The Grand Plan To Fix Everything Read online

  The Grand Plan To Fix Everything

  ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,

  real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names,

  characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s

  imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2011 by Uma Krishnaswami

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Abigail Halpin

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers is a registered trademark

  of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Book design by Debra Sfetsios-Conover

  The text for this book is set in Centaur.

  The illustrations for this book are rendered in pen and ink

  with digital color.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  0411 MTN

  First Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Krishnaswami, Uma, 1956—

  The grand plan to fix everything / Uma Krishnaswami ;

  [illustrations by Abigail Halpin]. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Eleven-year-old Dini loves movies, and so when

  she learns that her family is moving to India for two years, her

  devastation over leaving her best friend in Maryland is tempered

  by the possibility of meeting her favorite actress, Dolly Singh.

  ISBN 978-1-4169-9589-0

  [1. Best friends—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Actors

  and actresses—Fiction. 4. East Indian Americans—Fiction.

  5. Moving, Household—Fiction. 6. India—Fiction.]

  I. Halpin, Abigail, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.K8975Gr 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010035145

  ISBN 978-1-4169-9591-3 (eBook)

  Contents

  Chapter One: Mjtj

  Chapter Two: Moving

  Chapter Three: Maddie

  Chapter Four: Dream Mountain

  Chapter Five: Take Note

  Chapter Six: No PIN Code?

  Chapter Seven: Coming Apart

  Chapter Eight: Fan Letters

  Chapter Nine: A Sign

  Chapter Ten: Swapnagiri

  Chapter Eleven: Sunny Villa, Take One

  Chapter Twelve: Sorry to Inform

  Chapter Thirteen: Read Between the Smudges

  Chapter Fourteen: Swapnagiri Post Office

  Chapter Fifteen: Monkeys

  Chapter Sixteen: Priya

  Chapter Seventeen: Gloom

  Chapter Eighteen: The Clinic

  Chapter Nineteen: Meena to Dolly

  Chapter Twenty: Blue Mountaing School

  Chapter Twenty-one: Lal

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Electric Car

  Chapter Twenty-three: Missing Maddie

  Chapter Twenty-four: Jug-Handle-Ears?

  Chapter Twenty-five: Power Failure

  Chapter Twenty-six: Lal and the Postmaster

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Connectivity

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Letters Flying Back and Forth

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Dreamycakes

  Chapter Thirty: There’s Maddie!

  Chapter Thirty-one: Help

  Chapter Thirty-two: Dropping of Jaws

  Chapter Thirty-three: Throwing a Party

  Chapter Thirty-four: Meh!

  Chapter Thirty-five: Worse

  Chapter Thirty-six: Finding Roses

  Chapter Thirty-seven: Early Retirement

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Getting a Grip

  Chapter Thirty-nine: Pepper

  Chapter Forty: Blooming Spirits

  Chapter Forty-one: Giving an Inch

  Chapter Forty-two: The Sound of an Aching Heart

  Chapter Forty-three: Shower of Silver

  Chapter Forty-four: Ring-Ring-Ring

  Chapter Forty-five: Lal and Lila

  Chapter Forty-six: Dancing With Dolly

  Chapter Forty-seven: Listen-Listen, Look-Look

  For my parents, V.K. and Vasantha,

  who brought me home to the original sunny villa

  A freshly baked curry puff of gratitude to all those who helped me get a grip on Dini’s story: Tobin Anderson, Kathi Appelt, Stephanie Farrow, Lucy Hampson, Katherine Hauth, Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, and Rosemary Stimola. May the kurinji flower bloom for you all. Thanks to my students at writers.com who kept me on my toes: Nandini Bajpai, Lanita Dawson-Jones, Annette Gulati, Kiki Hamilton, Rani Iyer, Lindsey Lane, Ann McDonald, Paula McLaughlin, and Tina Shannon. I’ll dance with you all on any rooftop you choose. Sumant and Nikhil, you get the chocolate cake. Students and fellow faculty members at Vermont College of Fine Arts, thank you for listening to me read and reread from this when it was still as drafty as Noble Hall in January. Thanks to members of Sawnet, who sent me lists of Hindi movies so I could learn to think like a true fan. To Vicki Holmsten and Bisti Writing Project. To Erica Stahler, heroic copy editor, for untangling the story’s chronology. To Kiley Frank, who stepped in time with Dolly. Finally, Caitlyn Dlouhy, you are my shining star. May your mail arrive on time, lovingly delivered, and may monkeys stay out of your water-tank.

  Chapter One

  MJTJ

  DOLLY SINGH’S FABULOUS FACE FLOATS across the screen of the TV in the family room. Two happy sighs float off the couch, one from Dini and the other from her best friend, Maddie.

  Dini is a Dolly fan. She has been forever, from the time she discovered that Dolly’s first movie, in which she was just a kid, came out the day—the very day!—that Dini was born. You can’t be more closely connected than that.

  Maddie is a fan because best friends share everything.

  Closer and closer comes Dolly’s face, until her hair turns to mist and the sunlight catches her brown gold skin. Dolly opens her mouth to sing a perfectly tuneful song in this, her latest movie, Mera jeevan tera jeevan, or My Life Your Life, MJTJ for short. Dini and Maddie sing along, tapping their feet and dropping from the words into quick little “la-la-la’s” whenever they have to.

  “Dolly is sooooo . . .,” Dini says.

  “She is,” Maddie agrees. “She’s sooooo . . .”

  So smart. So elegant. So talented. So perfect. Other stars must rely on lip-synching and playback singers. Not Dolly. Dolly can act. She can dance as if her feet were on fire. And she can sing.

  “I’d love to meet her,” Maddie says. “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

  “Oh wow,” says Dini. Not much else to say. She tap-taps her feet in a moment of pure delight. “You know what I love about Dolly?”

  “Everything!” says Maddie, throwing her arms wide in that special Dolly way.

  “Oh yeah, but you want to know specially what?” She has just this moment realized this thing about Dolly. “When she says stuff, people listen!”

  “Except the bad guys,” Maddie points out, “and we know what happens to them.”

  “Must be nice to say st
uff and have people listen,” Dini says.

  “Dini,” Maddie tells her. “I will always listen to you. Anytime.”

  “I know that,” Dini says. “I meant—you know, parents and people.”

  “Oh. Parents,” says Maddie.

  It’s true. Parents do seem to exist just to complicate the life of a kid. Dini’s parents, for example, are not fans. They laugh at the sad parts in the movies and groan at the funny ones, even though they are from India, where Dolly lives, and they should know better.

  “Oh-oh-oh, listen!” Dini says, “Here comes that amazing song.”

  “Sunno-sunno,” Dolly sings, right into their hearts, “dekho-dekho.”

  Dini listen-listens. She look-looks. And here is the best part. Maddie is doing exactly the same thing. Two friends together, sharing this wonderful music. What could be better?

  Many people love Bollywood movies from India. They are made in the city of Bombay, which is now really called Mumbai, only filmi people like Dini still call it by the old name because it’s classier. The dialogue in these movies is all in Hindi, but you can get them with subtitles in languages from Arabic to French to Thai because so many people all over the world are fans, just like Dini and Maddie.

  “I can’t wait for dance camp,” Dini says.

  “I know, me neither,” Maddie says. “It’ll be soooo . . .”

  Maddie’s parents are not from India, and Maddie understands even less Hindi than Dini does, but little things like language don’t get in the way of a really good fillum, which is what true fans affectionately call these movies. Fillums. In just another month Dini and Maddie will be in that camp for a whole two weeks of Bollywood dance—what a treat that will be.

  Chan-chan-chan, go Dolly’s silver anklets.

  Dhoom-taana-dhoom, go the drumbeats.

  Dini and Maddie watch MJTJ from start to finish, snapping their fingers and tapping their feet. Then they watch the special features, with interviews and bios of everyone from the camera people to the director to the stars, including, of course, Dolly herself.

  “Wait-wait-wait,” Dini says, “go back just a bit.”

  “What? To the interview?” Maddie hits the back arrow on the remote. “Hey, they’re talking in English.” A TV reporter is interviewing Dolly and asking her for her opinion on the latest trends in Hindi movies.

  “It’s surreal what’s happening in the movie business,” Dolly is saying. “Surreal, I tell you.”

  “What’s that mean?” Maddie says. “Surreal?”

  Dini shakes her head. “Real” she gets, and “unreal.” But “surreal”? What’s that? “I’ll ask my dad,” she says. Dad is her vocabulary consultant for the Hindi words and sometimes a few English ones too.

  Playing the interview over is not much help. Dolly says that the Bombay movie business is becoming that surreal thing, whatever it is.

  “She doesn’t seem happy,” Dini says. “What do you think?”

  “You’re right,” Maddie agrees. True fans can pick up on even the tiniest of cues.

  “Nandu!” It’s Mom. “Are you upstairs? Listen, sweetoo, I have news for you.” Dini wishes her parents would not call her Nandu. In their time, in the last century, that was how you shortened Dini’s real name, which is Nandini.

  Mom comes in with a handful of mail (including the latest copy of Filmi Kumpnee magazine). “Hi, Maddie, I didn’t know you were here. Nandu, guess what? I just got the contract in the mail. Such wonderful news.”

  What contract? What news? Dini pauses Dolly with a click so she can listen to whatever boring thing Mom is about to tell her.

  Mom puts the new Filmi Kumpnee into Dini’s outstretched hand. “We’re moving to India,” she says.

  Chapter Two

  Moving

  DINI DROPS THE MAGAZINE. “Mom,” she says. “I know you didn’t just say that we’re moving to India, but it sounded like it.”

  Mom grabs Dini and hugs her. She dances Dini around Maddie in a wobbly circle, saying, “Oh darlings, what can I say? I’m soooo happy!”

  This is not at all like Mom, because Mom is a doctor. Doctors are supposed to be serious and thoughtful and all those kinds of things, not act like they are out of their mind.

  “You mean it, don’t you?” Dini says. “Moving?”

  “We are, we are, we are!” Mom cries. “For two years. Isn’t it wonderful?” Then she stops, as if she has only just seen Dini’s face, only just heard her voice. “I know,” she says. “It’s going to take you a little time to get used to the idea. We still have a couple of weeks.”

  And there is Maddie’s face. Can’t Mom see that Maddie has frozen in staring shock? “Mom!” Dini cries. “A couple of weeks? What about Bollywood dance camp?”

  “Oh, sweetie,” says Mom in the kind of voice that parents use when they are trying to be sympathetic but they really want to say that kid-size problems are not real problems.

  Maddie’s chin quivers. She looks about to burst into tears. Dini herself is dangerously close.

  India is where Dini and her family go on vacation to visit relatives, because according to Dad, there is no such thing as a distant one. India is where you see cool places and take trains everywhere, and eat mangoes and custard apples and other fun food. Vacations last for a couple of weeks, or maybe even a whole month. But two years?

  Mom is dancing around the room by herself now, picking a leaf green scarf out of the old dress-up basket in the corner.

  Maddie is flipping through the pages of the Filmi Kumpnee magazine without seeming to look at anything. “Maybe you’ll get to meet Dolly,” she says in a small, brave voice.

  “I doubt it,” says Dini. “India’s a big country. Really big.” That sounds like she’s shooting down Maddie’s idea, and it’s not at all how she meant it to sound. Maddie’s only trying to be helpful. Maddie’s only trying.

  Mom folds the green scarf, which has silver flowery designs stamped on it. She folds it in two and then four and then eight and then sixteen, and she’s still folding. Dini snatches the scarf from Mom’s hands because Mom is not responsible for her actions right now, and that is one of Dini’s favorite scarves.

  “How do you know . . . until you try?” Maddie says, and this time her words crack right in the middle.

  “Exactly,” says Mom, who obviously can’t understand anything. “I’ve dreamed of getting this grant for years and years. This is my sixth try, imagine that.” And she goes on about clinics and women and children and studies and weight gain, all of which seems to make her very happy.

  The TV screen has given up on Dolly’s face and has dissolved into a swirly multicolored screen saver.

  “Mom,” Dini says, and it’s all she can do to keep her own voice from swirling away from her, “where’s this place you’re—we’re . . .” She can’t quite say it. It’s not quite real. It’s probably miles away from Bombay, the center of the filmi universe, and what does it matter anyway? Regular people don’t get to meet movie stars, no matter how much they may adore them and want to be like them in every possible way.

  Mom stops in the middle of picking up a silk blouse that is now just a little too small for Dini. She sets the blouse down in Dini’s old dress-up basket.

  Then she picks the globe off the shelf, and she spins it to India and stops it with a little squeak of the Earth’s axis. “That’s where we’re going.” She points. “It’s a little town called Swapnagiri.”

  Dini looks at Maddie. Maddie looks at Dini.

  “That means ‘dream mountain,’” Mom says. “Isn’t that a wonderful name?”

  Dini says nothing. The dream of that Bollywood dance camp fades way away into the distance. As for that other dream, the meeting-Dolly dream . . .

  Doctors are supposed to be both practical and kind, and Mom is a doctor. So she does not say, “This Dream Mountain place may be in the same country as Bombay, the center of the filmi universe, but it is not close. Not close at all. So all this talk about meeting Dolly—as the goss
ip columns would say, it’s just bakvaas.”

  Mom, being both kind and practical, does not say that. Mom would never say, “This dream of yours is all bakvaas.” But looking at the globe, Dini can see it.

  The day goes by in a flurry of no-no-no and how-can-this-be-happening. Maddie goes home to pick up her pajamas and toothbrush and backpack, but she’s coming back to spend the night at Dini’s, so they can take the bus to school together the following day. Maddie’s mom has agreed to this, on account of this move that has dropped out of the sky on two friends.

  Dini tries to talk to her vocabulary consultant (that is to say, Dad) when he gets home from work, but Mom has called him already with her big news, and for a while after he walks in the door, it is all that they can talk about. Dini has to wait for the drama to die down all over again before she can get a word in sideways.

  She hangs in there, however, and eventually she gets to ask, “Dad, what does ‘surreal’ mean?”

  “‘Bizarre,’” Dad says, handing something small and shiny to Mom. “Like a dream. As they say, out of the ordinary, beyond the pale.” Whenever he can, Dad likes to use nifty phrases like these, phrases that sum things up neatly.

  “What’s this?” Mom says, looking at the shiny thing.

  “A hand-cranked flashlight with a radio all in one,” says Gadget Dad, looking very pleased with himself. “Twenty cranks will power it for five minutes.”

  “Is that good or bad?” says Dini.

  “Of course it’s good. No batteries. The ultimate green gadget, my darlings. Perfect timing, no? Things like this are always useful in India.”

  “No, no, no,” Dini says. “I meant what Dolly says the filmi business is becoming, surreal or whatever it is.”

  “That,” says Dad in between showing Mom how the flashlight has three settings and a radio and can probably be trained to make coffee, “sounds like a complaint.”

  So it’s bad.

  Chapter Three

  Maddie

  PLINKA-PLINK! There’s the musical doorbell announcing that Maddie’s back with all of her stuff. Maddie’s mom, who has driven her over, has a long talk with Dini’s mom. They talk in low voices. Dini can’t think why, because who would even want to hear?