Radha & Jai's Recipe for Romance Page 3

  “Oh my God.” She pushed back. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Jai said with a laugh. “Have to admit, it’s the first time someone’s fallen in my arms by accident. I thought that was only in the movies. It’s pretty nice. I mean, not that you fell. I’m just saying—”

  “My name,” Radha interrupted. “How do you know my name?” It was best to get some distance, so she sat down against the wall and started tugging at the nylon strings that kept her ghungroos together. She had to concentrate to get her fingers working.

  “Right. Your name. Well, one of my best friends is Winnie Mehta. She said you were probably going to join the dance track. Since I know every other Indian dancer…”

  “Oh.” Winnie Mehta. Radha hadn’t seen her in years, but they’d kept in touch since they were old enough to talk. If Radha didn’t hear from Winnie after a couple of months or vice versa, their mothers would give an update. Radha was pretty sure that Winnie’s mom was one of the reasons her mother had chosen to move to New Jersey.

  And Winnie, being kind and considerate as she’d always been, had told the young, hot Ranveer Singh about her.

  And Radha had fallen right into his arms. So embarrassing.

  “Here, let me help,” Jai said. He crouched and brushed her fingers gently aside.

  “Oh. Uh, it’s okay.” Her embarrassment grew when she realized how close he was to her feet. Despite how long it had been, her feet were still dancer feet. Callused and scarred.

  He quickly undid the first set.

  That was way easier than Radha had expected. Well, if he was going to be blasé about her feet, so would she.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Don’t mention it. Just had your audition, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was the director tough on you?”

  “I—I don’t know. I guess. She called my bullshit.”

  Jai chuckled, and the sound had Radha’s fingers fumbling.

  “She’s one of the toughest teachers here, but she’s changed my life. If you let her, she can change yours, too.”

  “Who says mine needs changing?”

  Jai shrugged. “Transferring for your senior year? Sounds like it already has.”

  Radha finished untying the second set and tucked the ghungroos away. She took the first set from Jai and packed her duffel.

  “Hey,” Jai said. He was still sitting cross-legged in front of her, his elbows braced on his knees. “I make a pretty great friend. Just ask Winnie.”

  “I’m sure. And thanks. I appreciate the help.” Radha stood. She felt grounded again. “Uh, see you in class, I guess.”

  She’d turned the doorknob when Jai said her name. “I’m head of the Bollywood dance team here at the school. If you’re interested, you should join.”

  “Oh, no thanks. I don’t perform anymore.”

  “Wait.” He scrambled to his feet and rushed past her so he could hold open the door. “You don’t perform like at all? But you’re taking the dance track.”

  Radha nodded. She probably had to get used to people asking her that. “It’s not by choice. Well, it is, but the whole situation is a bit complicated.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  She waved and tried to moderate her strides as she walked down the halls toward the exit. No matter what, Radha was never going to change her mind about performing.

  Her kathak performance career was dead. After this one year, she’d have time to find out what else she could do with her life.

  Chapter Three

  JAI

  To: JMuza@PAAS.edu

  From: JPBollywoodBeats@gmail.com

  Subject: Career Questionnaire

  Masi,

  Attached is the career questionnaire you asked for.

  Based on this, I don’t think college is in the works for me right now.

  I doubt I’ll even bother with the Common App.

  Jai watched Radha stride away with her head high and her shoulders pushed back.

  “Wow,” he whispered. Talk about impact. The way she held herself had Jai wondering what she was trying to prove to the world. He’d have to ask Winnie for more intel. When his old film-club friend had texted him and asked if he could keep an eye out for the new girl, Jai hadn’t thought he’d be floored after one look.

  A door opened, and three judges filtered out of the audition room. It wasn’t until Director Muza and Jai were alone in the hallway that she gave him a knowing smile.

  “How was she?” Jai asked.

  “I haven’t seen talent like that in God knows how many years. You can learn a few things about form from her.”

  “Hey, now. I’ll have you know, I’ve gotten compliments on my form as a dancer.”

  Director Muza scoffed. “Not from me. Or if they were from me, not since you were ten. Help me to my office.”

  Jai presented his elbow. She smiled and let him lead her down the empty corridor. When Jai had first met the director, he’d discovered that her old knee injury bothered her on long days. It wasn’t until he started at the academy that he realized auditions were always the longest days for her during the school year. Maybe he’d ask one of his brothers to swing by her house tonight to drop off some of the store’s ice packs in case she needed them.

  “Oh, I’m seeing Nana Veeru later. We’re working the same shift at the store tonight.”

  Director Muza shook her head. “My father loves that place. I just don’t understand it.”

  “Masi,” Jai said, calling her the familiar endearment for “aunt,” which he often used when they were alone. “You’re talking about a guy who worked in hospitals most of his life. He likes being busy.”

  “And he’s an eighty-year-old stroke survivor, Jai. He has more than enough money to keep him healthy and happy. He could go fishing or watch movies. Instead he’s imposing on your family.”

  “Think of it as his version of a hobby. You know, Nana needs to feel like his time is occupied.” Jai’s earliest memories of the man were doing memory exercises by reading biology textbooks out loud and trying to draw diagrams on a whiteboard. Word recitations just wouldn’t cut it for him. The fact that Nana was working part-time behind a cash register four days a week now was a vacation compared to when he was a physician.

  They turned in to the corner office at the end of the dance wing. Jai let go of the director and collapsed in one of the guest chairs facing the wide oak desk. He looked around at the familiar space, which he’d visited countless times over the last three years. There were a few more additions of framed photos from past students who’d become principal dancers, but for the most part it remained unchanged.

  When the director finally took her place behind the desk, he saw the strain in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A lot of things,” she said. “I asked you to come speak with me because I had dinner with your mother last week.”

  “Oh? She didn’t tell me that.”

  “Because she wanted to talk about you,” the director said.

  “Great.” He slumped in the chair. “What did I do now?”

  “It’s more like what you didn’t do.” She pulled a folder from a drawer and dropped it in front of him. Jai flipped it open and saw the printout of his career questionnaire and cover email, along with a copy of his transcript and his near-perfect SAT scores.

  “I don’t understand. This is the stuff you asked me to send you.”

  “Yes. Jai…your mother said that you didn’t visit a single college this summer. That your brothers offered to drive you, but you refused to leave the store. What happened?”

  She pointed to one of his answers on the questionnaire.

  Interests: None

  It was a
lie. Masi knew it, he knew it, and anyone who spent time with him knew it.

  He was interested in dance, and biology, physiology, and math. But, most important, he was interested in supporting his family.

  “Masi, you know I can’t afford college,” Jai said quietly.

  She knocked on the desk loud enough for Jai to bolt out of his seat. “I know you beyond the walls of this school, and you know me better than that too. I did not immigrate to this country yesterday. What is really stopping you?”

  He began to pace the small area of exposed carpet. “You promise to keep this to yourself? Please don’t tell Mom.”

  “Tell me first, and then I’ll promise.”

  “Really? You won’t just trust me?”

  “No,” the director said. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched one brow.

  “Uh, fine.” He shoved his fingers through his hair once, then a second time. “Okay. Well, you know how my family has struggled since the day that Dad had his accident, right? The medical bills, the store, the house almost being foreclosed on.”

  “Yes. Both our families changed at the same time.”

  “Then you know my brothers didn’t get to finish college. They had to quit to keep the store going so we could pay for everything. Anything extra went into the family fund.”

  “What does this have to do with you?”

  He swallowed. “I give up a percentage of my paycheck too. If I went to college, then I wouldn’t have the money for my share anymore. How unfair would it be if my family, my brothers, had to make sacrifices to the family store while I pursued my dreams?”

  “Oh, sweet boy.” Director Muza shook her head. “This is what your mother and father want for you.”

  “Most Indian parents want their kid to be a doctor.”

  “Except not every Indian kid wants to be a doctor too. You love it! You have ever since you would sit with our fathers gobbling up medical abnormality stories like some people read those Twilight books.”

  “You know, I was just thinking about rereading those, too—”

  “You have ranked highest as a dual-track student in the history of this school. You are destined for greatness. How could you not be?”

  “If I’m peaking in high school, might as well go all the way, right?”

  “Jai.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jai said. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Masi, you know more than anyone else that my family is a team. I’m sorry, but medical school is out. I’ll take part-time classes, and maybe work my way up to an undergraduate degree, but it’ll be a slow process. Something I’ll do in the future.”

  “Your mother agrees that it’s your responsibility to fulfill your potential.”

  Responsibility.

  If his mother and brothers were honest, they’d admit that Jai needed to continue taking the evening shifts. Nana couldn’t do it on his own anymore. Plus, Jai was in charge of the accounting system, because he was better at it than anyone else in the family. He’d watched his family share responsibility and work together while he’d had to sit and do nothing for years. Now it was his turn to help grow the business. To take what his father had started, what his brothers had grown, and build from it.

  Jai sat down again, leaned over the desk, and took the director’s hand. She was like a second mother to him, and he knew that she was only trying to save him, like she always had.

  “I came to this school because I got a full academic scholarship, and because you vouched for me. I danced because, truthfully, I wanted to make you happy. Then because I loved dance. But I’m still able to work and help at the store while I’m doing those things. If I got a scholarship and left, I’d never forgive myself for leaving my family in the lurch by only thinking of myself.”

  To Jai’s horror, Director Muza’s eyes filled with tears. She squeezed his hand, and held on even when he tried to pull away.

  “Jai, what happened to your spirit? That little boy I met in the waiting room of the rehab unit was so angry.”

  “Masi, please don’t—”

  “He had fighting spirit,” she said. “It’s as if you gave up. Help me understand how we can get some of your ambition back. There has to be something that will convince you to rethink college. I’m sure you have one dream school you’d love to go to.”

  Columbia.

  The name was in his mind before he could stop himself from dreaming.

  Nana Veeru always talked about how when he first came over from Zimbabwe at age forty-five, he’d had to do a US residency at Columbia. Then he’d worked for the University Medical Center for years. Jai wished he could follow in Nana Veeru’s footsteps more than anything, but there was no way he’d ever be able to attend Columbia.

  He gave Masi his brightest smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  They sat in silence, hands clasped, as if they were experiencing a moment of mourning. Whether it was Jai’s future or the director’s hope of changing his mind, Jai wasn’t sure. He slowly pulled away and stood.

  “I promise you that even if I’m not going to college, I’ll still make you proud this year.”

  Director Muza’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You always do. No matter what you decide, you always will. And this year you’ll have it especially tough. Classes aside, you have a team depending on you. As captain, you should’ve started auditions for your empty spot by now. More importantly, Bollywood Beats hasn’t submitted a concept for the Winter Showcase for the group dance category. That’s due the end of the first week of school, you know.”

  “I know. Don’t worry, Bollywood Beats will get you something.” He had a few ideas that he was running by the senior members of the team, but he really needed input from their choreographer. Payal wasn’t returning his calls, texts, or emails. If she was still AWOL when classes started, Jai would have to ask Director Muza for more time.

  She rarely gave extensions, especially to him.

  “I’ll see you later, Masi,” he said. He pointed at her and winked. “I’ll say hi to your dad for you.” He left the room, and kept his smile plastered on his face until he left the building.

  When he was sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, he leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. He’d hated that conversation. He knew that he’d upset the director, and that he was letting her down. There had to be something he could do to lessen her disappointment.

  He’d get his A’s this year. That was the easy part. The only other thing he could think of was the Winter Showcase. Bollywood Beats always did well, but they hadn’t won the whole showcase since long before he started at the academy. If they took home first place, they’d get the coveted spot at regionals, and he’d leave the academy and Masi on a high note. But first he needed a choreographer.

  Phone in hand, he decided to swallow his pride and call in some reinforcements to help him get in touch with Payal.

  Tara picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Jai,” she said.

  “Hey, Tara. What’s up? How was your summer?”

  “Good,” she replied slowly. “You didn’t come to the shore like you promised.”

  “Sorry. Work. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, but you’re always working. Did you get any break?”

  “Uh, you know…a little.” He winced. How pathetic did that sound? “Listen, Tara, I wanted to ask…I know you’re friends with Payal. Have you heard from her?”

  “Yeah, a couple weeks ago. Why?”

  “Well, I need to get in touch with her about Princeton’s group dance. Do you know where she is? She’s not answering any of my messages.”

  Tara gasped. “Oh no. She didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Payal isn’t here anymore. She left for India.”

  “She’s in India? Oka
y, well, do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “Jai…she’s not coming back. She got her lucky break—she’s doing the choreography for an upcoming Bollywood movie. She’ll be gone for at least six months, if not more.”

  “She’s gone for how long?”

  “Six months. Please tell me that she wasn’t your only option for group choreographer.”

  Jai dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. “Uh, yup. Yeah, she was.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and echoed his ex-girlfriend’s word with feeling. “Shit.”

  Chapter Four

  Radha

  Translation of Bimalpreet Chopra’s Recipe Book

  Masala Dabba

  The classic Indian spice tin

  To begin, prepare the cooking station and stock appropriate spices. In addition to ghee, fresh herbs, ginger, garlic, and onions, also include in your masala dabba:

  Dried mango powder

  Turmeric

  Green and black cardamom pods

  Red chili powder

  Cumin seeds

  Salt

  Coriander seeds

  Mustard seeds

  Whole cloves

  Carom seeds

  Fennel seeds

  Pomegranate seeds

  Place each spice in one of the individual silver cups inside the masala dabba, with turmeric on the outside to avoid contamination. Whole cloves are best placed in the center. Additional spices may include black peppercorn, black salt, bishop’s weed, fenugreek, asafetida powder, saffron, and curry leaves.

  Sent August 22 2:46 PM

  RADHA: Thanks for Dada’s notebook. Mom is on my case and wants me to start therapy again, but I want to try something else first. Maybe cooking can help.