A Masala Pradesh Story

Me the starving tortured writer-Journalist Rum/Vijaya!
I recently had one of my stories published in a local anthology of stories, needless to say I feel like I am a rock star already! I think its kinda good if I may say so. Which makes it an expert story on my masala Pradesh, its got all the filmi elements love, comedy, long-lost brothers, and more! Hope you enjoy it!

Several Notes
Note to Self: When in the middle of being rejected by the rightful love of your life, do not drop to your knees and scream “Nahhhi or Never” aloud.

I suffer from Bollyhollymusical-itis; it’s a very common disease. It caused by watching excessive amounts of Bollywood and Hollywood musicals, therefore patients such as me are unable to function in reality without singing and dancing and overacting. Hard doses of reality are a good medicine to make patients forget clichés that they think exist in real life. Storylines include loving someone, losing and finding long lost brothers/sisters, extracting revenge for your parents’ killers, falling in love with a family enemy, making bets to make a nun love you and many more. I have sometimes suffered from this in public and have run after people I think are my long lost brothers or long lost love. This is crippling disease and there seems to be no cure for me, except to live with the rest of world in REALITY! NOOO!

Patients are not fully to blame; their Indian parents are: indoctrinating such terrible images of singing songs while in love, and happy family endings seen by the tender eyes of a two year old. Now there was no thunder crashing in the background to signify my hurt of rejection, the hurt came from my insides. My stomach feeling punched, my eyes leaking with no glycerine, my ears repeating the words of “I think we should just stay friends ya?” Ohhh the pain of reality!

I thought he would have loved me, I mean singing poignant half English half Hindi songs is not enough meaning to say I love you. Those three magnificent words said in song are so much better sung than told; he smiled as I sang in Hindi running around in the field of tulips, orchids, and roses and sang those three magical words. He was clothed in a wonderful blue cardigan and swayed wildly his arms outspread. Moreover, when I officially said those three words, we were not actually in a field but in a hallway at school, he was not cardigan clad but in his attire of jeans and t-shirt.

When my symptoms from Bollyhollymusical-itis arise, I usually cannot control my actions but it was an everyday affliction and the only way to stop it was to take my medicine of reality, and large doses of it too. The reality drug is my only way out of the disease so I do not sing my happiness aloud or overact my each sentiment, as Jimmy rejected me their was no knowing how my condition would flare up.

Note to self: On seeing Jimmy again, do not perform a very vampish sexy dance for him, he will not run into your arms but usher you into class.

My vampish dance was very creative, as if lifted from a 1970’s movie, a very hip shaking rumba salsa Bollywood dance. Jimmy’s response was “Maya you’re a great dancer” That I knew, as Bollyhollymusical-itis makes any patient a superb dancer that would put Riverdance to shame.

Ohhh Jimmy with your glossy black hair facing my eyes in English class, and your spotty sunburnt and pink face smiles at me everyday, and your teeth so wonderfully piss yellow, what else could I want than you and your beauty? Jimmy now the day after smashing my heart had no inclination of how I was recovering with a heart thrown into shards. I looked on as he listened obediently and offered suggestions, but ohhh no Jimmy couldn’t see beyond the light of Prunella, the blithely smart girl. He only liked her probably because she was free of Bollyhollymusical-itis, but I think she suffers from Boffinswot-itis, a disease for the overly smart and pompous people that are in the world.

My friends suggested I find a fellow sufferer of Bollyhollymusical-itis, but the only boy that is Davey, but he was gay and that was part of his flamboyance. The bell rang and immediately my arms flung into the air and I found myself skipping down the hallway, but now the hallway changed into a green field and I was dressed demurely singing my heart out.

Ms.Pews screeched, “You go down to principal’s office!”

Note to Self: While in the principal’s office, do not overact and beg at his foot for mercy on your soul, which will cause expulsion

I was expelled for the rest of the day, but this didn’t deter me from meeting my goal of living in reality, on my bus ride home, I saw a very handsome boy. He stared furtively at me, but I could tell from the corner of my eye. Ohh handsome stranger with beautiful hazel eyes and brown hair, and plain white teeth.

Note to self: Do not break out into a song about a beautiful boy and sway on the bus, and then fall over when the bus brakes.

The throbbing of my knee was too much, and the handsome stranger came to me, and said “Do you suffer from Bollyhollymusical-itis?”

“Yes I do,” I said shamefully

“I do to”

“Really?”

“When is your usual time to break out into song?”

“Usually when I see a beautiful girl? Such as you”

“Ohh my name is Maya,”

“I’m Matt”

Note to Self: When getting off the bus, with a newly found love do not sing a love duet, the road is not an actual rose filled garden.

Note to Self: While leaning in for a kiss, do not smack his face if a fly lands on there, but for a kiss give a 1940’s style, a press lips glued one

Note to Self: When walking off into the sunset with a jeevan saathi, throw a flower Jimmy gave you on the floor, and smile as several dogs decide to poo on them