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She announces it.
Within seconds, I’m engulfed by the crowd. They are congratulating me and shaking my hand and my neck hurts from making all the air-kisses.
Fast forward to my mother hugging me.
She asks if I’m happy in my ear.
I nod, even though I’ve got no idea.
Everything feels as if it’s changed.
TWO
“Family and friends,” my mother had announced with a flourish. “You are looking at the newest supporting actor joining me in my next film. Please give a warm welcome to Pollywood’s newest star, Komal Chahal.”
That was my surprise.
I am a star now.
Mom is giving me a chance to be famous, acting alongside her in her next film.
The party doesn’t fizzle until almost dawn because my fellow actors—did I just think “fellow” and “actor” and associate it with me?—can’t stop upstaging each other. I get a stream of advice ranging from “behind the camera, you must be like the moon” to “look in a mirror and memorize the fruits of your body naked” to “drink less milk.” What’s worse is I’m already losing track of the less eccentric and more useful bits like “you have to know your material so well that you can completely…”Rememberit orforgetit? Damn it. One of them.
I wish I could ask again, but people are leaving, and I’ve moved on to being completely overwhelmed by the future roadmap of my life. Should I have predicted this? A long time ago, my mother wafted the idea about us working togethersomeday, but she has so many charity initiatives and fundraisers that it could have meant anything. Though, maybe it’s more obvious than I think. Being the daughter of a movie star typically means you, too, can be a movie star. At least, in Pollywood, it does. Probably Hollywood, too.
I’ve got full ramp access to be a nepo baby.
Did I subconsciously think I would end up here, and that’s why I haven’t found a different path? I don’t think so. I’ve never dreamed of myself as an actress, and I’ve shown no prior skill or talent for movies, which means… I might suck at the whole thing. My mind imagines that scenario and furiously wilts. What if I embarrass myself in front of the whole country and turn my mother’s next movie into a big flop? What if no one likes me? What if they laugh at my mother because she gave me this role in the first place?
It will all be my fault!
Just as I’m about to fall into a fit of bleakness, my best friends show up. We hover in a corner by the front doors of the house. Technically, I should be hugging anyone who is leaving, but at this hour, there are only a few stragglers left. So if a few of them don’t get a personal goodbye from me, it should be okay, I think.
Reena leans against the wall. She is a baker with a very circular face. We met as teenagers shopping for bacterial acne products. I thought she was a pushy retail worker. Turns out she’s just pushy, but in an acceptably spunky and deeply witty way.
Nim, on the other hand, unnerves humans and likely animals, too. She’s a shrewd type of quiet where you are not sure if she likes you or not, and somehow you’ll never get enough data to support either conclusion. She became our friend last year after we saw her puking in the corner of a club frequentedby the kids of famous people, and instead of taking pictures or spreading rumours about it, we brought her water.
Her friendship standards are measly. Or they were back then.
Wearing thin heels, she teeters over both of us, casting shadows like a vampire—which is actually what the modelling world calls her.VampyNim. Tonight, burgundy lipstick and hellaciously dark eyebrows complete her look. Reena is wearing enough tulle that I can’t see her footwear.
Compared to them, I’m traditional in my sari. Bright green contrasts with my darker skin and, according to my mother, compliments my long face and caterpillar brows.
“Well, I’m going to be famous now,” I tell them.
“Your left eye is twitching”—Reena taps her own—“which makes me think you’re experiencing some internal flailing.”
“You can tell us if you’re miserable,” Nim adds. “Almost everyone is.”
“I’m fine.”
My friends share a look, so I say with emphasis, “I’m fine. Just surprised, but fine.”
It might sound as if I’m suppressing like a gas-corked bottle, but here is the truth: I’ve got no real idea how I feel aside from these stirrings of panic, but I get those routinely. And honestly, I’ve been searching for a purpose for a while now, trying out photography last summer, writing a failed play about a Punjabi explorer living in the desert, shadowing event coordinators as they network vendors across the city to see if I enjoy planning… even vlogging on camera for a split second…
Nothing has fit.
And now it seems the universe or my mother or the universe channelled through my mother is giving me a clear push. Besides, acting is inevitable, right? Like I said, nepotismisrampant in Pollywood. And this way, if I let myself float along with this decision, I can become a contributing memberof society like my friends already are. Reena bakes, Nim models, and while I’ve been entirely lucky to have time and space to explore my own direction since graduating—I’ve realized time and space don’t do much if you’ve made no progress. Being lost and bored should only last so long before it becomes, well, boring itself.
