From Twinkle, with Love
Page 55
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June 28, 1:32 a.m.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Dr. Ajit Roy,
Your colleague, Dr. Faizal Ahmed, passed on the video directed by Twinkle Mehra. We here at the Mumbai Young Filmmakers Council are all in agreement that Miss Mehra possesses the unique ability to truly transform her characters on-screen in such a way as to spellbind her audience. Her mastery of camera angles and lighting, too, is rare in an individual of her age.
Due to her supreme skill in the arena of filmmaking, it is our honor to extend an invitation to Miss Mehra. We would love it if she could come to our facility here in Mumbai and give a talk on her experiences being a young Indian-American filmmaker in the States. We feel this would be of great value to the members of our institution, and Miss Mehra might benefit from meeting other young filmmakers as well.
Dr. Ahmed has informed us of her family situation, and therefore, we would like to also invite her parents and grandmother to be part of this event. All travel and accommodation expenses will be covered by us if the Mehra family can get their visas in order.
Thank you very much for bringing Miss Mehra and her work to our attention.
Sincerely,
Rachana Deshpande, Director of Events
The Mumbai Young Filmmakers Council
Future Twinkle, your hands shook as you finished reading the e-mail. And then you looked up at Sahil, who was beaming at you like he was filled with a thousand stars or maybe like he was the moon.
“What …? You did this?” you asked, your voice husky.
He nodded. “But I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t blown everyone away with that movie.”
“Arey, yeh sab kya hai?” Dadi said, brandishing her rolling pin around at you and Sahil.
You handed her the letter and then said, “What’s happening, Dadi, is we’re going to Mumbai. We’re going to Mumbai, Mummy. You’ll get to go home again.”
There was utter chaos for a full minute as everyone talked over everyone else, and information was exchanged.
Mumbai.
Airplane fare covered.
Mumbai.
Yes, we’re going.
Yes, all of us.
Mummy stepped forward and hugged you, her grip so tight it left bruises on your shoulders. But you didn’t care. Because when she pulled back, her eyes were swimming in tears. “Thank you, beta,” she whispered, her hands on your cheeks. “Thank you.”
She didn’t say much else, but she didn’t need to. You heard it all anyway.
Papa clapped and hugged you, while Dadi—well, Dadi began prancing around the living room until you were afraid she would break a hip. But she only laughed when you told her that. “I knew it, Twinkle!” she crowed, holding her rolling pin above her head in a victory dance. “I knew it! Chandrashekhar told me there would be travel in our future and that you would be the catalyst!” And then she swept you up and danced with you up and down the living room.
When Sahil had been properly thanked (by being fed an obscene amount of food, of course) and said he had to go back home, you stepped outside with him on the front porch.
It was raining, hard, thunder snarling and rumbling and ripping through the sky.
You looked up at his face, so full of love and joy. “You did this,” you said, shaking your head, wondering how you would ever, ever repay him. Spoiler alert: You can’t. “You did this because of what I told you once, in your car. The Did You Hear game.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did this because I love you,” he said simply. “And because you deserve it.”
As you watched him run to his car, the rain soaking him to the bone, you wondered how you’d ever gotten so lucky. How one girl could ever deserve so much.
I don’t know if you’ll ever answer that question. But I do know you’ll work your entire life to be worthy of all that kismet has given you.
So remember this day. Remember this moment. And go explore the universes. They’re waiting.
From Twinkle,
With Love
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Dr. Ajit Roy,
Your colleague, Dr. Faizal Ahmed, passed on the video directed by Twinkle Mehra. We here at the Mumbai Young Filmmakers Council are all in agreement that Miss Mehra possesses the unique ability to truly transform her characters on-screen in such a way as to spellbind her audience. Her mastery of camera angles and lighting, too, is rare in an individual of her age.
Due to her supreme skill in the arena of filmmaking, it is our honor to extend an invitation to Miss Mehra. We would love it if she could come to our facility here in Mumbai and give a talk on her experiences being a young Indian-American filmmaker in the States. We feel this would be of great value to the members of our institution, and Miss Mehra might benefit from meeting other young filmmakers as well.
Dr. Ahmed has informed us of her family situation, and therefore, we would like to also invite her parents and grandmother to be part of this event. All travel and accommodation expenses will be covered by us if the Mehra family can get their visas in order.
Thank you very much for bringing Miss Mehra and her work to our attention.
Sincerely,
Rachana Deshpande, Director of Events
The Mumbai Young Filmmakers Council
Future Twinkle, your hands shook as you finished reading the e-mail. And then you looked up at Sahil, who was beaming at you like he was filled with a thousand stars or maybe like he was the moon.
“What …? You did this?” you asked, your voice husky.
He nodded. “But I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t blown everyone away with that movie.”
“Arey, yeh sab kya hai?” Dadi said, brandishing her rolling pin around at you and Sahil.
You handed her the letter and then said, “What’s happening, Dadi, is we’re going to Mumbai. We’re going to Mumbai, Mummy. You’ll get to go home again.”
There was utter chaos for a full minute as everyone talked over everyone else, and information was exchanged.
Mumbai.
Airplane fare covered.
Mumbai.
Yes, we’re going.
Yes, all of us.
Mummy stepped forward and hugged you, her grip so tight it left bruises on your shoulders. But you didn’t care. Because when she pulled back, her eyes were swimming in tears. “Thank you, beta,” she whispered, her hands on your cheeks. “Thank you.”
She didn’t say much else, but she didn’t need to. You heard it all anyway.
Papa clapped and hugged you, while Dadi—well, Dadi began prancing around the living room until you were afraid she would break a hip. But she only laughed when you told her that. “I knew it, Twinkle!” she crowed, holding her rolling pin above her head in a victory dance. “I knew it! Chandrashekhar told me there would be travel in our future and that you would be the catalyst!” And then she swept you up and danced with you up and down the living room.
When Sahil had been properly thanked (by being fed an obscene amount of food, of course) and said he had to go back home, you stepped outside with him on the front porch.
It was raining, hard, thunder snarling and rumbling and ripping through the sky.
You looked up at his face, so full of love and joy. “You did this,” you said, shaking your head, wondering how you would ever, ever repay him. Spoiler alert: You can’t. “You did this because of what I told you once, in your car. The Did You Hear game.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did this because I love you,” he said simply. “And because you deserve it.”
As you watched him run to his car, the rain soaking him to the bone, you wondered how you’d ever gotten so lucky. How one girl could ever deserve so much.
I don’t know if you’ll ever answer that question. But I do know you’ll work your entire life to be worthy of all that kismet has given you.
So remember this day. Remember this moment. And go explore the universes. They’re waiting.
From Twinkle,
With Love
