Hi guys! Yes, it's here! American Born Indian's first part is OUT! Here, we encounter thirteen-year-old Jay Sharma and his journey from New York City to Bengaluru, India, on an unprecedented and sudden move.
Chapter 1
The Dream
I’ve always heard about people emigrating from different countries to the US, to make the ‘American Dream’, like they say on the movies.
Never in my whole life did I think the opposite can happen.
My mom’s one of those immigrants. She and my dad moved here after completing college and getting married. Then I was born. Then my dad died in a car accident when I was a year old. And after living here for the entire thirteen years of my life, we’ve decided to leave the only place I’ve known.
It’s a bright, sunny morning. School’s about to begin. I was having dosa for breakfast, with coconut chutney, my favourite. Now, my mom sits across me from the table, squeezes her fists, and delivers the news.
“We’re moving back to India.”
I blink.
“Wow, after all this time,” I say.
She sighs. “Jay, you know Nani’s not doing so well.”
“Let me guess; she told you to come.”
Nani lives all the way in Bengaluru, in the neighbourhood where my mom grew up. She’s had old-age trouble for a while, but she’s pretty tough, and when you’re pretty tough at seventy-three years old, you’re good to go. Honestly, I don’t think it was her idea.
“No; in fact, I haven’t told Nani yet. Maybe in the evening I’ll let her know. But Jay, we’ll be living with her, and I have a good job position open in the Indian branch of my office. At least, it’s better than here.”
I finish my dosa and put my plate in the sink. “Okay. We’re up and going already. When do I gotta pack?”
“Take that attitude out of your voice. It’s just as hard for me as it is for you. But we’re doing this for the better. Your dad, may he rest in peace, always wanted to go back.”
I grab my bag. “Mom. It’s the first day after winter break. It’s not like we’re leaving now.”
“The day after tomorrow is the flight.”
I spin around. “What the heck?”
“Language. You’ll stay home tomorrow, help pack. So you’re gonna have to say your goodbyes.”
I open the door. “You’re acting really unemotional, you know.”
“You told me not to sugarcoat things to you after you became a teenager. That’s what I’m doing. It’s part of the job.”
I sigh. Just how my day has to start. I lock the door and go down the stairs, wondering how much of my life I’m leaving behind here.
Chapter 2
Being Ready
Trace is just where I expected he’ll be: near the locker, organising all his things and finding a new ‘system’ for the school year. He has systems for literally everything. He’s pretty organised that way.
“Yo, I got bad news,” I say as he slams his door shut. “I’m moving.”
He snorts. “Where, the other house across the street?”
“No, dude. To India.”
“Very funny.”
I’m quiet.
He gives me a look, a look that communicates everything—a look only best friends since preschool can understand.
“You’re serious,” he says after some time.
“My grandma’s not doing well. And my mom’s getting a better job.”
He nods. Pushes his glasses back on his freckled nose. “Reasonable.”
“And it was my dad’s dream, apparently.”
He nods again, starts walking. “Also reasonable.”
I run after him.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask him.
He turns back. “Nah, it’s cool, bro. Just... you never told me.”
I drag in my tracks a bit. “I didn’t know until today. My mom planned everything out already.”
He shrugs, scratches his red hair. “Well, then it’s all reasonable.”
We continue walking. Trace doesn’t seem upset. Just a little… unsure? Or disappointed? Or maybe both? All I know, it was the same reaction when I told him I was gay, back in sixth grade—but it only stayed for a little while. Here, he’s acting like it’s going to follow him everywhere for the rest of his life.
We walk inside Room 301. Ms. Harris is our homeroom teacher—and math teacher too. She’s awesome. I’m going to miss school so much.
As the morning announcements go on, Trace leans over and whispers, “I’m not the one you'll have to apologise to, though.”
I sigh, and tug at my rainbow flag charm bracelet. “I know. It’s going to hurt.”
“Jay! Trace!” Chelsea waves us over. Her graphic tee says ‘Femme Power’ and a red, orange, white, and pink peace sign.
“How are my favourite gay prez and ally doing?” She grins.
Trace gives her a winning smile. “Splendid. And what about you, Miss Lesbian VP?”
But before Chelsea can answer, two football players make our way over to us—Randy and Stephen, whose nickname is Bougie. And, like how jocks usually are, they are insufferable.
“Namaste, Jay Sharma!” Randy mocks, folding hands.
“How’s your pathetic life doing?” Bougie adds.
I roll my eyes. Same old, same old. Can’t they come up with better insults? For being the school’s most reputed bullies, they sure don’t have any new material.
“Much better than yours,” I shoot back.
“Yeah, last I checked, we lost a game to Easton Middle because of two nice dunderheads,” Trace chimes in.
“Maybe you two should train for the next scrimmage instead of shaking kids for cash,” Chelsea adds.
They turn pale. Leave it to Trace and Chelsea to give a snappy comeback.
As they slouch away, embarrassed and defeated, Trace turns to me. “At least you won’t see those two anymore after you move.”
“Wait, what?” Chelsea’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Jay, what’s going on?”
I bite my lip.
“I’ll explain at the meeting, Chels. Come on, it’s about to start.”
“Is everyone here?” Trace asks me.
I scan the room. All the members mile around the tables, excitedly chatting. It’s the first meeting since the break, after all.
“Yep, they’re all here.” I nod for Chelsea to start.
She bangs her gavel on the desk. “I declare this Pride Club’s meet open!”
A round of applause resounds in my ears. They seem so happy… and they don’t even know what’s gonna happen next.
“Okay, first order of business—this year’s Pride festival. You all know the drill: fundraisers, petitions, face-paint, goodie collection—let’s assign the duties.” Chelsea grins and picks up a pen.
T, one of our earliest non-binary members, raises a hand. “Can we do a celebration mural in the main hall? We could get approval from the principal…”
As they talk and Chelsea takes notes and nods, Trace raises his eyebrows. “You’ll miss this year’s festival.”
“Maybe they do Prides in India,” I say.
He shakes his head. “It’s not the same.”
I sigh. “You’re right. It’ll never be.”
After all the logistics are dished out, I call for attention.
“Guys, I’ve got news.” I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’m moving to India.”
The room quietens. Then, murmurs break out. So do questions.
“Will you be back?”
“Who’s going to be the next president?”
“What are we gonna do without you?”
“For the record… no, I’m probably never coming back,” My voice shakes, but I take a deep breath. “But, don’t worry. I have already nominated our next president.”
All eyes face me.
“Will Chelsea Conner graciously accept the post of president for the Pride Club?”
All eyes face Chelsea. Her mouth hangs open.
“It’s unanimous, isn’t it?” I ask. “Chelsea has been a supportive member of the club from the start. She’s our Hayley Kiyoko—she brought us all together. She’s never afraid to stand up for what’s right. So, if anyone should be president, it’s her. Whaddaya say, guys?”
The members glance at one another. Nodding. Murmurs of agreement.
I smile at Chelsea. “Come on up!”
She beams, as I take out my club president badge and pin it on her. Hugging her, I whisper, “I know you’ll do great.”
She squeezes back. “I won’t let you down.”
Chapter 3
We’re Here
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we have landed in Bengaluru at 0210 hours, altitude at…”
My eyes crack open, and I sit up. After nineteen hours of binging Netflix, eating, and sleeping, plus a stop in San Francisco where we changed flights, we’ve arrived. I nudge Mom awake.
“We’re here. And it’s pretty late, too.” I stare out the window. “Will Nani be waiting for us at her home?”
She sighs as the plane descends and the golden glow of Bengaluru’s skyline comes into view. “I told her to rest but... you know how she is.”
She’s so dreary, she doesn’t even correct me. ‘Her home’ is now ‘our home’, and she knows it.
I take in the sight. The city looks so much like New York, it feels like life’ll be the same here. But I know enough about life that it’ll throw you a curveball every chance it got. Even if Bengaluru is anything like NYC at all, I know that everything will be different. Much different.
We grab our suitcases from baggage claim and head outside.
“I’ll start looking for a cab.” Mom pulls out her phone.
I was looking at our trolley the whole time, not taking my eyes off the steel American flag keychain on our duffel, but when I raise my head, I cry out in surprise. Taxis, everywhere. They’re crowding the pickup point, not to mention some private cars. With so many people, there’s barely enough room to stand.
And the noise!
The honking, the yelling, the PA announcing a flight from Sri Lanka has landed. And I thought New York was crowded.
Mom’s suddenly pushing the trolley and dragging my arm. “Come on, Jay! We need to get in.”
The driver of a pretty good-looking sedan helps us unload our luggage in the back. As we get in, Mom has a hurried conversation with him in Kannada.
“Namaskara, nivu nammannu svalpa begane karedoyyabahude, dayavittu, nanna tayi bahala samayadinda namagagi kayuttiddale.”
I blink. “What?”
The driver chuckles and turns an eyeball to me. “Kannada gottilla?
That much I understood. I shake my head as my ears burn.
As he starts the car and moves out of the driveway, I sigh. “Great. I can’t even speak the language. I’m totally gonna survive in this country.”
“Patience, Jay, please.” She sighs. “We’ll get there, and we’ll figure everything out. One step at a time.”
We knock on the mahogany door of Nani’s house. I hear Mom take a deep breath beside me. She hasn’t been here, to her childhood home, in years. And it’s still in pretty good shape, considering it’s been almost forty years since it was first built.
The door opens, and a seventy-three-year-old lady wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a red sari steps out. Nani.
“Hi, Ma.” Mom smiles. “It’s me.”
Nani’s eyes fill, and she reaches out. “Nitara, beti… after so long, you have come back to me.”
Mom squeezes her mother back tightly. They’ve been reunited after fifteen years. It’s heartwarming and emotional. All the lost memories come flooding back in the doorway.
Mom touches Nani’s feet, but Nani quickly pulls her up. “No need for that, Neetu. We can get that all out of the way later. Now, let me see the upstanding young man you’ve raised.”
I come forward and bow down too, but Nani immediately pulls me back up and into a hug. “Arey, arey, beta! Not with your your grandmother. Still,” she adds, over my shoulder, with a look to Mom. “Nice to see America hasn’t gotten rid your manners.”
Nani squeezes my cheeks so hard they hurt. “God, you look just like Rushil… what a striking similarity.” Her eyes once more brim with tears, but she immediately shakes her head. “Goodness, come in, come in! Now, where are my manners?”
Nani’s made us some tea and coffee, along with a plate of Nutrichoice biscuits. Mom and I take a seat at the dining table, a sparse square one covered with a red-and-orange checkered tablecloth. Soon enough, Mom and Nani are catching up on the weeks since they spoke.
As Mom sips her coffee, Nani turns to me. She seems so much fun in person, and I know I’m going to enjoy spending time with her.
“So, Jay, which grade are you in?” She asks me.
“Before we came here? Seventh.”
“How many friends?”
“Lots, but one of them is my best friend. Trace.”
“Ah, that sweet boy! You must be missing him very much.”
I nod, a lump in my throat.
Now Nani leans down, grins mischievously, raises an eyebrow. Whispers, “Any girlfriends?”
Mom nearly spits her coffee. “Ma!”
“What? It’s a valid question.” She rolls her eyes. “On all those silly American shows, boys his age get girlfriends.”
“Nani, not always.” I nibble at a biscuit. “But… uh... I’m not into girls.”
Deadpan silence. An expected response coming from anyone, but I thought Nani remembered. I mean, I did tell her a few years ago, when I was in the middle of coming out to everyone. Maybe her memory’s a little slow? Whatever it is, it hurts a little.
After a while, Nani clears her throat, and decides to change the subject.
“So, about your schooling,” she says.
“What’s it gonna be like?” I ask. I’m still a bit upset, but school is more important than my love life at the moment.
Nani raises her cup. “You’ve been enrolled in your mother’s old school, Elk Grove Public. And the girl who lives above us, Ruchi Singh—she is in your grade too. You both will be starting from next week. You need to buy your uniform and books, and brush up on your studies.” She lowers her glasses. “Because experience has taught Nitara one thing: if you want to survive here, academics must be your main focus.”
“It’s true,” adds Mom.
I slump down in my seat. “I’ve never been that smart. Trace will do better here than me.”
“You’ll be fine.” Mom gives me a hopeful smile. “I’m an old student, and you’ll be surrounded by teachers I’ve known since kindergarten.”
“And now you two better get rest.” Nani gets up. “The jetlag that kicks in is nasty, and you must be on the brighter side of it.”
Chapter 4
Starting Anew
I walk out the apartment gates, tugging at my collar. The new uniform is sorta itchy and tickles my neck—but that’s probably because I’m not used to wearing formal-looking collars very often.
Nani is walking alongside me, holding on to my elbow. Mom had to leave for work early, so with a forehead kiss and a first day photo, she sent me off.
“You look smart in those clothes,” Nani remarks, admiring my white shirt, brown pants, black belt, and shiny black shoes. A red badge attached to my shirt reads Jay Sharma, surrounded by a white border.
“It’s uncomfortable,” I mutter, but don’t say anymore. I heft my heavy school bag over my shoulders, which is filled to the brim with textbooks and notebooks. Mom helped me wrap them in clear covering and label them, writing my details in neat handwriting. “Why do I need to carry so many books?”
She swats my arm. “Get used to it, young man. Not everything should be served on a silver platter for you.”
We reach the bus stop, and I see a girl in front of me. She’s wearing the same uniform, but a knee-length skirt instead of the pants, with no belt.
Nani beams when she sees her. “Ruchi, bitiya!”
Ruchi, pigtails flying, turns and grins. “Ajji!”
So… they’re close.
Nani hugs her, and stands, a hand on her shoulder. “How was your trip to Punjab?”
“Good, Ajji, I had lots of fun.”
“Well, beta, I need a bit of a favour. See, here, this is my grandson, Jay, he just moved here from America. He needs some help adjusting to school, so will you please show him the ropes?” Nani pushes me forward, and I give Ruchi a sheepish smile and a wave.
She cocks her head, raises an eyebrow. “I’ll… do my best, Ajji.”
I hear honking, and turn as I see the bus rumble to a stop in front.
“Goodbye, Nani.” I wave, then get on after Ruchi.
The bus drives away, and Nani’s blue-and-green peacock sari becomes a speck in the distance as I hurtle to my new life.
Chapter 5
A Different Kind Of School
We reach the school, and get down in front of the side gate. I walk in, and the bright white hallways nearly blind my eyes. These people really keep the schools sparkling clean.
Ruchi gestures to the staircase. “Eighth grade classrooms upstairs, newbie.” She smirked.
I follow her up, and I see that each floor has different coloured doors, railings, and wall stripes. What is this school?
“Is everything—colour coded?” I ask.
“Yep. Each floor is a different colour, for each of the four houses. Blue is Water, which is the ground floor. Green is Earth, which is the first floor, and the second floor is Fire, red. The third is Air, yellow. It’s also where our classrooms should be,” Ruchi says.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. “You have houses? Like on Harry Potter?”
She frowns. “Yeah. You didn’t?”
“Not my public school. It was only in a few private academies around the city.”
She considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, I’m in Earth. Usually, the PE teachers do the sorting; you’ll find out which house you’re in a few weeks later. Don’t worry about it now.”
We reach the Air floor, and next to the staircase, there are two classrooms, 8B and 8C. Ruchi checks her name on both lists on the doors.
“We’re both in 8C.” She turns to me. “Funny coincidence, huh?”
I follow her inside a classroom that’s twice as big as my old school’s; or maybe it’s giving that effect because every square inch of the walls aren’t covered with charts and posters. Instead, the back wall has giant windows, while the walls on either side are covered with one and two bulletin boards each, studded with artwork, classroom rules, and other general notices. The front wall consists of two whiteboards and a Senses smart board in between.
I take a seat in one of the blue benches in the middle of the classroom. I half-expect Ruchi to sit somewhere nearby, but she plops her bag down in the back and joins a bunch of girls giggling and gossiping.
So much for our new friendship.
Behind me, a group of guys chat about their holidays and a cricket match they saw a few days ago. My first instinct is to join them, but from the strange looks I got on the bus today (as well as my lack of knowledge about a sport virtually similar to baseball), I’d rather stay put.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up, and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
Holy crap! This is the cutest guy I’ve seen in my entire life. Black hair, fair skin, and thick-rimmed glasses, hiding deep brown eyes. The lower half of his face is covered with a grey mask. I feel my ears turning as red as his jacket.
“Uh—yeah! N-no problem.” I scoot over and put my bag down. My mind is yelling a hundred things at once, but I’m inwardly wondering why I just had to have a crush on the first day. Just like in those high school dramas on TV!
He sits next to me, and raises an eyebrow. “I haven't seen you before.”
I scratch the back of my head. “Ah, I—I’m new. Jay Sharma.”
“Really? Well, welcome to EGPS!” He sticks his hand out, and I shake it, ignoring the blush in my cheeks.
“Which school did you study in before?” He asks.
“Amelia Middle. New York.”
Both eyebrows go up. “What?”
“Not lying!”
“Well… okay.” He shrugs, pulls out a book from his bag and starts reading. Like a total bookworm. Ignoring the rest of the world.
Or almost ignoring.
Ruchi walks by our desk. The boy looks up at her, just once. She stops short.
“I see Jay’s made friends with you,” she clips.
“Nice to see you too, Ruchi,” he calmly answers.
Ruchi’s face shows an emotion I’ve never seen: a strange, melancholy mix of sadness and anger. She takes a deep breath.
“Hope you do well this year, Aravind. Maybe things will turn out for the better.” She nods at the book. “Like how it does for Jonas and Gabe.”
And away she walks.
I turn to Aravind. (What a unique name!) “Jonas and Gabe?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s from this book.” He holds it up, and the cover of The Giver stares back at me.
“I read that for ELA last term. It’s good,” I say.
“I’ve read this—and the rest of the quartet—five times. It’s wonderful.” He grins.
I look back at Ruchi, who’s silently hovering in the gossip group.
“You know Ruchi?” Aravind follows my gaze.
“Yeah, she’s in my apartment. My grandma is really good friends with her, apparently.”
He whistles. “You live in Caldera Heights? I’m in Purva Adarsh, not too far from there.”
“How do you know her?” For some reason, my stomach swirls strangely, and I’m thinking about why they actually have to know each other at all.
“Oh.” Aravind fumbles with the corner of a page. “Um… like… we’re really good friends. But lately—“ He frowns. “That group of girls asked her to hang out… and other stuff happened… since then… we haven’t talked.”
It’s my turn to say, “Oh.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know why she’s still with them. She hates being friends with such people. But when Ojaswi Sen requests something from you, she’s ordering you. That’s what it is.”
“Ojaswi Sen, huh?” I mutter. Seems like she’s someone I need to watch out for. I catch a glimpse of her—shoulder-length black hair, ever-so-slightly rimmed black eyeliner, silver finger ring with a glistening diamond. One of those ‘popular’, ‘in-crowd’ girls I’ve seen in Amelia too. India’s no different from America there.
“Did Ruchi talk to you?” Aravind asks me.
I glance at her again. “She did. But I think she’s doing it for Nani’s sake. Maybe she’s not so friendly after all.”
More students start coming in.
“No, no! She’s not like that. She’s kind and nice. I’m sure she’ll—“ He sputters. “The point is, you’ll see. Not everyone’s your enemy on the first day, Jay.”
I hope Aravind’s right about that. Otherwise, I’m in for a doozy.
The first and second periods were easy to get through. Aravind’s assigned to be my ‘buddy’ and help me out through the first term. That’s good news. And the teachers were impressed with my American background, except for our class—and math—teacher, Ms. Shalini Nandan. Or Shalini Ma’am, as everyone called her.
“Things are not as fun and as easy here, Jay Sharma,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “There are rules. You can’t do any fun without the proper permission. Bear that in mind, please.”
Ominous, but I’ve been told that many times by older teachers at Amelia. I know all the rules. Being here shouldn’t be hard enough.
Before third period starts, I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Mom:
Managed through my first two periods. Hoping this goes well too!
“Uh… Jay?”
I snap up. “What’s wrong?”
Aravind points a shaky finger at my phone. “Why are you carrying that?”
“‘Cause I always do?” I’m confused. Aren’t phones allowed?
Behind his glasses, his eyes grow bigger and bigger with fear. “Phones in school—that—you know what it means, right?”
It’s sweet he’s worrying, but I wave it off. “I’m fine, Aravind. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Jay Sharma, put that phone down immediately! OR I WILL PRY IT OUT OF YOUR HANDS AND CONFISCATE IT THIS VERY INSTANT!”
Shalini Ma’am.
Rattled, I quickly slam my phone on the desk, and the class gasps. Whispers break out like hissing fires all over the room.
“A cell phone in class—can you believe it?”
“Pukka, he’s going to be expelled; he doesn’t even have a diary note!”
“On the first day, too. Poor kid.”
Grey loafers move in front of me.
“Stand up.”
I do as told.
“You’re coming to Jaya Ma’am’s office, now.”
I follow her out. “Uh—who’s Jaya Ma’am?”
Another gasp.
“He really is new,” I hear Ojaswi whisper to one of her friends.
Shalini Ma’am chuckles. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard since I came here.
“She’s the principal.”
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