Laughing in Hell by Tarun Shetty

Author:Tarun Shetty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2019-03-18T17:07:58+00:00

I threw the equipment in my car trunk and returned to the lobby. The crowd of Bollywood fans outside the hotel had swelled to three times its original size and spilt onto the nearby sidewalk. A couple of press people and paparazzi from the local Indian newspapers buzzed by the hotel doors.

“Maybe she just wanted to pull a prank on the camera guy? Why would she want a ride from me?” I wondered.

The whole thing seemed ridiculous. I was about to go home when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I swung around and saw a smiling Seema disguised in a grey hoodie, jeans and Yankees baseball cap pulled over her brow.

“Ta-da!”

“Cool outfit.”

“I’m from New York and am a huge Yodles fan!” she replied in a fake Americanized drawl.

“Yankees.” I corrected. “Is it always like this wherever you go?”

“It gets worse in Mumbai. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a fishbowl.”

“Anyway, I checked. There’s no back entrance so we have to go through the front,” I explained.

“Oh.” She frowned.

I tried to soften the blow.

“If we move quick, maybe they won’t mob us.”

I started to move, but Seema stood motionless.

“Wait, we can’t just walk out there!”

“How else are we going to get to my car. Do you want me to carry you?”

“No, silly. They are expecting a single girl to walk out of here. But they’re not expecting a couple. Put your arm around me.”

“Huh?”

“Like this!”

Seema grabbed my arm and draped it over her shoulder.

“Hold me closer.”

I squeezed her tight, her fragrance temporarily paralyzing my legs.

“Now walk… slowly.”

The automatic doors slid open, and Seema and I casually exited. The frenzied mob scene turned in our direction and quickly lost interest in the young Indian couple passing by.

“It’s working,” she whispered excitedly.

“Keep your head down.”

We walked in sync and slipped past the crowd.

“HEY!”

A photographer yelled in our direction. Seema’s shoulders tightened. I slowly turned around. A man with a camera slung around his neck, stared at us in desperation.

“You guys see Seema Shah in there?”

“Who’s that? We’re from New York,” she replied.

I could hear Seema giggling underneath my sleeve.

“Never mind,” he muttered.

Seema and I strolled to my Camry parked nearby. As soon as the car doors closed, we broke out laughing.

“That was great. Thank you! How tall are you?” Seema asked.

“6’1”.

“Have you ever tried Bollywood?”

“Nah.”

“You have very classic Indian good looks. South Asian fans would love you.”

Her remark caught me off guard. I used to go for auditions in New York and my agent would tell me that I needed to look more like a funny character to get cast in television. South Asians could be cast on television but not play leading men. We played supporting roles, like Nazis, the comedian who was passed over me in New York, and the actors at the commercial audition.

“If only you were a little shorter,” I would hear my agent, Betsy, gripe.

I snapped back to reality.

“Thanks, but my goal is to make it here in America.”

“I understand.”

We drove off the lot and eagerly waved to the waiting crowd.

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