The Zoya Factor (10 page)

What a cheerful little gang we were at breakfast the next day. The boys looked disgustingly triumphant about getting me to stay. It was Hairy's birthday and everybody was congratulating him on turning forty. Wes, Laakhi and Nikhil looked pretty upbeat at their end of the table too. 'Wait and see, Zoya,' Shivee chortled. 'We'll fix those Aussies good - you are our secret weapon!'

'Isn't that totally insulting to all the talent on this team, Shivee,' I asked him, irritated. '
Matlab
, according to you, if I eat breakfast with
monkeys
even they can go out and beat the best team in the world!'

'Zoya, these fellows are also
monkeys
only!' Laakhi boomed down the table at me, his big shoulders shaking as he laughed.

The 'monkeys', instead of being offended, looked mighty tickled. Hairy even went as far as to scratch his armpits. Really, what had got into them?

'It's nerves,' Khoda said to me as I walked back to the buffet to pick up more papaya. He was there, shovelling all the watermelon the Sonargaon had to offer onto his plate. 'They'll be fine once we're on the field.'

'Best of luck,' I said. And then felt pretty stupid. He'd probably think I was being oversmart or playful or something....

But he didn't seem to mind. 'Thanks,' he said simply.

Back at the table the boys were planning a little party afterwards for Hairy. (Obviously, Nikhil hadn't told them about seeing only thee eye of thee cupboard yet.) Navneet's Miss India-Universe had shown up to watch the semis with some hot southern actresses in tow and the boys wanted to let down their hair a bit. 'The three of you must come too, Zoyaji,' Zahid said enthusiastically. 'We'll do something cool.'

'Okay,' I said, thinking how pathetically grateful Neelo and Vishaal would be. Hot southern actresses were really their thing. But only after my shoot with these two was over. I pointed at Shiv and Harry who appeared to have made miraculous recoveries, 'Groins feeling good, guys?'

They nodded solemnly. 'Yes, Dieter-sir is a
miracle
worker. He has massaged us
personally
all night.'

Dieter looked up startled, but said nothing (he never did), and then Wes looked up and said they had to board their team bus now.

'Give 'em hell, boys,' I said as they trooped out, feeling a bit like Bharat Mata Incarnate. And in spite of the casual matey way in which they treated me, I had an uncomfortable feeling that's how they perceived me. I mean, Zahid even asked me to give him my blessings! I felt so dumb - like I should have said '
Vijayee Bhava'
the way Durga Khote does in the old movies. Instead, I just leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

I didn't have the stomach to watch the match in the stands. Though my Standing-in-thee-Society had moved up a lot since the last match (VVIP enclosure passes lay on my dressing table now!) I didn't fancy seeing my Lucky Charm status being ground to dust live in the Sher-e-Bangla Stadium. Because 'Australia is by far the stronger side and their best boys are playing today' is what I'd overheard the commentators say when they'd got into the elevator.

So, what I did was, I got into the Miss India-Universe's room (her name was Ritu Raina, and she was heart-stoppingly beautiful: glossy ironed hair, high cheekbones and all) and watched it there with her. She was nervous as hell too - 'I never see Nivi playing live,' she confided. 'It makes me nauseous.'

I did kind of wonder why she'd risked her life and flown Biman Air to Dhaka then. But she said her hot actress friends were keen to see the cricketers close up. Besides, she liked being with him when the match was over. 'Because it's another whole trip when he comes back to me all sweaty and flushed with victory,' she said, her eyes shining. 'I feel like a prize then.'

Okay, that was a pretty corny thing to say, but she was only nineteen, after all, and probably didn't know any better. So I forgave her. Also, I needed to borrow clothes from her for tonight, so I needed to keep liking her. (Besides, deep down, in the most unemancipated Mills and Boon reading part of my soul, I kind of knew what she meant.) We got out her manicure kit and a flask of strong coffee and settled down to watch.

Khoda sauntered in on the telly (after an ad break saying the toss was sponsored by Niceday Cramjams) and asked for heads. The Aussie captain said he'd settle for tails, and some dude in a FLY EMIRATES coat tossed the coin. It landed heads up. Khoda said he wanted to bat first and then Aamir Khan traipsed out dressed as a Malayali massage lady and exhorted us to
lagao thande ka tadka.

And then Hairy and Shivee walked on, stretching and hopping, and the match began.

It moved pretty slowly in the beginning, so we put the TV on mute and chatted and stuff. Ritu pulled out a deep purple nail varnish for me and said it would go well with my 'kohl girl' look. She also laid out lots of sexy black halters, saying I could wear them with my jeans and black cork-soled clogs. I went into the loo to try them on and was fluffing out my hair and pouting vampishly into the mirror in what I fondly believed was a Ritu-Raina-ish way when she screamed loudly.

I came out to see that the Aussies had struck not once but twice and that Laakhi and Khoda were the new men in. They steadied things up a little. The score didn't move much for a while, but that was okay, because the openers had been doing full maar-dhaarh when they got out. We were 79 for 2 in 15 overs when the drinks came on. I looked at the drinks trolley critically. It was a design Neelo and the studio guys had slaved over last month. A giant
Zing!
two-litre bottle (we were pushing large packs this year) mounted on a tiny Dhaka-style autorickshaw. It toot-tooted on to the pitch happily and then an ad break came on.

When the match came back on, I started feeling pretty damn sick. Especially when the Aussies jumped up and appealed manically and the red light flashed and Laakhi walked. Ritu went a delicate shade of green when Navneet came out to bat. He seemed cool and was chatting easily with Khoda, nodding repeatedly and tapping the pitch with the end of his bat. Then some Aussie dude with sunscreen slathered all over his face raced down the pitch towards him and...the TV went off. I looked up, thinking it must be the batti again, but then saw Ritu clutching the remote, looking very white around the gills. 'I can't watch,' she said. 'Let's go out.'

So we went to the hotel parlour for a full body massage, shampoo and blow dry. I sneaked a peek at the TV from under the blower and saw we were 220 for 7 in 40 overs and felt fully deflated. Because even though I knew it was idiotic I
had
been getting a bit of a cheap thrill out of maybe being a lucky charm. Still, it was good I hadn't said anything to Vishaal and Neelo. I could quietly leave Dhaka and forget this had ever happened....

By the time we got out of the parlour the Indian innings were over. We'd finished at a decent 267 for 9 - Zahid had come in and hit some big ones and Khoda had carried his bat right through - but the commentators were saying we were still short by some thirty runs and didn't have much of a chance. Still, they did say we couldn't be ruled out altogether, cricket being a game of glorious uncertainties, and all that usual crap.

Ritu looked a little chirpier now that Navneet's part in the game was mostly over. She walked through the lobby, hair swinging, looking every bit the beauty queen she was. 'See you in the evening, Zo,' she beamed at me suddenly and vanished into her room. I nodded, went to my room and crashed.

I don't know how much later it was when the phone woke me up. It was Neelo - 'Put on the TV, Zoya,' he yelled. 'We're going to win, Zahid's on a hat trick!'

I turned on the TV and saw Zahid streaking down the pitch, long locks flying. He looked like a young god - the crowd was screaming - there was a thrilling
thwacckk!
and I saw the ball making contact with the stumps and the bales flying, and then the cockney-accented commentator was yelling: 'And he's done it! The Sangrur Express has derailed the opposition! The young India team has won and what a win...!'

He went on and on. They replayed the shot from every possible angle. Then he started rhapsodizing about how cool Khoda was too. And then the two commentators pounced on Khoda and Zahid as the team came walking back to the pavilion.

'Congratulations...what an innings...fabulous.... How do you feel?'

'Good,' said Khoda, with a quick grin. He looked happy, sweaty and relieved. 'We started well but then we lost a couple of wickets but then we steadied and Zahid played a very useful knock and then we managed to restrict them and it all worked out in the end...the boys did great.'

'Was there some point where you lost the faith at all, Nikhil? Or were you confident right through?'

'Well, I did start to worry in the last five overs because it was so very close but then we changed the field around and Zahid did a great job and the boys took some incredible catches...'

'I was wondering, why did you play only Zahid in those last four overs? Because Bala and Thind had a couple of overs still in their kitty too. And Zahid didn't seem to be doing too well against them initially.'

Khoda had screwed up his face thoughtfully halfway through this question and now he just shrugged and said: 'Well, he was a little expensive at first but I felt he was the right guy to get those wickets - it was close, too close for comfort, but it did end well.' A boyish grin lit up his face. 'Thankfully!' he said.

The commentator turned to Zahid.

'And how do you feel, Zahid? Thirty-three runs, five wickets and a hat trick, you've had a big day.'

'Yes,' Zahid agreed happily. 'It was all a team effort and God has blessed me greatly and also I was just really really lucky.'

'That's really modest of you,' the commentator said, clapping him on the back. 'You were great out there today. You've made a record, by the way, all that can't just be luck!'

I watched Zahid, my heart hammering against my chest. A cheap little part of me wanted him to say something about me, after all I'd given him a lucky kiss, hadn't I? And I imagined my dad falling off his chair in KB, Sanks doing a double take in Delhi, Ritu Raina freaking out in Dhaka. But another part of me cringed at these idiotic groupie-type fantasies.

Zahid looked like he wanted to say something but before he could, Nikhil patted him on the back and said cryptically: 'Great job, Zahid!
Chalo
, let's go in now!'

Then this little presentation ceremony came on after another ad break. (Aamir for Coke again, those guys have such
obscene
budgets.) My idiot client Ranjeet presented a fifty thousand taka cheque to Zahid, a few speeches were made and it was all over for the day.

Harry and Shivnath were really excited when they came in to do our patchwork shoot. Both of them insisted they'd won the match because of me, which defied all logic of course, but was very flattering. And then Zahid called up and gushed, insisting I was a farishta. I was dumb enough to put it on speaker phone and then had to endure Neelo and Vishaal singing
Farishta sabun mera naam, mail bhagaana mera kaam
,
mein hoon kapdon ki shaan
for the rest of the shoot.

Well, at least we got our shots pretty quickly. Harry and Shiv were in high spirits and they posed happily for Vishaal -
I Believe I Can Fly
alternating with
We Are the Champions
on the speakers. Neelo was hugely relieved. He'd quickly sent off his jingoistic
Zing!
banner lines to Delhi - ('Australia's easy,' he confided to me. We can always use
'Assi jeetey, Aussies haarey
.')

Lokey bustled about in the background while we shot, tripping over the cables and wires, taking calls from Corporates who wanted to sign up Zahid immediately. 'Thee price just went up, Joyaji!' he said chuckling fatly, his face ashine with sweat and happiness. 'You people got him cheap!'

By ten o' clock I was back in my room. I'd messaged Sanks the moment we clicked the last shot and now I was in the mood to party. Ritu had phoned a while ago. 'Meet you in the lobby in twenty, Zo,' she'd crooned. 'Or d'you want me to come fix your make-up?'

I assured her that I was fine and then got all nervous about the evening. Because the truth of the matter was that I didn't have too much experience in going to clubs with international-level cricketers.

I showered quickly, then sunk onto the bed and slathered on huge amounts of moisturizer. Then I combed out my hair (always a long painful process) and got it semi-dry with the hairdryer in the loo. I'd sent my jeans to be washed and ironed and so I dialled Housekeeping and asked them to hurry it up. I was just worrying about getting late and getting left behind by the beautiful people when the doorbell rang and I ran to get it, tripping over the stupid extra large Sonargaon bathroom robe. 'About time!' I said. I put one hand out for the laundry and then froze.

Yeh to bada toinnngg hai....

Nikhil Khoda was standing in the doorway, looking sombre.

'Can I come in?' he asked.

'Sure,' I somehow managed to say, like cricket captains called on me on a regular basis.

He came into the room and then just stood around silently for a bit while I eyed him, totally flummoxed. What was he doing here? Had he come to
thank
me or something?

Finally, he spoke. 'I hope you're leaving tomorrow,' he said abruptly.

Slightly taken aback at this unfriendly tone (he'd been so nice to me in the elevator), all I could come up with was a puzzled, 'Sorry?'

He raised his voice a little and said, like he was talking to an idiot, 'You're leaving tomorrow?'

I was. Of course I was. But he was being so mean, I didn't feel like saying so. What I
felt
like saying, and so what I said was, 'Why?'

He shrugged. 'Because it's better that way.'

Feeling a little monosyllabic, I repeated, 'Why?'

'Because the boys' attention is very flattering and you must be feeling very important' - I looked at him, a little irritated - 'and you've probably decided to stay on and win the series for us' - sarci as hell - 'but, here's the thing' - boost-brown eyes glittering - 'I won't let you.'

I opened my mouth to answer, but he didn't give me the chance. 'The only reason we're winning is because we've all trained with single-minded determination for the last six months. This team is slowly learning to have faith in itself. I can't have them putting that new-found faith in you instead.'

He was doing it again.

Talking like a Nike ad.

But, hello, did the guy have amnesia, or something?

I said, as reasonably as I could, 'But
you
only asked me to stay, Nikhil-sir. I would have been happy to leave that day itself. You said it was a good idea to stay and support the team against Australia.'