The Zoya Factor (12 page)

I wasn't that sure any more.

Then I thought about what Lokey had told me. About how most of the players were pretty immature. 'They cling to straws,' he'd said. 'Harry and Zahid really believe you're lucky, Joyaji.'

Harry hadn't exactly covered himself in glory at the Bermuda match. He'd got out for a duck, to be exact.

Zahid hadn't taken a single wicket.

'It's the glorious uncertainties of the game, Gaalu,' said Zoravar, licking his fingers clean. 'And anyway, there's still the World Cup. Don't look so stricken.'

But I couldn't help feeling guilty. I wanted to punish myself. So I pushed the last cheese-and-pineapple-laden slice of pizza at a surprised Zoravar and said, 'Here, you can have this.'

I hit office just a little after 9:40 a.m. on Monday. Zoravar dropped me, and was even intuitive enough to ask, halfway through the drive, if I was quite all right. Of course I said I was absolutely fine.

'Hey! Zoya!' beamed Monita, flashing her usual ear-to-ear smile, both arms held out in welcome. 'Give, girl, give! How
were
the Men in Blue?'

I smiled. Our shoot at Ballard Estate seemed so very long ago. 'Unbelievable!' I assured her. 'Tell you all about it soon!'

'Right after you report to Sanks!' she said. 'I'll order us both a cold coffee in my cabin. And there are Greasy Crispy Breadrolls for breakfast, you want?'

I walked to Sanks' cabin and looked in. He was busy stuffing himself full of GCBs (Greasy Crispy Breadrolls) while talking on the phone, so I bobbed my head in and mimed
hi, I'm back.

He looked up, grunted and gestured for me to sit.

I sat, looking around, fiddling with stuff on his desk till he wound up the call and banged down the receiver. 'You look like shit,' he barked.

Thanks, Sanks, you don't exactly look like a branch of blooming bougainvillea yourself
.

'What the hell have you been up to in Dhaka?'

'Huh? Nothing!' I told him. 'Just been working very hard. Getting you shots of every possible cricketer from every possible angle! Don't tell me there's something I missed?' I knew the images would have come in on Thursday. Neelo would have worked all weekend getting the prints and making poster layouts.

Sanks waved the shots aside like he hadn't been haranguing me about them for the last week. 'That's not what I mean. What have you done that
Zing!
wants you off the account?'

Oh no. This reeked of Nikhil Khoda. And to think I'd been defending him to Gajju last night
. 'I haven't been up to anything, Sanks,' I said stiffly. 'But I have no problems working on some other account if there's any issue.'

'Shut up, Zoya,' he said crankily
. 'I
have a problem with you working on some other account! Fat lot of work I'd get done around here if I started listening to everything the clients say!'

'But what
did
they say?' I asked, a sick feeling in my stomach. I mean, I love my job. (In fact, according to my friends and family, I
was
my job.)

'That you're a loose cannon, you overstepped your boundaries, or something. What have you been up to, kiddo?'

So I told him the whole story.

Sanks's (slightly bulging) brown eyes got even bulgier as he listened. 'But you haven't done anything unethical,' he said finally. 'Nothing at all.'

'Yeah, but I'm in trouble,' I said miserably. 'And the client knows it. Khoda must've called them and complained. After all, I did call him a loser.'

'Now, that wasn't exactly a scintillatingly intelligent move, was it?' Sanks grumbled. He looked up at me, his eyes almost sympathetic, and said, 'I really don't know if I'll be able to save your sorry ass, kiddo.'

I nodded miserably.

'I'll work out something,' he said. 'Now, get out of here. There's tons of work to do!'

I crawled out and staggered into Mon's room.

'What happened?' she exclaimed. 'What'd he say to knock the stuffing out of you like that?'

I told her. It was a very long story that got longer with every retelling.

Mon was hugely concerned. She stopped me now and then to ask me some very Mon-like questions: What did the team eat for breakfast? Did you wear perfume in the elevator? Is it true that Laakhi's gay?

I told her everything and then wanted to kill someone when Shiven rushed in going: 'Hey! How was Dhaka?' He was followed by the other office kids asking the same question.

'It was good, okay?' I stood up. 'I've already told the story twice. Ask Mon for the details!'

Shiven (a creepo who'd filled in for me at the Shah Rukh shoot) puffed out his chest importantly. 'I know, it's crazy,
everybody
keeps asking for all the dope when you come back from a shoot. Yours was just cricketer stills in Dhaka, Zoya! Imagine
my
plight, after a theme film with SRK!'

Mon rolled her eyes. 'Please! You've told Totaram and your Bijnaur-waali mausi and the canteen guy. That's three people. Who else asked?'

I gave Mon a reproachful look as Shiven slunk away, crestfallen, but she just grinned. 'If I can't have GCBs for breakfast I have to sink my teeth into
something
,' she pointed out. 'So when will Sanks tell you if you have to shift to another account, Zo?'

'Soon, I guess,' I said. 'Mon, not a word about this part of it to anyone, okay?'

She nodded. 'Don't worry, Zoya,' she said gently, 'It'll all work out great.'

Fighting back a sudden rush of tears, I walked over to my cabin and switched on my comp.

It didn't. Work out great, I mean. Basically, my Standing in thee Society fully plummeted, because Sanks had to take me off
Zing!
and put me on Maximilk.
But just for three months, Zoya, after that you're fully on again
.

I got a lot of curious looks from the Maximilk gang, who are a committed and down-to-earth bunch. They do wholesome, non-celebrity ads and look down on cola advertising for being basically shallow and relying too heavily on celebrities to make it look good.

They didn't know me too well and now I seriously regretted being so snooty with all of them while I had been working on
Zing!
This earnest bespectacled guy, Animesh, took me through an orientation on Maximilk. 'There are basically five brands in one. Like in
Zing!
you have cola, orange, lime and clear-lime variants? Here in MSK we have Maximilk, Chocolate Maximilk, Woman's Maximilk, Junior Maximilk and Maximilk Lite which is for diabetics...'

I nodded intelligently, trying not to look too depressed.

'Our target audience is Moms twenty-eight to forty-five years. Bullseye thirty-five. Middle class, usually with two kids or more with some elderly people, in-laws usually, whom they have to look after too.'

Man, was this a far cry from Boys, fifteen to twenty-five years. Bullseye eighteen. The tribe Neelo had once grossed me out by describing as 'young, dumb and full of cum'. What was I doing here?

'We have to walk a fine line between appealing to the mom by being nutritious and caring, and appealing to the kid by being fun and cool. We need to have both on our side. I'll give you a CD of all our ads so far as well as the ones the competition has done. Bournvita and Complan, you know. And I think it would be a good idea for you to come along for this housewife research we're having soon. You'll get to see the consumer up close.'

'Great,' I said. 'Thanks, Animesh.' And under my breath added, 'And, thanks, Khoda, you bastard.'

I was painting my toenails a hot orange on Wednesday evening when Eppa rushed into my bedroom screaming, 'Zoya, Zoya,
tumhara photu paper mein aayyaa hai!'

She rushed into the room brandishing
Sonali's Gupshup
column in her hand. With a sinking heart I saw an image of me dancing with Zahid at that club in Dhaka. Across our fronts the headline screamed, 'KHODA PAHAAD, NIKLI ZOYA'.

Damn.

I grabbed it and read:

Did you wonder why our cricket team's been acting so erratic lately, darlings? At least earlier they lost predictably to everyone! Then they managed two big wins and got us all excited only to break our nazuk little hearts by losing to Bermuda! Well, I've got a scoop for you, sweeties. A triple scoop with a cherry on top! Apparently, the two victories (and one defeat) have nothing to do with our almost brand-new Captain's leadership abilities. And have everything to do with one sweet lil' thing (pictured above) called Zoya. Zoya - jiske liye Zahid Pathan ne dil khoya! Zoya, it seems, is blessed by the Great Batsman in the Sky. She was born at the very moment India won the '83 World Cup twenty-seven years ago and if she nibbles her morning naashta with the Boys in Blue on the day of the match, they win! If she doesn't, they lose. It's as simple as that. But after she clinched two big matches for his team, Khoda ordered her home! Being the big strong man he is, he felt he could take on Bermuda without Zoya's help! Bet he's really sorry now, girls...

My first instinct was to roll the paper, shove it into my mouth and chew it down to destroy the evidence. But I couldn't do that with Eppa watching. She was looking at me, all bright-eyed and tremulous, waiting for me to read it out to her.

I cleared my throat and said, 'You're paagal or what? That's not me in the picture! You know I don't have a shirt like that.'

Eppa looked unconvinced so I tried to stare her down. It didn't do a bit of good. She peered down at the picture again, gave a disdainful sniff and went: '
Kucch ghapla kiya hai tumne,
I know! You can't bluff me, Zoya Moya...' She flounced out, but she let me grab the paper from her as she left.

I read it again.

It was nasty all right. This Sonali babe obviously had it in for Khoda. She didn't really say anything mean about me, though. All she'd done was make that lucky charm theory public. Thankfully, it sounded pretty stupid in print. Oh, and she'd called me Zahid's lady-love, to which I could only say
I wish!

Of course I was worried about what they'd say at work. But far more scary was what the reaction of the gang at Tera Numbar might be. What
would
Dad do when the ChachaChachis descended in a chattering horde?

When I was a kid, I would get really awful one-on-twenty scores in English dictation. The teacher always told me to get them signed by Dad. I'd spend the whole weekend making myself sick with apprehension about what his reaction would be and finally slide it shamefacedly next to his teacup on Monday morning. Till he explained to me that it was far more painless to get it over with on Friday afternoon itself.

So that evening at the dining table, I slid Sonali's article under Dad's nose right after Zoravar and he had finished eating. 'I'm in the news,' I said lightly.

Eppa snorted in the background but I ignored her.

Dad and Zoravar pored over the paper together, Dad's lips moving slightly as his bifocals travelled slowly past the luridly coloured picture to the catty copy below.

I waited, heart in my mouth. God, they were
slow
readers!

Finally, Dad put the paper down on the table with a little
tchai!
sound and Zoravar fished out his red Swiss knife and started cutting some bright-orange Dussheri mangoes with it, whistling tunelessly between his teeth.

'What?' I demanded. 'Hello, you guys, say something!'

Dad just shook his head but Zoravar said simply, 'We know you're lucky, Gaalu.'

Huh? They
knew?
I
was
?

'I used to take you with me to all the mohalla and inter-school matches I ever played,' he continued. 'We never lost a single one.'

I gaped at him, open-mouthed. 'What? Why didn't you ever tell me?'

He looked at me as if I were nuts. 'Obviously, because you'd have got all pricey or asked me to give you money so you could save up to buy firecrackers.'

What? I couldn't believe this!

'Your Ma knitted you a V-necked white cricket sweater with cables down the front,' Dad said reminiscently. 'You won us a lot of inter-regiment matches too.'

'And why didn't
you
tell me, Dad?' I demanded.

He shrugged, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. 'By the time you were old enough to understand, my cricket playing days were over...and after your Ma died...I guess, I just forgot.'