The Indian Diary

Chapter 1

It was a Wednesday afternoon when I was sitting in AP Calculus AB. 

Ms.Jackson had graded the Chapter 5 test. I began to pray to all the gods that existed. 

Just an 80. That's all I ask. An 80 isn't bad. 

Ms.Jackson walked by my desk and placed my test paper face down in front of me. I closed my eyes, whispered a final prayer, and quickly turned it over. 

85. Yessss.  

But then I was reminded of the Indian expectations. What would Mom say about an 85? 

"How'd you do, Nisha?" Ellie Parker, my best friend asked as my teacher began to drone on about limits and derivatives.

"85," I stated. "That might not ground me from going to Rachel's party on Saturday." Rachel Grace,  one of the most popular girls at school, was having her seventeenth birthday party and everyone who was anyone was invited. It took me a lot of pleading to convince my parents to let me go to a party with...the horror...BOYS. 

"I love how your whole life revolves around a test grade," Ellie chuckled. "I'm so glad my parents aren't like that." 

Believe me when I say I wish my life wasn't defined by a test grade either, Ellie. 

"Be happy. Because I won't be when Mom asks about it when I get home." I said glumly. 

Ellie looked at me with pity. She met my parents before. Years ago when we were pubescent tweens always obsessed with covering our acne-scarred faces, I called Ellie over to my house. Ellie showed up in short shorts and a tank top - exposing more skin than my parents would ever call acceptable. When my mother, dressed in her usual salwar-kameez that covered up every square inch of her skin, opened the door to let Ellie in, she almost screamed. After a few hours of gossiping over the hottest teenage singers, we went to the kitchen for a snack. My mother gave us some chocolate-chip cookies and as we munched on that all-American goodness, she interrogated (she later referred to it as "made conversation with") Ellie by asking about her grades at school. Though Ellie didn't study half as much as I did, she always got amazing grades. As Ellie told her about her A+'s in all of her classes, my mother started to give me death glares. 

The death glare. One death glare is all it takes for a brown girl like me to know that she's screwed. 

After Ellie left that day and I went to my room, my mother called me to the living room. I sat down, bracing for the worst. 

"Nisha, beta." Mom began, her thick Indian accent still present despite having lived in America for eighteen years. "How does this Emmie get top grades?" 

I sighed. "It's Ellie." I said. 

"Aray, same thing," she dismissed her error. She tends to do that a lot. But when I make a mistake, World War III breaks out. "How is she doing better than you?" she asked.

"I don't know. Her mom's a college professor in biology..." That was a lie. I just needed an excuse. 

"Study harder, Nisha. Beat this white girl in everything. Understand?" 

"Yes, Mom." Well that wasn't too bad. 

So my mother is convinced that I'm the smartest child known to mankind and she likes to make me compete with everyone she knows. One of my best Indian friends Chithra, who's also a junior, is really smart. She took, like, four AP classes sophomore year! When my mom found out about Chithra at the end of last year, she made me wake up at 7 AM every morning over the summer and study for the next year's math class for four hours straight. It was terrible. 

My life is a romantic comedy...without the romance.

*** 

Last block of the day. AP Computer Science...the hour-and-a-half that I dread the most every A day. 

It's not that I absolutely dread it. The stuff I've learned has proven useful. It's just that I didn't enjoy it. It wasn't my thing.  

Why was I taking the class, you ask? Mother. 

Flashback... 

"All the men these days want smart women." my mother told me the night we had to finalize my course selections for junior year. "Smart women with IT jobs. To get a good IT job, you need to get into a good IT college. To get into a good IT college, you need to take these courses." She pointed at my course selection book which was turned to the page with the course description for AP Computer Science.  

"But Mom," I whined. "I don't want to have an IT job. I want to become an actress." 

"Actress!" Mom gasped. "Acting is the career choice of women who were useless in school! You won't get good husband if you become actress. No, no! You will become an IT professional." And that was that. My career choice and future was settled without any of my opinion. 

The truth is that I wanted to be an actress. And it's not like I wasn't good at it. I could sing, dance, and act. I was Dorothy when my middle school did The Wizard of Oz. I was Wendy in Peter Pan freshman year. And when I was a sophomore, I was Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. The high school drama teacher loved me. "Become an actress." she said. "You'll be very successful in it." I took her words to heart. 

My mother, on the other hand, wouldn entertain such thoughts. "Anyone can act!" she said the day I got the part of Wendy. "It's no big deal. You won't make much money with it."  

"Mom, look at Angelina Jolie!" I said. "Kristen Bell! Heck, look at the Indian actresses! Kareena Kapoor, Kajal Aggarwal! You can't tell me they're not successful!" 

"Bah! They got lucky with their looks! You, on the other hand, are not supermodel-material. Therefore you will become IT professional."  

End of flasback...

"Nisha. Nisha!" a deep voice called.

I jerked upright. "Sorry, Mr. Miller." I said. "Kinda zoned out." 

"I see that." Mr.Miller replied, not amused. "Since you don't appear to be concerned that your AP exam is in two months, you must be well-prepared in the material. Can you tell me what a parity bit is?" 

Crap. I wasn't gonna win this one. "I have no idea, sir." 

Mr.Miller looked at me in triumph. "Hmph. Maybe you should pay attention." he said and walked away. 

***