Story

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@DHABSeries

@bhavnishap  ©The Little Indian

INT. BIRMINGHAM. UK. DAY. 2007.

Asian figures are seen bustling around a small semi-detached house. The walls are painted with an odd combination of red and yellow. The furniture arranged like an obstacle course. A distinctly pungent fragrance of garam masala challenges the airs natural oxidants.

 BHAVNISHA (V.O)

My life is not conventional. I was a little Indian girl growing up in the outskirts of Birmingham. My parents owned a local corner shop. And I had a seemingly close relationship with my textbooks. Ok, it’s very conventional.

But along the way, I became strangely fascinated by the human race. Behaviours, relationships, life. In a “I must purchase a fancy notebook and write” kind of way. Something changed and it felt like…

DAD

Bhavu! …. Please stop day dreaming.

BHAVNISHA (V.O)

Was there a miraculous epiphany? No. I carried on studying, got my grades and helped mom make the odd chapatti.

 

CUT TO:

EXT. IBIZA. UK. DAY. 2009.

A contrast. A place with very little Asian populace.

BHAVNISHA 

Dad, mom. I have something to tell** you…

(**note. “tell” not “ask”)

DAD

You’re pregnant?

BHAVNISHA

No.

MOM

Have you got food poisoning?

BHAVNISHA

No.

DAD

Are you wanting to change the channel?

BHAVNISHA

No.

Silence, as Bhavnisha politely waits for the conversation to continue. Two minutes and thirty seven seconds pass.

BHAVNISHA

Dad, Mom….?

DAD

Acting huh, nice. It’s different that’s for sure. What does your mom think?

MOM

Just be happy. If that’s what you want, we’re here.

DAD

You have our blessing.

BHAVNISHA (V.O)

My family. All of them. They give me unconditional support, love and space to be who I am.

 

CUT TO:

INT. ARTS EDUCATIONAL SCHOOL. DAY.2012.

The building is filled with floor to ceiling doors, large open spaces and mirrors. Lots of mirrors. Long corridors, filled with outbursts of random singing, one point five litre bottled water and protein snacks. I take out the trusty notebook.

BHAVNISHA (V.O)

Creativity had taken command of my very being. Still not sure what that means. And before I knew it, I had been to drama school.

Great stories. Great people. Great projects. Exactly what I was craving to experience when I applied.

 

CUT TO:

EXT. EVERYWHERE IN LONDON. DAY/NIGHT.2014.

 

BHAVNISHA (V.O)

And that’s where it all started…and it hasn’t really stopped! “@DHABseries” (4 nominations at LA WebFest 2015), “@TheBWNG” (winner of LA web series award), a 4-star review with Improv Noir and a global campaign with @rain_down Films.

*No handles or hash-tags were harmed in the making of this page.

 

CUT TO:

INT. BIRMINGHAM. UK. NIGHT.1999.

A small living room, modestly decorated. A Bollywood film plays in the background, at volume thirty-five. DAD and MOM watch as a little Indian girl provides detailed commentary for the action. Unable to sit still, she innocently tries to make them smile. She has no intention to give up.

 

CONT. (V.O)

This rickshaw ride has taken me further than I could’ve imagined in just two years. From a small Indian girl announcing to my proud non-conservative elders that I would’t be training as an economist, to a small Indian woman (still 5’2”), grateful to be living and working as an actress.

THE END.

FADE OUT.