Bollywood Confidential by Sonia Singh Page A

She moved closer and saw there was a caption at the bottom of the photograph.
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    Hurt Never. Love Ever.
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    Made sense.
    So Uncle Heeru was a Sai Baba devotee. From what she’d read, Sai Baba was considered an avatar of God. In front of eyewitnesses, he had raised the dead, materialized jewelry out of thin air, turned water into gasoline when his car ran out of fuel, made sweets appear directly into people’s mouths and managed to appear in two places at once.
    Further examination of the altar was halted when she looked up to see another girl, shorter and darker than the first but dressed almost identically in a short-sleevedhousecoat, staring at her. Raveena smiled but was pointedly ignored. The girl’s expression was decidedly sulky. Silently, she disappeared into another room and Raveena was once again left alone.
    She returned to the sofa and stared at the large Toshiba television in the corner of the room. A black pigeon flew in through the open window, perched on the top of a bookcase and fixed its red gaze on her.
    Raveena found this to be slightly unnerving and was about to get up and look for someone, anyone, when rapid footsteps sounded from the hall. All of a sudden a man came tearing into the room, stopped at the sight of her and ran his hands through his shock of thick white hair.
    He was of average height, thin with a slight paunch, wore steel-rimmed glasses held together strategically with scotch tape and dressed in a faded white cotton shirt and what looked like a brand new pair of Levi’s 501 jeans. The jeans were too long and his feet peeked out from beneath the cuffs in brown leather Kolhapuri slippers.
    Raveena stood up. “Uncle Heeru?” she asked tentatively.
    He ran his fingers through his hair again, causing it to stand up in tufts. “Yes, you’re here,” he said. “Nice, ah, to see you again.”
    â€œWe’ve never met,” Raveena said.
    His eyes darted right and left. “Yes, that’s right.” All of a sudden he tipped his head back and shouted, “Nandini! Nanda!”
    From another room a female voice yelled back, “What do you want?”
    â€œSee to the guest!”
    The two servants, one smiling and the other sulky, came into the room.
    â€œShow Lavinia to her room,” Uncle Heeru said.
    â€œIt’s Raveena. And I wanted to thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
    Uncle Heeru gazed at her blankly. She found this almost as unnerving as the pigeon.
    â€œI just wanted to, umm, really thank you,” she repeated lamely. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. If I can be of help—”
    â€œWhat is the time?” Uncle Heeru interrupted. Before anyone could answer he looked down at his bare wrist. “Where is my wristwatch? Thieves have stolen my wristwatch!”
    â€œNobody stole it; you lost it yourself months ago,” the sulky servant said crossly.
    â€œNever mind,” Uncle Heeru said to no one in particular. “Nandini, take Lavinia to her room.”
    The young woman with the shy smile came forward and gestured towards the stairs.
    So this was Nandini. Raveena definitely liked her.
    The other girl—Nanda—continued to stand there, her arms crossed over her chest.
    â€œGo find Chotu and tell him to bring in the suitcases,” Uncle Heeru said to her.
    Nanda frowned and fired back in rapid Hindi Raveena could barely follow. Something about Chotu stealing a potato.
    This caused Uncle Heeru to pull on his hair, yell, and then run out of the room, his slippers clopping on the cement floor.
    Nanda sniffed and turned away, skirt swirling.
    Raveena followed Nandini up the stairs and into what would be her bedroom.
    It was a large space. A double bed was covered in a pretty, red embroidered bedcover. Directly above it a ceiling fan slowly circulated the heavy humid air. Across from the bed was a window that ran the entire length of the wall. It was screenless,