[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180528/2bfd8a561d044e71e133257fb1fbb2f9.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/pzmdSwb.gif[/img] [/center] [hr][hr] [center]Divya Bajwa never figured a place like Beverly Hills would feel like home to her, and in many respects it kind of wasn’t. Everywhere she turned there were people that looked different than she did, that had bags from Rodeo and sunglasses that cost more than Divya’s entire ensemble; yet the zip code on her mail was the same as everyone else’s that called the rather affluent city their home. If she had to pick a place to live, she had her doubts that the Hills would be at the top of her list. [i]Beverly Hills. Some call it a celebrity’s backyard. Never know who you can run into around the corner, but chances are they won’t be happy to see you.[/i] The choice was never Divya’s to begin with. Once the initial checks came through from Divya’s first season appearance on [I]Modern Maharana[/i] came through, she was plucked from the idyllic suburban lifestyle and moved into a home that was more picturesque yet somehow colder. Smaller. There was more space but Divya never felt more alone at night. One of the highlights of her life wasn’t the fact that she got to go to the Emmy’s before she was in double digits or that she was at one point America’s Punjab Princess with a side of precocious and precious for good measure, but when her father sold her childhood home and moved the two of them into a modest apartment. Divya still remembered the day they moved in and the nice police woman that lived a few doors down brought over a welcome basket with the best muffins Divya had ever eaten, followed by the three of them, Divya, her father, and Officer Park, eating a pizza with double cheese - at Divya’s request. It was like her birthday come early. Divya even remembered telling her father to make a move on the short haired police officer - Divya could swear Officer Park was eyefucking the [i]shit[/i] out of Divya’s father - but nothing came of it. It was too soon. And the police officer was a bit young for father’s taste. Still, it was a good day. One of the happiest of her life. She didn’t even mind that her mother wasn’t there with them. [i]Beverly Hills. The place for those who want the feel of Los Angeles without the air of pretension, but still want people to know they have more money than you.[/i] The problem with Beverly Hills as Divya saw it wasn’t the fact that its residents were an annoying kind of affluent or that everyone who drove seemed to only have white cars or exotic imports in flashy orange, but the lack of iconography. There wasn’t really a Willis Tower or Chrysler Building or even the Capitol Records building for the perfect establishing shot. There were palm trees and pools and Porches. Off the top of her head Divya could name ten movies set in the better parts Los Angeles proper, twenty in Chicago, fifty in New York...but Beverly Hills? Not even [i]Pretty Woman[/i] had the balls to stay in Beverly Hills for longer than a trip to Rodeo. It’s no wonder there was a string of popular movies a couple decades ago that decided to film in Georgia rather than California. At least Georgia had peaches. What did Divya have? Microwave burritos and a dream. [i]Beverly Hills. It might not be the perfect place. It might not even be all that good and it smells a bit like regret. But dammit, it’s ho-[/i] [b]”What the hell are you saying back there?”[/b] The somewhat portly driver rolled his eyes as he looked in the rearview mirror at a young Indian girl holding a film camera up to the window like she was making a home video. She had been mumbling to herself for a good five minutes now which had the driver concerned. He’d driven tourists before but their ramblings were done in groups and nine times out of ten they were drunk off their ass. Here was a Muslim girl, he assumed, filming and mumbling to herself; it wasn’t exactly an everyday occurance. What was the old saying? ‘See Something, Say Something’? Divya turned her head - and with it the camera she was holding - to focus on the driver. The lens had to re-focus as Divya found the perfect frame, shooting the front seat so the driver wasn’t cut off at the top. [b]”Are you filming me?”[/b] He asked with all the belligerent anger of a man who was fine with cameras so long as he wasn’t aware of them, surely. [color=f4a460][b]”Yes, but you’re filming this trip.”[/b][/color] Divya turned the camera to zoom in on the dashcam proudly displayed, while also making sure to catch the mini American Flag hanging from the passenger side sun visor. It was rare to get such prescient symbolism from an Uber. [b]”That’s for accidents and safety. It’s different.”[/b] [color=f4a460][b]”I’m just doing a video diary thing. A day in the life of-”[/b][/color] [b]”Something for school? Sounds stupid.”[/b] Divya was cut off by the driver and found her voice trailing off as she tried to finish her statement. [color=f4a460][b]”No, it’s not for school it’s for fu-”[/b][/color] [b]”I don’t consent to this. I don’t know how it is in Islam but in America you can’-”[/b] [color=f4a460][b]”Islam is a religion. I’m Ameri-”[/b][/color] [b]”Stop fucking filming m-”[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/Htjwk6n.gif[/img] The video abruptly cut to a slightly off focus shot of a bedroom; center of the frame was Divya and surrounding her were posters of various movies ranging from foreign film classics to blockbusters with attractive people posing in action poses. Divya was more like a brown blob in front of the lens that was moving and squirming as she was trying to focus. The problem with these classic cameras was that the auto focus was a real bitch sometimes. [color=f4a460][b]”I..think...yes...okay!”[/b][/color] Divya took several steps back and remained fully in focus as she sat on the foot of her bed. Her hair was scruffy and unkempt and she was wearing a dark apron with a few stains that didn’t fully wash out, burrito juices most likely, and a slightly askew name badge. [color=f4a460][b]”Hello! My name is Divya Bajwa but because a lot of people seem to think that’s a hard name to say people just call me Div or D.B., I don’t mind either way. So, I thought it might be fun to do a little video diary kind of thing. A day in the life of a totally average girl in a place where average is boring and unnoticed. Except it’s not really just a day in the life. Kind of a ...week in the life? Really the only thing that makes me stand out is the fact that I’m Muslim. Well...I’m not really practicing but still it’s not like there are many girls or people like me in this city which I think would make for an interesting take, hence this video diary. I think the insight of a young Muslim teen would go a long way into showing how no matter what people believe or how they look that...being a teenager sucks.”[/b][/color] Divya stood and approached the camera again, muttering about wanting to do another take while her fingers fiddled with the settings as once again the camera fizzled and cut to black. [color=f4a460][b]Burrito, burrito, how I love to-eat-....yo. What rhymes with burrito? Burrito, burrito, into my mouth do you go. No, that’s stupid. Burrito, burrito, why you gotta cook so slow?”[/b][/color] From behind the camera Divya was doing her best to come up with a singsong poem about microwave burritos while the camera was focused intently on the burrito spinning around inside of a microwave. Overhead there was nondescript instrumental music playing through an outdated speaker system and it was being overpowered by the sound of engines purring and being killed, of doors slamming shut and gas caps being undone while nozzles were slotted in. The Guzz ‘n’ Go was a necessary evil, a remnant of days before cars were gas guzzlers, though the cars were a bit more advanced they still needed fuel to go and that’s where the Guzz ‘n’ Go came into play. Even if people didn’t necessarily need to fill up their cars, on long enough road trips they might need to fill up on snacks or to empty themselves of the soda they had on the trip so far. Or sometimes people just needed to stretch their legs. Whatever their reason, the Guzz ‘n’ Go was there and Divya was the girl behind the counter most afternoons and weekend evenings. Or, in this case, Divya was the girl heating up a chicken burrito in the microwave and practically salivating at the sauces starting to drip from the wrapper. When the microwave dinged Divya hurriedly opened it and grabbed the burrito, underestimating how hot it was. The heat from the wrapper came with Divya dropping the burrito onto the tiled floor of the gas station, the rice and sauce and tender bits of processed chicken were splattered like it was a crime scene; worse, Divya had the murder of perfectly delicious gas station burrito on film. [color=f4a460][b]”Maadher chod”[/b][/color] Divya’s voice carried the annoyance and utter disappointment even in a different tongue. It was fortunate her boss wasn’t in yet, he really hated when Divya ate product while on the clock even though Divya was just taking full advantage of her employee discount and it wasn’t as if the burritos were a hot seller. They were given away for free whenever someone came inside to pay for their gas instead of just paying at the pump. If Divya didn’t work there she would have been keeping the gas station burrito industry alive just by herself. Leaving the camera resting atop a stack of toilet paper, Divya went to the back to grab the mop and the yellow ‘CAUTION: WET FLOOR’ sign. [color=f4a460][b]”Burrito, burrito, onto the floor you go-go.”[/b][/color] The mop was dunked into the bucket and Divya began cleaning up her mess, her little song turning into more of a dirge as the memories of what could’ve been were drained into the mop bin. She was invested in her song that she didn’t hear the chime as the door opened. [b]”What the hell happened this time?”[/b] Divya glanced up from her dutiful mopping task to see the disappointed face of her boss, a man who looked about two years younger than her father but had the temper of someone whose ambition in life wasn’t to be the manager of a gas station. Divya dropped the mop in a fright. [color=f4a460][b]”Mister Cavanaugh! Some kids spilled slushie all over the floor, I was just cleaning it up!”[/b][/color] Not a bad lie except for the part where the burrito wrapper was still clearly visible on the floor, something Mister Cavanaugh seemed well aware of. [b]”Dammit, Div, what have I-”[/b] [color=f4a460][b]”PLEASE DON’T FIRE ME!”[/b][/color] There was a moment of panic in her tone as she stepped towards her boss, beliving that she was in any danger for anything other than a reprimand. As she did, her flailing arm hit the toilet paper stack and the camera tumbled from the top and before cutting to black it caught sight of Divya’s backside and the ceiling; fortunately the work uniform called for tight pants rather than skirts. [color=f4a460][b]”Are we recording? Okay, yes we are. Okay! So! This is my..oh...kuttiya”[/b][/color] [b]”Divya! Language!”[/b] There was no clear video, just audio before the camera fizzled once more and cut to a view of two people having a nondescript and inaudible conversation at a dinner table. One of them was a man with some grey to his hair - centered particularly around his goatee - and the other was a woman who was either actually enthralled in the conversation or was a damn good actress. Considering she looked a bit like Padma Lakshmi, the latter was likely more accurate. [color=f4a460][b]”Okay, so..”[/b][/color] Divya’s voice was a whisper, albeit a slightly louder one given her proximity to the camera’s built in microphone. [color=f4a460][b]”Right now my father is on a date with someone he met at work. But he’s treating her to dinner at our apartment, how weird is that? And just my luck there’s some big party tonight that he won’t let me go because he thinks I’ll trip and fall on a penis or something. Hello! I don’t even think my classmates can pronounce my name let alone ask me to date! So what I’m going to do is get as close as possible and see what they’re talking about.”[/b][/color] The camera shook rather aggressively like it was a found footage movie and the operator was fleeing for their life, but it was instead interspersed with Divya grunting and cursing under her breath as she nearly tripped over furniture. There was a loud THUD as Divya, in her haste to be stealthy, stubbed her toe on the coffee table and dropped a stack of magazines onto the floor. By the time she recovered, the camera was looking directly at the face of her father. [color=f4a460][b]”Hello, father.”[/b][/color] Divya tried to sound like she hadn’t been caught with her finger in the cookie jar, metaphorically. [b]”Divya, what are you doing?”[/b] Vijay Bajwa’s tone was the exact one parents had when they sat you down to say ‘I’m not mad, I’m [i]disappointed[/i]’. [color=f4a460][b]”Re...rearranging the furniture?”[/b][/color] Not her best lie, but her hand was red. [b]”Don’t you have homework to do?”[/b] [color=f4a460][b]”I did it already! I want to see how you’re doing, you haven’t had a date since mom-”[/b][/color] [b]”I know how long it’s been, Divya. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of privacy?”[/b] [color=f4a460][b]”The walls are pretty thin, dad. But I know one way to get me out of your hair.”[/b][/color] Vijay closed his eyes and his sharp inhale and exhale of breath was met only with the behind the camera pleading of ‘please please please’ and the unexpected arrival from behind Vijay. [color=ffdab9][b]”Vijay...how bad can it be? She’s a good kid, you said so yourself.”[/b][/color] Her father’s date came in with the save and Divya pointed the camera towards her. [color=f4a460][b]”Oh, she’s definitely a keeper.”[/b][/color] [b]”DIVYA!”[/b] With laughter from the pair of women in the apartment serving as a transition the image on the camera cut out to black all the way. [color=f4a460][b]”Come on...not now…”[/b][/color] Divya Bajwa sighed as she sat alone in a poorly lit corner of the boat. All around her were sounds of people having a far better time than she was, from the sound of people frolicking in a hot tub to what sounded like people taking dives into the ocean, and of course the music from the dancefloor bleeding into the walls. But there she was, by herself in a corner table looking over footage on a camera that was damn near on its last legs. Divya hadn’t exactly upgraded to more modern equipment given the fact that those were pricey and the gas station wasn’t the world’s most high paying job for a part time high schooler. The footage she had shot over the weekend was largely lost or scrambled; how was she going to salvage what was there into anything resembling a coherent diary? Moreover, how was she going to document this? It was her first real high school party and it was on a BOAT! Maybe she’d ask her club members if she could borrow a camera indefinitely...no, that would never happen. There was a glass of punch next to her, but it wasn’t hers and she wasn’t sure it was punch; she’d had water earlier but given the dim lighting she didn’t realize it was vodka, not water, that was handed to her. In a better lit environment she would’ve seen the difference without having to take a sip then spitting it back out and hitting some poor girl in the face with it. She was, at the moment, preoccupied with getting her camera to actually record [i]something[/i] from the party even if that meant fiddling with it and deleting some footage just long enough to capture something new. [color=f4a460][b]”Yes!”[/b][/color] After messing with the settings and letting it charge a bit, Divya was able to see the red light on the camera. She was live again and she was out of the corner faster than a child trying to leave time out after only a few seconds. The problem was that she didn’t know where to begin. She’d never been to a party like this before. Where did the cool things happen? Divya decided to do what anyone would do in the situation and just follow the noise. Camera recording and Divya not even bothering to shout over the noise, she started documenting her experience. Her ears guided her. As she walked, some party goers who had had a bit too much paused to pose in front of the camera. One girl flashed. One guy mooned. A few shoved past her, and that was how Divya almost ran into the chest of another girl before managing to catch herself. This was a dangerous game, recording. But like a siren guiding the Greeks to their doom, so too did Divya find something worth recording. A very unnaturally tall girl was about to sing with a smaller girl. She didn’t recognize the song but the two of them were having a hell of a time. Divya stood on a table, crouched, and filmed the display, zooming in and making sure both girls were always in the frame. When they started to kiss - Divya was there to zoom in on the taller girl grabbing the smaller one’s ass - and she was sure to get a shot of the crowd cheering and hollering at the display. [color=f4a460][b]”That’s going on the ‘net.”[/b][/color] The performance lasted long enough to where Divya was more than satisfied when it was over. But the night was...a bit less young now but she was sure there was more to be documented somewhere. All great directors got their start somewhere.[/center]