The Zoya Factor

by Anuja Chauhan

  'Zoya!' she squealed excitedly, on seeing me. 'How are you, baba? You look so cute!'

  'Hi, Ritu,' I said smiling. 'You definitely don't look cute!'

  She laughed, flicking her shiny long hair back over her gleaming bare shoulders. 'I know,' she twinkled back at me. 'I don't do cute.'

  She greeted Rinku Chachi like an old friend and got into a giggly little huddle with her and Mon. And then Mon wanted to rate all the men in the bar on what she called 'The Return Gift' scale. 'You know, how we give kids return gifts at the end of birthday parties so they go home happy?' she yelled across at me above the din. 'They play with them in the car on the way home and forget about them by the next day? That's what I'm talking about here!'

  According to Ritu, the place was littered with dishy return gifts whom she wouldn't mind playing in the car with but Mon insisted that she was doing 'lenient marking'. This got the boys who'd come in with us all worked up and they all demanded to know what kind of return gift was a 'good' one.

  'Big. Expensively wrapped. Should feel heavy in the hand and make a noise when you shake it!' Mon yelled, making graphic thrusting movements.

  One of the boys nudged me and asked wonderingly, 'Isn't she supposed to be your chaperone?'

  I nodded glumly.

  And then Ritu drawled, 'How about imported?'

  She'd spotted what she claimed were some of the Aussie players by the pool table, but it was too dark and smoky to be sure really. Ritu wanted to get closer and make sure, saying large-heartedly that she had quite a crush on all of them and was rather taken aback when Rinku Chachi went: 'Chhee... they're so pink arsed! Don't be paagal, beta!'

  'Chachi!' I protested mildly. 'You can't just go around calling people pink arses in their very own country!'

  'But why?' Chachi said, honestly surprised. 'It's true, isn't it?'

  'I don't know,' Ritu said musingly. Then she added with a deep gurgling laugh, 'but I wouldn't mind finding out!' She nudged Mon in the ribs and both of them started giggling idiotically and making plans about how to approach the pink-butted boys.

  We played a rowdy game of pool (very badly, Mon was the only decent player and I, of course, disgraced myself totally by scratching the baize). Then when Mon was chalking her cue (unnecessarily languorously, I thought), Ritu brightened up and nudged her saying, 'Look, awesome non-pink Return Gift! There, by the window.'

  We all swivelled to squint through the wooden beams and saw this dude flanked by a posse of hot-looking babes and hopeful-looking guys. He had on interestingly ripped denims and a tight dark blue tee and was leaning at the bar, with his back to us, reading the menu or something while his buddies chattered around him noisily. There was a promising width to his shoulders, and sun-streaked copper curls at the back of his neck.

  'That is not a Return Gift,' Mon said, pointing at the jean-encased butt with drunken emphasis, 'that is a fully loaded Khoeee bag!'

  'What's Khoeee bag?' Ritu asked, hiccupping gently. She was not on the mommy circuit, obviously.

  Mon turned to look at her reproachfully, her big dark eyes appalled at this ignorance. She made a large mystic gesture with her hands. 'Ahhh...the Khoeee bag!' she intoned reverentially. 'A massive bag, full of goodies, that bursts upon the thankful public at the end of the celebration. The climax of the birthday party, baby!'

  They giggled again. Ritu let out a piercing wolf whistle, then chickened out and ducked quickly under the table. The perfect Return Gift turned around to look at us, and all our jaws dropped at once.

  It was Zahid. Zahid Pathan.

  Zahid Pathan, India's ace-in-the-hole, the man everybody was depending upon to quash the Kiwis tomorrow.

  'It's Zahid,' Mon said rather unnecessarily.

  'What's he doing out of bed?' Rinku Chachi wanted to know.

  'He looks drunk,' Shanta said, squinting a little.

  'Zoya, go talk to him,' Ritu said, emerging from under the table to give me a little push.

  I started to protest, but they all chorused so loudly that everybody in the bar turned to look at us. So I got up from my stool, tripping a little, smiled stupidly, and walked over to Zahid's gang of friends, who didn't even notice me; they were so busy trying to talk him into something.

  'It's a great proposition I'm putting to you, mate,' one of them, with flashing rimless glasses and a vaguely medical air, was saying. 'I mean, look at that babe, Evalene Adams, she really wanted to have a top-level sportsman's baby...and she got it for free! Your captain's a fool, man. You guys have superior DNA - you should capitalize on it.'

  Zahid, looking a little bewildered, said, 'Matlab ki? I don't understand...' The bookish guy looked about furtively, then lowered his voice and said, 'A Sportstar Spermbank. If you want a piece of that best-quality, Alpha-male, baby-making stuff, lady, you have to pay for it!'

  'Kya?' Zahid started to say, but the rimless dude kept talking, faster now.

  'You'll be surprised to know how many sportstars have already signed on with me, dude! I have a freezer compartment right here, so take these sterilized vials and Playboy magazines and go to the men's room right there and think sweet thoughts...'

  Zahid's blank look was slowly replaced by one of complete horror halfway through this speech, but before he could go on from there to anger and full-scale violence, ending with the rimless guy's face being embedded in the oakwood bar top, he spotted me and complete consternation spread across his face. 'Z...Zoya,' he said weakly.

  'It's an awesome proposition,' I told him. 'Hey, you'll be making money hand over fist.'

  A couple of the guys in the gang tittered nervously, but Zahid didn't look too amused. Or maybe he didn't get the joke - he's not really all that bright - or maybe, who knows, he has a different technique. Anyway, he turned his back on the lot of us and started watching the dance floor.

  A little pause followed, broken by the rimless-glasses guy asking, 'Sorry? I didn't get your name? I'm Jag, are you a friend of Zahid's?' In this really proprietorial way, like I was a pile on or something.

  'Never mind me,' I told him, shaking a slightly wavering finger into his face. 'The question is, are you a friend of Zahid's?'

  Jag backed down a little then and had the decency to look embarrassed. 'Listen Jagdish,' I told him roundly, 'he should be in bed.'

  The dude shrugged, backed off a bit and said, 'Yeah... good point. Listen, whyn't you tell him that, babe. Read him the Riot Act, go on!'

  He was being sarcastic of course, but I squared my shoulders and rounded on the Pathan. 'Zahid!' I yelled above the music.

  He said something then but I couldn't quite make it out.

  'What?' I yelled.

  His lips tightened and he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me out through the long windows and onto a little balcony outside. It was very cold and quiet there. I said, stupidly, 'Hello.'

  He didn't say anything, just turned away from me and grabbed the railing and glowered down at the street below. His knuckles were almost white.

  I said, 'It's eleven-thirty, Zahid. Why are you out of bed?'

  He tossed his head violently, copper curls tumbling every which way. 'My wish,' he said.

  This rather childish crack gave me hope. I took a step closer to him. 'Dekho, Zahid,' I said persuasively, 'this place is full of Indian journalists. They'll report they saw you here, on the night before a big match. Bahut negative publicity hogi.'

  He turned around to look at me suddenly. 'Negative publicity toh already hai!' he said. 'Last ball pe six needed tha and I couldn't do it!'

  Oh, shit, this was about Wes bawling him out.

  'Zahid, you're talking crap,' I said firmly. 'It wasn't an important match, we're through anyway. Who cares?'

  The next moment, the entire street below that balcony knew that Zahid Pathan did. He yelled it out so loudly my eardrums vibrated and hummed. Really.

  Then he turned and glared at me, panting lightly. I managed to look unimpressed though actually I was shaking in my shoes. 'Okay, so you car
e,' I told him placatingly. Then, feeling like a student helpline operator giving dilaasa to suicidal kids during the tenth class board exams, I added, 'So why don't you stop thinking about the last match and start focusing on the next one, hmmm?'

  Zahid patted my hand and assured me, slurring slightly, that he would play superbly tomorrow, not to worry.

  I nodded. 'Maybe a good sleep will help your performance?' I suggested cunningly.

  That fully backfired. He got all combative and demanded: 'You think you know more cricket than me?' I shook my head hastily but he just raged on. 'Actually, why only you? Everybody thinks they know more cricket than me! Even that machchar, Vikram Goyal, thinks he knows more cricket than me! That's why Hardin sir is saying ki "Okay okay, well tried Zahid, well tried." But inside he is thinking, "this boy can't take pressure, badal do, change him for Goyal..."'

  'You're mad,' I said bluntly. 'Nobody thinks they know more cricket than you! And even if they do, the only way to shut their mouths is to play well tomorrow.' His eyes smouldered at this and he started to say something, but I didn't give him a chance. 'And that's why you should be in bed!' I finished.

  He glared at me defiantly, swaying a little. 'Nothing happens by sleeping-veeping,' he said finally, his tone dismissive. 'Nothing happens by discipline and diet and technique.'

  Okay. Stupid me.

  'Everything is here!' He banged one big fist into his chest. 'Here! In the heart!' Then he dropped his hand to the washboard abs we'd all been admiring inside. 'Here! In the guts!' Then he dropped his hand even lower. 'Here! In the ba...' he stopped short, shook his head and raised his hand to pat mine reassuringly again. 'I will be superb tomorrow,' he said again, very gently. 'Not to worry, Zoyaji!'

  I shook my head, stubbornly and repeated, 'You should be in bed, Zahid.'

  'Go to the bloody hell,' he said with abrupt rudeness and turned around to glare down at the street again.

  Faced with his back I had just started thinking, okay, not my bloody problem, when, with a lovely wafting whiff of perfume, Ritu Raina tick-tocked her way delicately onto the little balcony.

  'Zoya?' she inquired softly.

  Zahid turned around quickly, ready to snap, and then saw who it was and subsided.

  Ritu walked in, prettily hesitant, and said, 'Oh, hi...' to him in a vague sort of way. Then she turned to me and said with a little laugh, 'I know it's silly, but I'm a little scared of driving back to the hotel alone, so late. Will you come with me?'

  I opened my mouth stupidly to ask her what she was on about, but she didn't let me speak. 'I'm at the Hilton,' she said, enunciating her words very clearly for some reason. 'Nobody else seems to be putting up there...'

  Huh? I thought Ritu was staying with friends, not at a hotel. That's what she'd told me earlier in the evening. I started to say so but just then I heard Zahid say, very slowly, 'I'm staying at the Hilton.'

  Ritu turned around to face him, her face eager. 'Really?' Then she looked doubtful. 'But you're having so much fun... you mustn't leave...I'll go alone...there are some dodgy characters outside the pub but'- she swallowed bravely and squared her shoulders - '...what's there? I'm a big girl!'

  'Arrey aise kaise?' Zahid said, with weaving chivalrousness. 'I will 'scort you back. I will 'scort you to your hotel. It is my duty...You are an Indian girl...'

  Hello? And what was I? Namibian?

  Ritu kept protesting, brushing her glossy hair off her shoulders, but he grabbed her arm and steered her gently off the balcony. A moment later, I saw the two of them emerge onto the car park down below, both looking tall and lithe and impossibly beautiful.

  I saw her bundle him into his seat and click his seat-belt shut. He didn't protest once. She tick-tocked around to the driver's door, got in and slammed it shut. Then she cranked up the glass and drove off purposefully.

  Feeling a peculiar mix of relief and regret, I made my way back to a much more sober-looking gang of lady revellers inside, settling the bill. I told them what had happened and they nodded, relieved.

  'Chalo, Zo,' Mon said. 'Let's go. Armaan always wakes up for water around two o'clock.'

  Chachi nodded. 'Yes. And team breakfast at seven-thirty.'

  'Seven forty-five,' I said crabbily. 'You think you know more cricket than me?'

  ***

  I woke up the next morning to find a message from Ritu on my phone. Zed in bed by two-fifteen, she'd written. Virgo intacta. Regretting it ever since. I laughed and swung out of bed. I had a very, very good feeling about today's match.

  Breakfast was at the team's hotel and when I ducked out of my car and into the lobby a few cameras clicked. Feeling pleasantly paparazzied I scuttled in through the entrance and went down to the coffee shop.

  It was a bit early and Wes was the only person at the table when I entered, pottering around near the industrial sized toaster. I stopped and looked at him doubtfully, feeling awkward, but he smiled, his blue eyes twinkled, and he held his arms out wide. 'Zoya!' he went. 'Well done!'

  Much relieved, I walked into his arms saying, 'I didn't do it on purpose, you know.'

  'Of course you did!' he said comfortably, enveloping me in a huge hug and patting my back thoroughly. 'You can be honest with me! Ruthless little girl, you called up the Bombay underworld, dintchya, and took out a soup-ar-rey on him, you told them to take him down, tell the truth now...'

  I shook my head, laughing, and then, thinking this was probably the only chance I'd ever get to chat with him alone I took a deep breath and said, 'Listen, I'm sorry I've been foisted on you like this, I -'

  But he cut me off. 'Hush!' he said. 'I'm honoured to have you at our table. You're an official Girl in Blue!'

  A stupid lump rose in my throat at the kind tone in his voice. I hadn't realized till that very moment how defensive I felt around him. A huge load seemed to lift and I smiled over-brightly, reaching blindly for the water jug and promptly knocking it over.

  Nikhil entered just then and raised an eyebrow, 'New tradition?' he asked. 'What does that mean, that we'll drown the crowd in boundaries?' He shovelled large amounts of fruit onto his plate, sat down at his usual place and started to say something to me, but just then the doors swung open and the entire gang streamed in, chatting loudly, and the moment was lost.

  I sneaked a quick concerned look at Zahid as he came in. He looked well rested, just very slightly red-eyed. He caught me looking at him and flushed, embarrassed. Then he grinned guiltily at the table, pushed his curls off his forehead and got into a serious-sounding conversation with Laakhi, the sportscaster-slapper. Nobody had snitched on him then, I thought, and relaxed. Thank God!

  Hairy and Shivnath looked like they wanted to talk to me about the whole lucky-charm-breaks-an-arm incident, but I think Wes had warned them not to. So they just shook hands with me very meaningfully and kept offering me good stuff to eat right through the meal. Gargantuan watermelons, whole salmon with dead glaring eyes and a massive boiled ham, all offered to me with the most dramatically speaking looks possible. And if I passed them anything they went, Thank you, Zoyaji, Oh thank you very much, ji and tussi great ho ji, in these broken grateful voices till Wes looked around and glared and that shut them up.

  They introduced me to Vikram Goyal too, whom Mon had seen on TV last night and called an infant with facial pubic hair. He smiled at me and said, in a slightly oily, just-broken voice, 'It's an honour.'

  Of course, Navneet and Ali were still part of our fifteen member squad. They didn't look sulky or guilty, quite the opposite. They were being pretty boisterous and nobody was not speaking to them or anything.

  They all ate quickly and sparely and were soon ready to troop into the elevator and leave.

  I jumped up and hugged everybody in turn, and it seemed quite natural and unforced. I didn't feel unwanted or Durga Khote-ish any more. A little chat with the coach had done wonders for my comfort levels at this particular table.

  I think Nikhil manoeuvred cleverly to be the last one out. As I finally turn
ed to him, he gave me this really business-like look, cleared his throat and went, 'Umm...Zoya, a word with you in private, if you please.'

  So I put on this blase, whatever expression and trailed behind him into the elevator. We stood side by side looking straight ahead at the door as it slid shut smoothly before us. Then he turned towards me, slid his large warm hands very deliberately into the back pockets of my jeans and drew me in towards him.

  It was very, very intimate.

  'Hey,' he said softly.

  I looked up, shaking the hair off my face as nonchalantly as I could, my hands coming up to hook the collar of his blue tee shirt. 'What?' I asked his superbly muscled chest, as for some reason I couldn't quite meet his Boost-brown eyes.