Bollywood Babes Read Free Page A

called
Geography Is Fun!
    “Girls, did you know that Asia is the biggest continent in the world?” he boomed across the shop floor.“And Mumbai is the biggest city—well, going by the number of people living inside the city boundaries; not including the people who live outside the city limits.” He was definitely the most boring man in the world now, for sure. His head seemed to be utterly stuffed with useless facts.
    “Great,” I called out. I turned and elbowed Geena in the ribs. “Hurry up,” I mouthed urgently.
    Geena had it down to a fine art by now. As Jazz and I waited by the door, she skirted the fresh fruit and veg display, took a left by the tinned fruit and hurtled toward the magazines. Before Mr. Attwal could step out from behind the counter and bear down on Jazz and me, Geena was at the till, clutching her magazine.
    “Oh.” Mr. Attwal looked disappointed. “Is that all?”
    “Yes, thank you.” Geena had the money in her hand, the exact amount. Five seconds later we were out of the door, breathing hard, Mr. Attwal's voice floating wistfully after us. “Come back when you've got a bit more time and I'll tell you all about the North Pole.”
    “Do we
have
to do this every week?” Jazz asked crossly.
    “Yes.” Geena unfolded her magazine. “You know very well that Mr. Attwal's is the only shop that sells it round here.”
    Masala Express
was only a local magazine, but it had become a kind of cult hit. I don't think it wasbecause of the useful community information or the events listings or Auntie Palvinder's Traditional Punjabi Recipes. I think it was mostly because of all the scandalous gossip (not necessarily true) about local people. We thought we knew who they were most of the time, although no names were ever given. Now Jazz and I crowded round Geena as she flipped through the magazine to our favorite page, “Geeta's Gossip.”
    “Look at this.” Geena read aloud,”‘Who was the young newlywed bride seen partying at Shannon's nightclub with someone who was definitely not her husband?'”
    “Ooh, that could be Baljeet Baines,” Jazz said excitedly. “She's just had an arranged marriage. And her husband's supposed to be horrid.”
    “I'm sure we're going to see Baby in here one day,” I remarked. Baby's our cousin. She's a good little girl at home with Auntie Rita and Uncle Dave, and a demon when she's let loose.
    “Aren't
Masala Express
having a samosa-eating competition this month?” Jazz asked, trying to wrestle the magazine off Geena. “Shall we go along and watch?”
    Geena shook her head. “Watching people stuffing down as many samosas as they can isn't my idea of fun. And the prize is only a couple of Bollywood DVDs. I doubt if it's worth the effort.”
    “Next month's competition is a lot better.” Jazzpointed at the magazine. “Look, a Touch the Car competition. Win a Ford Ka.”
    “That does sound like fun,” Geena said with scorn. “Standing there touching a car for hours on end.”
    Jazz looked puzzled. “It seems too easy.”
    “Oh no,” said Geena. “I've heard about this before. People have to stand there for ages, and they start feeling ill and hallucinating and fainting and stuff.”
    “Oh, that sounds interesting,” Jazz said, looking more cheerful.
    I wasn't listening. My eye had been caught by a headline on the opposite page: FORMER BOLLYWOOD STAR MOLLY MAHAL—NOW A SAD RECLUSE LIVING IN READING.
    Below the headline was a picture of a beautiful Indian woman in a typical Bollywood costume, a lilac and fuchsia-pink
lengha
with lots of body on show. She was dancing through a sumptuous
filmi
palace with fountains and golden statues of elephants. It appeared, shockingly, next to a photo of a run-down house with a battered green door. One of the windows had cardboard stuffed into the pane instead of glass.
    “Look at this,” I said.
    “Oh dear.” Geena pulled a face. “What a comedown. From Bollywood to
Reading
.”
    “Who is she?” Jazz poked her