Melody Queen E-Book

Puneet Bhandal

• Herausgeber: Lantana Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Bollywood Academy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 249

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Twelve-year-old Simi's life is set. First: graduate from the Bollywood Academy, school to future stars. Second: become a mega-famous actor, just like her showbiz parents. There's only one problem: Simi would rather make music than act, and music is a profession dominated by men. Can Simi navigate the gender barriers of the industry to prove she has what it takes to become Bollywood's next big music composer? A story of passion for music and courage in the face of overwhelming odds, this second book in the dazzling world of Bollywood is sure to get your toes tapping and head bopping to Simi's beat.

Leseprobe

First published in the United Kingdom in 2023 by Lantana Publishing Ltd.

Clavier House, 21 Fifth Road, Newbury RG14 6DN, UK

www.lantanapublishing.com | [email protected]

Text © Puneet Bhandal, 2023

Artwork & Design © Lantana Publishing, 2023

Cover and internal illustrations by Jen Khatun.

The moral rights of the author and artist have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-915244-32-1

ePDF ISBN: 978-1-915244-33-8

ePub3 ISBN: 978-1-915244-34-5

Printed and bound in China using plant-based inks on sustainably sourced paper.

For Mili.

Your sparkly, kind and unique personality was the inspiration for this book.

TAKE ONE

My eyes danced as I watched Zeeshan, my best friend at the Bollywood Academy, strum a tune he’d composed. His curly hair flopped rhythmically over his face as he plucked the strings of his guitar. When he’d finished, he patted the guitar affectionately before putting it down.

“That was ace, Zee!” I exclaimed, clapping loudly. “Especially the chorus.”

A Zoom call wasn’t the easiest way for our band, B-Tunes, to share music, but during the summer holidays it was the only way.

“By the time we get back to school, I’ll pen some wicked lyrics to go with that,” said Raktim from the vast living room of his home in Nepal.

“And I can’t wait to add vocals,” smiled Joya, the lead singer and final member of our quartet.

“Thanks, guys!” said Zeeshan, looking flattered. “But right now, I gotta go. Let me know if we can squeeze in another session before school starts. I’ll call you later, Sim. I need you to fix the piano part for my new song.”

“Sure,” I smiled. Knowing what a great musician Zeeshan was, I felt proud when he asked me for advice. Music had bonded us from our first days at the Bollywood Academy. “Over and out,” he waved, then disappeared from the screen.

“I’m off too,” said Raktim, flashing a big, happy smile and radiating his usual positive energy. “See you both soon. If not online, then in real life next week!”

“See ya, Simi,” said Joya once Raktim had also vanished. “I’m off to do my final bits of shopping for the new term. I’m so glad we get to share a room again!” she added. “See you next week!”

I snapped my laptop shut, excited to think we’d all be back together in a matter of days to start Year 8.

“Simi!”

I sighed. “Coming, Mum!” I called before running downstairs. “I was just on a call with B-Tunes.”

“Always music, music, music!” moaned Mum, looking particularly glamorous in a red chiffon saree with a mirrorwork blouse that glistened as she turned. The sunlight streaming in through the window was bouncing off her, making her sparkle like a disco ball. “For somebody who’s going to be a Bollywood actress, there are better things you could be doing.”

“Like playing a piano in our music room?” I said cheekily. She knew I wanted my own piano so badly, and I knew she’d never get me one.

“Uff, not that again!” Mum folded her arms in annoyance. “It’s a drawing room, not a music room,” she reminded me.

I spooned some Bombay Mix out of a jar and munched on it.

“The Bollywood Academy isn’t cheap, you know?” Mum glared at me when I didn’t reply. “You’re too laidback,” she went on, admiring the red nails and white tips of her brand new manicure. “And too much time doing silly things on that music app when you should be learning how to emote and—”

“Mum,” I cut in, “I’ve heard this speech before. There’s only so much acting practice I can do. All kids have hobbies. Careers are for adults.”

“Very smart!” she kicked in. “You also need to get good grades to keep your place at school. I hope you finished all your assignments? There are just a few days before you go back.”

I decided to move the conversation in a new direction.

“You look nice, Mum,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket before she could mention my music app again.

“Do I?” She turned to look at me, her sharp features softening instantly. It always worked. “I’m off to an audition – to be on the judging panel of a new game show on Starshine TV,” she told me.

“Hugratulations, Mum!” I replied, giving her a congratulatory hug. It was something I always said if somebody shared good news with me. “That’s great!”

And of course it was amazing to get a big opening like that. Except…I knew the chance of Mum bagging the job was pretty slim. She was always outdone by someone younger, more famous, or with better connections. Being married to Shyam Prasad – my dad and one of the biggest film stars in the South Indian state of Telangana – was perhaps the only reason Mum got auditions in the first place. Before I was born, she had been much less successful at getting movie roles than Dad had been. It was even more difficult for her now, while Dad was still in constant demand.

Poor Mum.

I gave her a peck on the cheek as she grabbed her glitzy handbag and teetered off. She quickly glanced at the side of her face in the big gold-leaf mirror before she stepped out – making sure I hadn’t dented her makeup with my kiss, no doubt.

“Gauri’s making dinner and your dad will be home 9ish,” she shouted as she got into the back seat of our Bentley where our driver, Rajiv, was waiting. “Oh, and I told your auntie that you would Facetime Priya today. You haven’t spoken to her in such a long time. Make sure you do it.”

Luckily she didn’t wait for a reply. There was no way I was going to call Perfect Priya if I could avoid it. There was nothing wrong with my cousin – in fact, it was the opposite. She was the one person who could do no wrong, while I was always getting into trouble.

I waved as the grey car rolled out of sight.

“Your food’s ready – eat,” said Gauri, tying the loose end of her saree tightly around her waist.

I reflected that I’d probably spent more hours of my life with our housekeeper than with my own mother. Considering Mum didn’t have a job as such, this struck me as a little ironic, but maintaining herself to the standard she did with all those hair and skincare appointments was like a job in itself.

On the plus side, Gauri let me get away with so much. “Off to the studio again,” I smirked as I ran back upstairs to rehearse some more.

Even though I didn’t have a piano yet, I adored my studio. It was basic – a computer with Digital Audio Workstation software, an electronic keyboard, headphones, speakers and mics – but I was adding to it all the time. My birthday and Christmas wish lists always featured musical items.

I switched on my Mac, put my headphones on, and selected a piece of music I’d made earlier in the week. I set about changing the arrangement. It was too repetitive and needed remixing. For me, there was nothing more satisfying than creating new melodies on my keyboard or listening to tracks and trying to work out which two to put together to make a great mix.

I was proud that I was self-taught. I would have gladly taken up music lessons if they’d been offered to me but I’d been pushed towards dance classes and youth theatre all my life given that I was going to become an actor.

“Uff, you scared me!”

I jumped when Gauri prodded me. She was saying something but I couldn’t hear her. I removed my headphones.

“I’ve been shouting for you,” she told me. “The boys are downstairs.”

I glanced up at the clock. “Sheesh!” I’d completely forgotten about cricket practice. I shoved on my trainers and rushed downstairs.

“Sorry for making you wait guys,” I said, catching my breath.

“Where’s the Bentley?” asked 5-year-old Viraj. He was the little brother of my childhood bestie, Jai.

“Mum’s taken it to an audition, but I promise you can ride in it soon.”

“We want a ride too!” said Roshan, another neighbourhood kid.

“You’ll all get a turn,” I told them, smiling.

“Here,” Jai said, handing me a cricket magazine.

“Oh, wow!” I exclaimed, glancing at the cover which featured my favourite bowler, Suresh. “You’re the best, Jai! You’re the only one who gets me these!” I hugged him tight.

Jai and I were the same age and had been friends since the age of four. I grabbed his cheeks. “Soooo cute!” I laughed. It was something all the aunties did to him when he was young as he’d had the plumpest cheeks.

“Are we gonna do this for ever, Sim?”

“You bet!” I chuckled as we made tracks for the tree-lined road that led to the Jubilee Hills Cricket Club.

It was a beautiful day in Film Nagar, the chic neighbourhood in Hyderabad where we lived. And it wasn’t as sticky and hot as it had been at the start of the summer break.

“I wish you were all at the Bollywood Academy,” I said as we strolled past a row of designer shops. “I’m gonna miss playing with you guys when I go back.” The boys laughed as I told them how my team hadn’t even made thirty runs in the last cricket tournament at school.

“It’s weird when you’re not around,” admitted Jai. “We go back to being an all-boys’ club. No other girls around here are interested in playing.”

I was lucky for sure. Jubilee Hills Cricket Club didn’t treat me any differently because I was a girl. They’d always welcomed and accepted me – much to my mum’s annoyance.

We arrived at the club to find Govind, the manager, checking the stumps of the wicket in preparation. He looked smart in his all-whites.

“How’s your superstar dad?” he asked, looking up as we approached.

“Good, thank you,” I replied.

“Remind him about the party this weekend,” he added as we got ready to start the match.

“What party, uncle?”

“It’s Mohan’s 60th birthday. Actually, don’t worry, I’ll remind Shyam myself later on,” he muttered as I took up my position. I was batting first.

It was just as well Govind had taken it upon himself to let Dad know. I’d forgotten all about the party by the time I left the club. True to his word, Govind was on the phone to Dad when I got home.

“I suppose I should go,” said Dad, stroking his salt and pepper moustache. Dad’s hair was greying but he still looked pretty young for a 45-year-old – it was a good job too as he was still playing characters at least a decade younger than his age. “I haven’t seen Mohan for a while. Who else is coming?”

I gave Dad a hug before taking off my cap and untying my shoelaces.

“DJ Dan?” Dad said to Govind. “Who’s DJ Dan?”

“What!” I shouted out. “Did you say DJ Dan?”

Dad moved the handset away from his ear. “Some DJ at a party this weekend. You know who he is?”

“Oh. My. Goodness!” I yelled. “The most famous DJ and YouTuber in the whole of India, Dad! How do you not know? Can we go?”

It must have been the sight of me jumping up and down that made him chuckle. “Okay, Govind, done! We’ll be there.”

“Yes!” I went and squeezed Dad tight. I was so excited. “I have to call Zeeshan and tell him about this!” Zeeshan was an even bigger Dan fan than me – he was hooked on his YouTube channel and had his T-shirts and everything.

“Put Radhika’s name down too,” Dad told Govind as I darted up the stairs to get my phone. “We’ll be there at 8pm sharp.”

TAKE TWO

Dad was a stickler for punctuality. At exactly 8pm on Saturday, we pulled up outside one of the many mansions in the exclusive Banjara Hills area of Film Nagar. True to its name, Film Nagar was home to the Telugu language film industry. Countless studios and production houses were located there.

Mum straightened out her outfit – a smart trouser suit with an intricately-embroidered jacket worn over the top – and smoothed down her hair as we made our way to the entrance.

“You know what I think of casual clothes at formal functions, don’t you, Simi?” Mum said pointedly as she spotted a small group of photographers outside the house. Their cameras were facing in our direction.

I shrugged my shoulders. Mum had been so busy getting herself ready, she hadn’t had a chance to pester me to change. That suited me fine. She would have no doubt made me wear a party dress and I hated them. Jumpsuits were perfect for impromptu games of football or doing cartwheels when bored.

“Dress like a lady when you go to events,” she scolded as quietly as she could. “Priya always dresses immaculately, and she’s a year younger than you.”

Would Mum ever stop comparing me to her?

“You never know who’s going to take your photo and where it will appear,” she went on, running her fingers through my thick, wavy hair to tidy it up.

“Sim looks fine to me. It’s a perfectly smart choice,” Dad stated as I scoured the car park looking for DJ Dan.

I still couldn’t believe such a big YouTuber would be performing at a house party. I’d subscribed to DJ Dan’s YouTube channel when I was eight and had learned so much about music through his tutorials. This year, his popularity had gone through the roof after releasing some Bollywood remixes that had become mega hits. I loved that he was now mainstream, but his recent fame meant he wasn’t making as many tutorial videos as he used to. That sucked.

My eyes zoned in on a flashy white Jaguar parked up in the distance and a crowd of people surrounding it.

“I’ll be back!” I told Mum as I darted off in the direction of the car.

“Come back, Simi!” she shouted, but I wasn’t going to look back – I needed to see DJ Dan in the flesh. I could hear Mum’s heels clicking faster as she tried to catch up with me until the sound suddenly stopped. I turned around and saw that she’d been approached by some paparazzi to pose with Dad. Mum was always more than happy to strike a pose for the snappers.

My heart was pumping with excitement as I glimpsed my idol. He was wearing a red baseball cap and a white tracksuit. Multiple gold chains and rings completed his rock star look. The crowd around him was swelling and people were jostling for a selfie or an autograph.

I hadn’t been in the queue for long when I felt Mum’s arm hooking into mine. She dragged me off despite my best efforts to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. I huffed as I reached the house.

Dad was getting a warm welcome, as usual. I found it weird. He was just Dad, but I could see how nervous people got when they met him. Some would just grin and stare at him, others would gush over his achievements, telling him they’d seen all his movies a million times over. Then there were those who’d cup his hands in theirs and take ages to let go.

I spotted Producer Uncle over by a massive fountain in the hallway. That wasn’t his real name, of course, but that’s what I’d called him for as long as I could remember. He’d produced a few films for Dad a couple of decades back and all had gone on to become big successes. In fact, together they’d been known as the “hit factory”. Mum often said that without Dad, Producer Uncle wouldn’t be living in his mansion. I wondered whether that worked the other way around too. Would we be residents of the equally posh Jubilee Hills area without those mega movies he’d offered Dad?

Producer Uncle had pulled out all the stops for this gathering. No expense had been spared. The house had been decorated lavishly with balloons, flowers and twinkling fairy lights. Smart waiters wearing black and white uniforms circled with fresh juices and canapes for the guests. The ladies – with their bright and blingy sarees – mingled with big, wide smiles and over-friendly expressions. The men relaxed on plush garden furniture by the swimming pool with ice-cold drinks.

Mum was now forcing me to do the rounds – a polite “Namaste” here, there and everywhere. “This is Simi,” she began when introducing me to the adults who I had to adopt as my aunties and uncles – that’s just how it was in India.

“Wow, she’s grown so much!” said one lady who I swear I’d never seen before.

“She’s at the Bollywood Academy, preparing for a career as an actress,” Mum told another one of her acquaintances proudly.

“Actor, Mum, not actress,” I chided, but nobody took any notice.

“Ah, we hope she can fulfil all your ambitions,” the lady replied. “Those not blessed with sons deserve to have the most successful daughters.”

Urgh! I glared at the lady. How could attitudes like that still exist? I wasn’t able to disrespect my elders by answering back but I bristled all the same.

As we continued doing the rounds, I thought how much I could do without all this. I wondered when I’d be able to slip back to the autograph queue and what I’d ask DJ Dan to sign.

“Do you want to hang out with us?”

I turned to see Producer Uncle’s daughter, Bhavani, with her hair in a big bun, and wearing a lilac lehenga skirt, cute crop top and dupatta draped over it. Wow, I was totally underdressed.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, hoping she could introduce me to DJ Dan without me having to ask Dad to pull strings.

Bhavani was a couple of years older than me but I always felt like she was younger. Dress sense aside, she was obsessed with toys and loved watching cartoons. As if to prove my point, she took me to a room in the house which was practically a toy shop. It was stacked with Lego kits, board games, a giant wooden dolls house and loads of kids going wild to see what they could find.

My eyes went straight to the piano.

“Can I try?” I asked.

She nodded before telling the younger children off for touching her collection of Barbie dolls. “Don’t touch their hair,” she said possessively. “The strands come loose.”

The kids moved over to the dolls house while I made myself comfortable at the piano. I began playing a romantic song from a 1980s Bollywood film. The original didn’t feature the sounds of the piano but I’d created my own version of it at the age of seven. I’d improved it over the years and performed it multiple times during school assemblies for different year groups.

“Wow, this girl can play!”

I turned around sharply and my breath hitched at the sight of DJ Dan and a few of his friends standing in the doorway.

“That’s Shyam’s daughter,” muttered one of the guys.

“The superstar Shyam?” DJ Dan asked.

His friend nodded.

DJ Dan’s eyes lit up. “Oh wow, I’m your dad’s biggest fan!” he gushed. “I grew up watching him. He’s my idol!”

I didn’t know what to make of that. How could DJ Dan – my idol – be telling me that my dad was his idol?

“Can you introduce me?” he asked.

Words weren’t exactly tumbling out of my mouth and I was wondering whether this was the right moment to ask for his autograph but I didn’t have a pen and didn’t have anything to sign.

I nodded and stood up to lead the way. As we walked through the main hallway, I glimpsed Mum posing for more photos with a group of ladies who looked super rich with their sparkling jewellery and perfectly-manicured nails.

“There’s Simi,” Mum told them. I was determined not to stop or make eye contact.

“Oh wow, she has such big, black eyes – like an Indian goddess!” replied one of the older ladies with a silver-grey bun.

Mum threw her head back and laughed. “We have high hopes for Simi – in Bollywood not Tollywood.”

I wished I could stop Mum from dissing the local film industry to the residents, even if Tollywood was smaller and less famous than Bollywood. And I wished they wouldn’t talk about me as though I couldn’t hear.

Mum wasn’t quite as smiley when the same lady quipped: “Maybe you can manage her career, so you don’t have to keep trying to get roles for yourself?”

Ouch.

I quickened my pace and found Dad sitting outside on the patio. He smiled when he saw me.

“Dad, this is DJ Dan,” I said, relieved that I was now able to speak.

Dad stood up to shake his hand. “Hello, Dan. Is that your full name?”

“Danyal, sir,” he replied. “Dan for short. I’m a huge fan. I’ve seen every single one of your movies. Over and over again.”

Gosh, I would have thought Dan could have come up with something a little more original!

Dad nodded in acknowledgment. He was so casual about accepting praise. I guess he’d heard it so many times in his life, and he really didn’t seem to get how much of a legend DJ Dan was.

As for me, it was sinking in how famous my father had been at his peak, which was a few years before I was born.

“Your daughter plays fine piano,” Dan told Dad.

My tummy leapt with excitement. Most of the kids who’d been inside had followed us out, all Dan fans no doubt.

“Yes, Simi is an amazing pianist and a star cricket player,” Dad chuckled. “But she’ll be an even bigger film star,” he said proudly. “She’s at the Bollywood Academy – it’s the best stage school out there.”

Urgh, not Dad stealing Mum’s line!

Dan raised his eyebrows as he looked at me. “Multi-talented I see.”

“And,” added Dad, “you’d better watch out as she’s great at making music too. She has so many tunes on that thingy on her phone – what’s it called?”

“It’s just an app, Dad,” I whispered, petrified that DJ Dan would want to hear one of my creations.

“Is that so?” asked Dan. “Maybe you want to show me? I’ll play one. You have your mobile?”

Gulp. I wasn’t confident about playing anything but I didn’t know how to get out of it. I pulled my phone from my pocket and clicked on the SoundCloud app.

“Choose a track and I’ll hook you up to the speakers,” he told me as my dad wandered off and left me to it.

“For real?” I asked.

“For real. Anything for Shyam’s daughter,” he laughed, showing off the metal grilles on his teeth. I followed Dan to his podium and watched as he connected my phone to his speakers via Bluetooth. I pointed out my favourite song – the one Zeeshan always raved about. As the music began to blare from the humongous speakers, the ladies who’d been gathered inside started making their way out.

By now, it was totally dark. The water in the swimming pool had been completely still but was now rippling in the gentle evening breeze.

I saw Mum moving towards us, beckoning me with her hand. She pointed to where Bhavani and the other girls had gathered. I shook my head and averted my gaze, focusing on DJ Dan who was really pumping up the volume now.

I pinched myself. Dan was playing one of my tunes and nodding his head along to the beat! My legs were wobbling so much I wondered if they’d give way from under me! Suddenly, DJ Dan was motioning me up into his booth. I didn’t need to be asked twice. In fact, I was so keen to get there, I almost tripped on one of the steps leading up to it.

I was amazed at how DJ Dan had so quickly grabbed his audience’s attention. Guests were edging forward, putting down their drinks and creating a dance floor of their own on the lawn in front of his booth. Older gents were leaving their comfy wicker seats and pulling their wives onto the grass. Further back by the patio area, a group of teenagers had created a little boogie circle of their own. Some younger boys were crowding in front of the booth to dance – well, more like jump up and down. Adrenaline was surging through me – it was electrifying!

DJ Dan cranked up the sound. I watched his hands moving magically as he began mixing my track with a Bollywood golden oldie – how did he know that would work? Before I knew it, Dan was layering four tracks with so much ease and with the most mind-blowing results. His hands moved at lightning speed. There was no way I could layer like that but I was quite good at cross-fading – I’d learned the art of transitioning from one track to another from the YouTuber himself.

I glanced up and saw that Dad and Producer Uncle had moved closer and were clapping in rhythm. Govind, our cricket club manager, had also turned up and was chanting “Simi! Simi!” Mum looked less pleased but I didn’t care. I’d deal with her later. The atmosphere in the garden was buzzing now, the party in full swing – thanks to my tune and DJ Dan!

When the song came to an end, I was sweating. DJ Dan put his thumbs up in appreciation, then grabbed his mic. “Wow, what a result! I don’t usually let girls into my booth, but I made an exception for the daughter of the legendary Shyam Prasad!”

Uff.

I felt the wind go out of me.

So that’s all he had to say? Not that I’d composed an awesome tune but that I was my dad’s daughter, and a girl? What did my gender have to do with anything? It felt like a kick in the teeth.

I had been well and truly cut down to size.

I looked up to see Mum indicating for me to get out of there. For the first time that evening, I was happy to do as she told me. I slipped out of the booth quickly and quietly.

Perhaps this wasn’t the day I got DJ Dan’s autograph after all.

TAKE THREE

The last week of the summer break flew by and I was getting excited at the thought of seeing my school friends again. I’d pretty much managed to put DJ Dan’s comments behind me, and when some of the kids at the party messaged me afterwards to say my tune was awesome, I was boosted.

At the start of term, Mum accompanied me for the 90-minute flight from Hyderabad to Mumbai. As we were about to exit Mumbai airport, she grabbed a copy of Telugu Tinsel magazine from the airport shop. Once aboard the ferry bound for Kohinoor Island, Mum eagerly flicked through the “Out and About” pages, no doubt looking for images of herself.

“Oh, here’s Mohan’s birthday bash!” she enthused as she came across some pictures. Her eyes darted around the page. She kept looking, then frowned a little. Mum lifted the magazine up close and then set it back down on her lap. She looked a bit cross.

“What’s up?” I asked. “There’s Dad! Where are—?” The penny dropped. “Oh, they couldn’t fit you in,” I mumbled. “I guess the photo lens was only so wide.”

“Why don’t you just say it?” she snapped. “They cropped me out!”

I looked carefully at the selection of images again and Dad appeared in three photos, including one with DJ Dan. It was clear Mum hadn’t made the final cut.

“It’ll be nice to catch up with your old actor friends in Mumbai, won’t it, Mum?” I said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Old is the right word,” she answered, before resting her head back and closing her eyes.

I went very quiet, not knowing what to do or say next. After a few moments, Mum opened her eyes and forced a small smile. “I hope you get the best opportunities, Simi. I miss you when you’re at the Academy.”

I reached out to hold her hand.

“You could just as easily have been training for a future in Telugu cinema and living at home,” she added. “But we make these sacrifices for you because in India, nothing is bigger than Bollywood.”

She kissed my forehead while I snuggled up against her arm, holding her tight for the final part of our journey.

*

Entering the famous wrought-iron gates of the Bollywood Academy, porters rushed out to grab my bags and load them onto a trolley to take inside. It was a busy day for them – the car park was full and the reception area of the school looked like a hotel lobby with all the luggage lined up.

“Good afternoon, Mr Pereira,” said Mum, putting her hands together in a namaste gesture.

“Afternoon, Mrs Prasad,” replied the Vice Principal.