It was really goosebumpy. And I don't think it was just because I'm fully Lustful and Loathing-ful about the guy.
'I got it from that NDTV interview Khoda gave recently. We're going to run it after they win their next big match. I thought it would be pretty topical,' said Vishaal.
'It's cool,' I said. 'Only the voice....Who's done it?'
'Ignore the voice,' Vishaal said quickly. 'It's mine. I wanted Sohan, but the bugger's too expensive. He makes a fortune dubbing for stars who're too busy to show up for recordings.'
'Can't you get Nikhil?' I asked and added, a little snidely, it must be admitted, 'this film should be really close to his heart!'
Vishaal nodded. 'Oh, he loved it,' he said. 'In fact,' he pushed his hair off his face and cleared his throat modestly, 'I'm waiting for him to come dub it right now.'
I froze. 'Now?' I squeaked. 'He's coming here?'
'Yeah.'
I turned to flee Galactica B but it was too late. Nikhil Khoda, casual in worn jeans and a navy blue tee had just strolled in.
His eyes lit up when he saw me (they did! they did!) and he went: 'Zoya!'
'Hi,' I said, wishing wretchedly that I'd had time to primp before banging into him. I was all bedraggled from my morning flight, dressed in a baggy red shirt of my dad's and loose unflattering jeans. I fluffed out my hair self-consciously with one hand and tried not to think about the fact that he'd probably spent the night with a Kingfisher calendar model.
'Hey, man!' Khoda was saying to Vishaal as they slapped hands. 'How's everything?'
Vishaal smiled a little nervously, 'Great! Why don't you go right in?'
Nikhil went in, slipped on a pair of headphones and started skimming through his lines. I decided to slink away and was heading for the door when Khoda's voice, sounding deep and growly and amplified by the dubbing mikes, said: 'Zoya? Don't go too far. I have to talk to you.'
I nodded, muttered something, and fled.
He found me.
And why wouldn't he? After all, I wanted to be found.
I was sitting in the Famous cafe, freshly moisturized and kajal-ed, hair all bright and black. Of course my clothes still sucked but there wasn't much I could do about that. He waved to me and I waved back, pretty casually too. 'Are you free for a bit?' he asked.
'Sure,' I shrugged casually.
'Then let's go out somewhere nice and grab a coffee.'
I nodded and hitched my red rucksack a little higher onto my shoulder, trying not to look too overwhelmed.
He took the bag from me, ignoring my protests and said, 'Come on, let's go.'
He drove us to Gallops, at the race course, which was just a short distance away. We didn't talk much. A little street urchin peered into the car at a red light, recognized Khoda and did a double take. Face splitting into a large grin, he mimed hitting a big six into the air with an imaginary bat. Then he shaded his eyes with his hand and pretended to be looking for the ball in the sky, scratching his head in a puzzled sort of way. I laughed, and Khoda looked at me and laughed too.
Lust 98%. Loathing 2%.
Actually, who am I kidding? Lust 100%.
At Gallops, we ordered coffee and then smiled across the table at each other. 'Hi,' he said.
'Hi,' I replied and then quickly added, 'Thank you for speaking to Vaishali. It meant a lot to me.'
'You're welcome.' He looked embarrassed. A silence followed, where he just looked at me. Then, he asked abruptly, 'How are you? I mean, really. With this whole lucky charm thing hanging over your head?'
'Uh, okay, I guess,' I said with a shrug.
'You're looking thinner.'
I beamed, 'That's good, isn't it?'
'Not really,' he said slowly. 'You look stressed.' He frowned, 'That's why I wanted you to stay out of this whole damn cricket circus.'
'What d'you mean?'
'I mean, now you're in. Say hello to uncertainty, pressure, fear, and insecurity.'
'What d'you mean I'm in?'
He looked at me, amused. 'Don't you know, Zoya? Jogpal Lohia was at the IPL match. He was really impressed by the way Harry's lot played with you around. I think he was even more impressed by the way my team crumbled. He's convinced you're going to give us a major psychological edge. He's found some legal loophole that allows him to give you some kind of official status. You're going with us to the World Cup.'
'What?'
'I didn't want to break your friend Vishaal's heart in there, but the chances of his Nike film running are zero. The Board's made me bite the Lucky Charm bullet.' Khoda stopped and smiled at me. 'Close your mouth, Zoya,' he said, not unkindly.
I couldn't. I just stared at him round-eyed and horrified. I could totally see the gobar on my hoardings, I totally could!
Khoda grinned. 'Should've thought of that before you smooched Zahid on the mouth,' he said mockingly. 'Just to piss me off.'
That really was a cocky thing to say, wasn't it? I decided to be a little cocky myself. 'Oh, were you there? Did you see us?' I said demurely. 'I couldn't help myself. I'm so fond of Zahid.'
'Really?' Khoda remarked. 'And if you're so fond of him, how come you've been dodging his phone calls?'
(I had no answer to that, though, of course, I noticed - and filed away for later gloating over the fact - that Nikhil Khoda was keeping track of whom I was not talking to on the phone.)
'Anyway,' Khoda continued, 'I guess you'll be dining with him - and all of us - a lot in Australia.'
'But I don't want to go for the World Cup,' I wailed, a sense of complete panic gripping my belly.
'No choice,' Khoda shrugged as he poured out the coffee for both of us. Then he flourished the teaspoon about and said grandiloquently, 'Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country!'
'I won't go,' I muttered mutinously.
'Say hello to emotional blackmail too. Do you know you've sprouted almost as many fan-clubs as Harry and Shivee?'
'Really?' I brightened up, just a little.
Khoda sighed, 'C'mon, Zoya, don't you want to be famous for something worthwhile? Instead of just being famous for being lucky?'
He had a point. 'But, you're famous for playing a game,' I pointed out defensively. 'That isn't exactly up there with finding a cure for cancer, you know.'
He shook his head in exasperation. 'I know, but in this country, if we did a poll, people would probably be happier if we won a World Cup than if we found a cure for cancer! If they give it that much importance, I have to, too!'
'Still, you're famous, you should set a good example,' I muttered. 'Indians are fatalistic enough as it is.'
He sighed. 'Look, you know I tried. But your record's quite impressive and as a humble rookie captain, I have to adopt all means, no matter how unorthodox, to win a match.'
'So, is this official status what you wanted to talk to me about?' I asked, my voice trembling just a little (I'd been hoping he had something more personal in mind, of course).
'Yes,' he said gently. 'And also to tell you, that in case your luckiness, or whatever it is, runs out, right in the middle of the World Cup, I'll be there for you.'
Shit, he really was a nice guy. No wonder his stupid team liked him so much.
I nodded, and smiled up at him brightly. 'Thank you,' I said formally. 'I appreciate that.'
He smiled back at me, the sunlight slanting across his face and lighting up his Boost-brown eyes. And at that moment I found another emotion sloshing around in the mixture of Lust and Loathing he usually aroused in me.
Another 'L' word.
Liking.
And even though I knew he'd fought tooth and nail to keep me out and that he despised everything I was supposed to be representing, I found myself believing that it had been nothing personal, that he wasn't against me or anything and that he liked me too.
Zing! had obviously exhausted their budget for this ad film because Mon and I had to share a room at the Taj Land's End. Which was okay, because I like her, even thou
gh she takes ages in the loo and coos lullabies to her boys on the phone for hours at night. Tonight, after she'd put both her kids to sleep and argued amicably with her husband for a while, we ordered Salt and Pepper Prawns from Ming Yang and broke open the complimentary bottle of wine. Monita was clearly in a mood to party. She was pretty relaxed now because the film was looking good. The music recording was tomorrow and that meant a late start 'cos the music guys never got to work before noon.
'So,' she grinned, dipping a prawn into the chilli sauce with gusto, 'how was the coffee session with El Khoda?'
I shrugged. 'Okay. I told you about the IBCC thingie, didn't I?'
Mon rolled her eyes. 'Not that!' she said, 'I mean how was the vibe, the mood, the, y'know, connection?'
'Monita,' I said, 'there is no vibe as such. He was just being nice, okay?'
'Yeah, but why?' Mon sat up a little straighter and yanked her plunging neckline back upward. 'There's no need for him to be nice to you. Or buy you coffee or anything.'
'Please,' I said, 'Supermodels answer his phone, for heaven's sake.'
Mon clambered off the bed, picked up a magazine from the coffee table and chucked it at me. 'Take a look at this!' she said smugly, and clicked her tongue impatiently, the way she does on the phone, when her five-year-old keeps asking her when she's coming home. 'The favourite things page, Zo! Read it!'
I found it. Khoda was in there, laughing into the camera, These are a few of my favourite things was written across his front in a curly-whorly font:
Fav food: Paranthas. Sorry, not oysters or filet mignon or anything expensive like that.
Fav one-liner: Just Do It!
Fav bedroom line: Just Do Me!
Fav Fantasy: Very basic actually, slanting sunshine, a bottle of wine, masses of long dark curls upon a creamy white pillow...
Fav perfume: None. Don't use any. Not a big fan of it on women either.
Fav place: A cricket pitch
Fav trait in a woman: Courage. I like gutsy women.
Fav drink: Zing! Obviously!
Fav. Band: Dire Straits
Fav Person: Mom
Fav Dream: The World Cup in my hands
I read it through and looked up all innocently, even though I knew what was coming: 'What?'
'The hair,' Mon chortled. 'Your hair, Zo! It's unmistakable! He is so in love with you!'
'Monita,' I said, 'you of all people should know that guys don't fall for me. They just use me - and not even for sex!'
She wasn't listening to me, just shaking her head and giggling and doing this ridiculous dance around the room, 'No, no, no, it's you! I can just picture it, first you'll make him paranthas in the slanting morning sunshine, then he'll put on Dire Straits while opening a bottle of wine and phoning his mom and then you'll courageously break all the perfume bottles with your bare hands and throw them out onto the cricket pitch and pour a Zing! into the World Cup and offer it to him and fall back upon the creamy white pillows with your glorious hair all a tumble and then' - she looked down at Stardust to see if she'd forgotten anything and gurgled in delight at the perfect fit she'd found - 'you can Just Do It!'
'Mon, stop yelling!' I hissed. 'You'll wake up everybody on the floor.'
She calmed down a bit after a look at my face and muttered, 'Okay, okay, fine, you never used to mind when I teased you about Shah Rukh...'
***
We carried the presentation material back to Delhi with us that day. The flight landed at some ten minutes to noon and we staggered out feeling spent. Both Monita's cherubic little Bong boys were hopping up and down behind the rails in the reception area, screaming 'Mummee! Mummee!'
Mon promptly dropped her bags and scooped them both up for big smacking kisses while I stood around behind her foolishly. I don't dislike kids, but I mostly don't know what to say to them. Little girls are still okay, but little boys are quite a mystery to me.
The younger one, Aman, was already sneaking a hand down Mon's shirt front and she was slapping it away as subtly as she could, but the five-year-old, Armaan, looked at me intently and then said solemnly. 'Zo - ya!'
'Ar - maan,' I nodded back at him politely.
He had a Dinky toy car in his hand which he suddenly let fall and then went, all round-eyed contrition, 'Oh! I dropped something!' before swooping down and scrabbling about near my feet.
'Armaan, no!' Mon said sharply and I looked at her in surprise.
Armaan straightened finally, grinning and flushed, his Dinky car in his hands.
'Pink,' he announced happily.
I looked at him: 'What?'
Monita shook her head in exasperation as she wheeled our trolley out to the car, the boys and their young didi running merrily through the parking lot in front of us. 'Armaan is turning into a complete sex maniac,' she muttered.
'What are you saying, Mon?' I protested. 'He's an innocent baby, only five years old!'
'Yeah, right,' she sighed. 'And what colour panties are you wearing under that skirt, Zoya?'
There were cars parked all along the drive at Tera Numbar when I reached home, feeling tired and exhausted. I looked at the line-up blankly as I paid off my auto guy and then remembered. Lunch in the hag's part of the house.
I took the stairs two at a time, wondering if I'd forgotten a birthday or something. Mohindar Chacha is the most painful of my uncles. He's a retired air force officer, a red-nosed, have-a-drink-beta type, who picked up a Mahavir Chakra in the '71 war and never lets anybody forget it. Gajju Chacha once sourly told a starry-eyed Zoravar that it was less about bravery and more about being in the right place at the right time. He's very hairy, Mohindar. Zoravar and I once saw him casually dab shaving foam on his nose and earlobes as he shaved, which led us to speculate about what he would do if he were marooned on an island; end up looking like Meeku, we concluded.
Anita Chachi's hot in a middle-aged, skimpy-choli-ed way. She's into Fengshui and horse riding (Zoravar insists she takes a whip to Mohindar on full moon nights) and is the undisputed 'classy' bahu of the family, who can barely conceal her mortification at having to live in KB. She's all for selling the kothi, splitting the moolah and moving 'south'. Thankfully, nobody listens to her.
Anyway, I made my way towards her crystal and ikebana drawing room, with Meeku at my heels. There was nobody in what Anita Chachi likes to call the 'foyer' and that's when a little decorative card on a brass stand caught my eye. A cheesy little heart made of entwined pink roses. 'Congratulations Kartik and Neha.'
Huh? Who were Kartik and Neha? And why was Anita Chachi having a lunch for them?
I walked slowly up to the door, feeling like those guys on Eppa's favourite investigative show CID, who sneak up on empty houses with their guns held high, ready for anything.... And sighted Kattu, a horrid sight in a too tight, white bandgala with a red carnation in his buttonhole. He was holding hands with an incredibly beautiful girl in a silver halter and white sari. She was gorgeous. Seriously. I should've dropped dead. That's how gorgeous she was.
Total consternation swept over me as I realized that Kattu had 'rejected' me even before I'd had the chance to reject him. This was his engagement party which I was apparently going to attend in a transparent kurti crumpled from the flight, outlining my oldest, shabbiest bra.
I crossed my arms across my front, thinking, Lucky girl, she really hit the mother lode, Kattu's gonna turn her from a bud into a flower. I took two steps back, hoping I could sneak out without being spotted, and collided right into Anita Chachi.
'Zoya! Beta, come in meet the lovebirds,' she cooed, her eyes shining with a horrid triumphant gleam. As she led me towards them she murmured to me, 'I'm sorry, I should have informed you, par you were so busy with your cricket-shiket. In fact, Kattu's mummy said ki aapki Zoya toh cricket team ki Draupadi hi ban gayee hai.' She gave a horrid tinkling laugh and said, 'Neha, meet Kattu's friend Zoya.'
I soon found myself seated between Dad and Gajju at Anita Chachi's monstrously carved dining table. Some lad
y I didn't know was seated across from us. My mind was still in a whirl with all this Indian-team-ki-Draupadi thing when the auntie opposite me asked, 'Toh, Zoya, you have become a national lucky charm, hain?'
I looked up, blinked, and sneaked a look at my dad. He looked pretty serene.
'Arrey nahi, auntie, nothing like that,' I started to say, when Gajju snorted beside me, 'Arrey Zoya is born lucky!' He looked at my dad, 'Yaad hai, bhaisaab, the day she was born? Wahi, Prudential Cup ke din, I told you ki this baby is the reason we have won.' He looked at the auntie and said confidingly, 'I wanted them to name her Nike. The Greek goddess of victory, you know...'
The Zoya Factor Page 13