunter’s whistle. And we have to pretend we lost our pads and pencils. Of course, Genevieve’s team get all the answers right.

At dinnertime I grab a tray and pile my plate with food. The sausages look yummy but the mashed potatoes reminds me of vomit. The camp leader pours bright yellow drink in a plastic cup and plonks it on my tray so it spills. Clearly, he’s still angry with me.

‘Yuck, this meal is garbage!’ I say to Rosie when we sit down at an empty table.

‘That’s ’cause you’re used to hot spicy stuff. This is plain Aussie muck!’ she says.

‘I’m as Aussie as you!’ I say.

‘No, you’re not. You come from India.’

‘I’ve been here since I was two,’ I tell her.

‘Yeah, well, you should be used to snags and spuds then,’ she says.