Lokey looked completely scandalized. 'Why are you kicking your foot into my stomach like this?' he protested. 'If people like you take this kind of approach then how will I earn my livelihood?'
I just looked at him, wondering if I was being too moralistic.
Sensing my ambiguity, he looked here and there, then put one burly arm around me. 'Think it over carefully, Joyaji,' he said hoarsely. 'Tauji may even be persuaded to up to fifty.' He waggled all five meaty digits of his left hand at me tantalizingly.
Fifty lakhs, I thought dreamily. Fifty lakhs before I was even twenty-eight years old? Fifty lakhs was a pretty good consolation prize for a broken heart.
'And we can arrange it so you have to pay minimum taxes,' Lokey said. 'We'll give the government just one tiny little bite, eh?'
'And what about you, eh?' I asked, getting into the mood of the thing. 'You'll take a big fat bite out of it, won't you?'
He rubbed his hands together, with happy glee. 'Now you're talking!' he said, chuckling fatly. 'Now you're talking business, Joyaji!'
'Thank you,' I said. 'Now can I go to the loo, Lokey?'
'By all means ji, why hold it back?' he said and oiled away.
I was walking back to my table, when suddenly, a large pink person waylaid me and shouted out my name. I blinked up at him, mystified, and by listening with great concentration, managed to decode that he was 'Butch' and that he knew me from the IPL match, where he'd played for Kings XI, Punjab.
'Butch' led me triumphantly to 'the guys in the bar' Nikhil had mentioned earlier, who turned out to be most of the Aussie team plus half the Miss Universe contestants crop of the year.
The Aussies set up a loud cheer when Butch announced who I was, while the babes in the group looked at me curiously, obviously wondering what is this short fluffy person doing in our fabulous midst? I couldn't speak much (having been hit by a sudden relapse of an oh-my-God-white-people attack) but I smiled benignly at all of them as they shook my hand like it was made of glass, and tried to talk to me in the broken Hindi they'd picked up from the crowds who routinely hurled abuses at them in Eden Garden. Then some song they all liked came on and they took to the tiny wooden dance floor, leaving me alone with Nikhil.
He was frowning down into his cellphone, looking like he didn't want to talk, so I hoisted my red rucksack onto my shoulder and muttered 'bye' and started slinking away.
He looked up suddenly, startling me, and I was so jumpy that I promptly dropped my rucksack and it crashed against the table and fell to the floor, taking his fancy phone down with it.
'What is wrong with you?' he said exasperatedly as we both knelt down to the floor scrambling for our stuff and suddenly I was back at the Tera Numbar gate, groping through the scattered madhumalati blossom for a pair of red plastic back-scratcher-cum-fly-swatters.
Sudden, stupid tears stung the back of my eyes.
And then I saw to my total horror that my rucksack had snapped open and my well-thumbed copy of the Nikhil Khoda pocket biography In Good Nick was staring him right in the face. He reached for it slowly, held it up, and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. 'Yours?' he inquired smugly.
'Monita's, actually,' I lied quickly, totally mortified, and reached for it, looking anywhere but at him. But then I spotted something on the floor and this thrilling, giddy wave of triumph washed right through me from head to toe. I reached down, and in full slow motion, picked up his fancy phone and held it up for him to see. A smiling, not entirely unattractive image of me was the screen saver on it.
'Yours?' I inquired smugly.
He closed his eyes, coming very close (I think) to cursing under his breath. Then opened them again. 'Uh huh,' he muttered.
I nodded triumphantly, going from crushed to cocky in two seconds flat. 'So!' I said, reclaiming my seat with an important air. 'You guys are doing great, congratulations!'
'All thanks to you, of course,' he answered sarcastically, not at all like somebody who was talking to the girl whose picture he'd saved in a very lover-like way on his phone.
I had this sudden urge to snatch his phone back and check if the picture was really of me. But of course that would've looked a little desperate, so I didn't. Instead, I raised my chin and said, 'Well, I seem to be doing more good than harm.'
He shook his head in disbelief. 'You really believe this Zoya Devi stuff! You really believe you're lucky! An educated girl like you! It's amazing!'
'And you don't?' I asked accusingly.
'Of course, I don't!' he said, sounding genuinely insulted. 'Zoya, you little idiot, luck has nothing to do with my liking you!' He glanced away towards the dancing Aussies, lowered his voice, and added, his eyes urgently appealing, 'You had me in Dhaka, the moment I smelled the gunsmoke in your hair.'
'No, I didn't,' I said instantly, my voice shaking slightly. 'You thought I was stupid. You said so!'
He glared at me, fully frustrated, like I was an idiot fielder who'd just let a big one through.
'Well?' I said challengingly.
He shrugged his shoulders and said dryly, 'You know, this may come as a bit of surprise to you, but guys don't always say what they think...'
But I didn't want to hear what he was saying. 'Ya-ya, whatever,' I said, heatedly. 'I've thought about all this okay, you didn't start being nice to me till after the IPL and you didn't - my voice broke a little, how humiliating - 'kiss me till after the Benito's guy ran Rawal over.'
There was a long silence. 'Look, I'm not going to get into a stupid argument about this,' he said finally. 'I simply don't have the time.'
'Oh, I'm really busy too,' I said instantly, just in case he thought I had nothing better to do than hang around and talkto him.
He flashed me a wry smile. 'Aren't you here on an all-expenses-paid holiday?'
'I have an interview with Channel Seven,' I said airily, hitching my bag higher on my shoulder. 'People from all over Australia are going to call me up and ask me questions.'
'About what?' he asked snidely. 'Astrology? Predictions? Or are you holding a seance?'
I didn't say anything. Of course there was no interview. I was being contrary for no good reason again. He seemed to bring that out in me.
He said, 'I see you're still wearing that bracelet.'
My heart gave an absurd jump. 'Oh this,' I said casually, almost as if I'd forgotten it was there. 'Yes, I am.'
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting, 'So, Zoya, did you think about what I said?' he asked. 'Would you still wear my bracelet if I was an account executive at AWB, say?'
I looked up startled. The guy seemed to have this incredible ability to read my mind.
'Well?'
I took a deep breath and decided to be honest. 'Yes, I did think about it,' I admitted steadily. 'And, yes, I think I would.'
'No, you wouldn't!' he lashed out, drawing back from me, his voice surprisingly bitter. Then he wrinkled his forehead and switched to a high little voice, 'Because I've thought about all this okay, (was he actually copying me?) and you didn't start being nice to me till after I got made captain!'
What kind of crap conversation was this? I pulled off his stupid bracelet and handed it back to him. 'I was only wearing it,' I hissed, 'because I wanted to give it back to you tonight.'
'Oh, so you came here hoping to meet me, then?' he said, grinning obnoxiously and putting his hand out for the bracelet.
'Oh yes,' I said sarcastically, my voice shaking just a little, 'you're all I ever think about, day or night, waking or sleeping!'
I dropped his stupid bracelet into his stupid hand and walked away.
'See you at breakfast,' he called after me as the Aussies traipsed back to his table. 'Your Luckiness!'
***
17
But he didn't. See me at breakfast, I mean. Because, late that night, I got wretchedly ill. I tossed and turned all night, red-eyed and feverish. Rinku Chachi insisted the Aussies had poisoned me. 'Soch, beta,' she said. 'Did you eat and drink anything they gave?'
'What about that Reita Sing babe, then?' Mon said from the doorway. She was staying away from me, worried about Armaan catching my bug. 'Maybe she poisoned you, huh, Zo?'
'What is wrong with you people?' I said exasperatedly, massaging my throbbing temples. 'I've caught a viral, that's all. Go to sleep.'
They did go to bed, but the first thing Mon did in the morning was call Dieter Rund and tell him to do something about me. So then Dieter brought over this bald Aussie doctor. They fussed over me, checked me out thoroughly, and then the baldie proclaimed I had some kind of forty-eight-hour flu and would be infectious for the next three days.
Dieter nodded and said, 'Better not come for breakfast tomorrow, Zoya.'
'Okay,' I croaked miserably, crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over my throbbing head. 'Tell the boys best of luck for me.'
My dad called me in the afternoon and clucked on the phone in a most uncharacteristic manner. 'Look after yourself, beta,' he said urgently. 'We need you till the finals.' Ya right. After that, of course, I could keel over and die for all he cared. I assured him that I'd look after myself and hung up.
I slept through most of the day and when I woke up Rinku Chachi told me Nikhil had called. He'd sounded concerned, apparently. Well, I sure wasn't going to call him back. This is your dream, baby, I thought crabbily, blowing huge quantities of hot snot into my pajama sleeve. Win tomorrow against Australia and make me redundant if you can!
Rinku Chachi stayed back to watch the match with me the next day but Mon, eager to escape my flu, took Armaan to the Gabba. We put on the TV bright and early and caught the commentators discussing me:
'So the Zoya Factor seems to be in abeyance today, eh Beeru?' Jay asked brightly.
'That's right,' Beeru nodded. 'Zoya's not well.'
Jay acted all fakely concerned. 'Yes, I believe she has an infectious bug?'
'That's right, but don't let your hopes soar too high, Jay. Besides, the doctors say Zoya will be fine day after tomorrow.'
Jay made a wry face and tried to say something but Beeru cut him off by saying playfully, 'She went pubbing with some of your players last night. So...was there any sabotaging you want to tell us about?'
Jay looked pained at this. 'Scurrilous slander,' he said laconically. 'Vicious rumours.'
Beeru laughed. 'Vul, if India win today, Jay, at least you lot can't whine about unfair tactics or Indian black magic.'
Jay smirked good-naturedly. 'We were gonna win this match anyway,' he said. 'Only thing is, now you have a good excuse for losing.'
Beeru snorted and before he could say anything, Tim smoothly said, 'And here's the pitch report straight from Woolloongabba!' And they cut to the stadium, where the burly looking groundsman was standing with the other anchor, examining the pitch. It was a good pitch, apparently, which would hold up well and not deteriorate and provide a lot of spin, whatever that meant. According to the weather report we could expect warm sunny skies and clear weather, with a maximum temperature of 37 degrees. And then it was time for the toss.
Khoda sauntered in with the chubby-cheeked Aussie captain. He asked for heads and the umpire tossed.
And for the first time during that World Cup, Nikhil Khoda lost the toss.
Hah!
The great Indian Crab Mentality surfaced in my heart, but only half-heartedly. Khoda looked pretty unaffected though, and when the Aussie captain said he wanted to bat first, he told the umpire he'd been looking to field first, anyway. Then they sauntered off and after a short ad break, in which I swallowed my antibiotics and found a whole roll of toilet paper to blow my nose into, the Aussie openers came out to bat.
They hit the ground running. The ground blazed with boundaries in every direction, fours and sixes reigned and the Aussie supporters went nuts cheering. Thind and Zahid tried to stem the flow valiantly but by the time fifteen overs were done the Aussies were 122 for no loss.
'At this run rate they'll close at almost 500,' Rinku Chachi said despondently, looking up from her phone calculator. 'Oh Zoya, beta, get well soon!'
I nodded irritably. My head was splitting, my eyes were watering and I think the flu had somehow affected my heart's functioning - I found I actually sort of almost wanted India to win. Without me. Really. I'd become noble overnight. I said crossly, 'Oh, don't be silly, Chachi. Nikhil sambhal lega. He'll do something. There's a long way to go yet, you know!'
On the field Nikhil was scowling and getting his boys into a huddle, his eyes blazing. The commentators, Jay and Beeru, were of course thrilled with the competitive cricket on display and insisted that it was all because I wasn't there.
'That's the trouble with depending on lucky charms, Beeru,' Jay said, a little pompously. 'You lose faith in yourself. This hardly looks like the same side that decimated West Indies four days ago. It's pathetic.'
'I think you're right, my friend,' Beeru said sombrely. 'The Indians are looking sadly at sea. Their ship is pitching and rolling and Nikhil Khoda seems to have lost his compass.'
'You're very nautical today, Beeru. What's up?' Jay asked
Beeru sighed. 'I've just got a sinking feeling, that's all,' he said.
Get lost, Beeru, I thought, blowing my nose so hard that my eyes started to water. You don't know your ass from a hole in a sambar vada. The boys will pull it together. They will. They will.
And surprisingly enough, they did. Right after the break for drinks, Khoda shifted the field around and put hairy-baby Vikram Goyal in and he proved to be awesome. He contained the Aussies brilliantly and then Zahid took two wickets in quick succession. Balaji came in for a short but effective spell and then Harry did some hardcore unsubtle bowling and picked up a couple of wickets too. Suddenly, the Aussies were 181 for five in thirty overs. Pretty soon it got so bad the Aussie crowd started leaving, but it could've just been because prime sunbathing time was over.
I abruptly stopped feeling noble and started feeling awful that India may actually win without me. The speed with which I was switching sides was making me giddy.
Meanwhile Jay and Beeru were doing some quick backtracking:
'Yes, well, I did think they wouldn't be able to maintain that pace for long...' Jay said shamelessly.
Rinku Chachi snorted. 'Looking at how they are licking up after spitting!' she said, 'I'm going to the loo, beta.'
The Aussies were all out for 223, their lowest in this World Cup, and the ad break had begun.
We ordered lunch and sat down in front of the telly again fifteen minutes later.
The panel with Jay and Beeru was back and Beeru was gloating shamelessly. 'What happened, Jay?' he crowed. 'What was that fall-down effect we just saw, eh?'
Jay put up a spirited defence but his heart wasn't in it. 'Lots of cricket left in the game, mate,' he said doggedly. 'That pitch is turning something wicked. Wait and watch.'
So we all watched as Harry and Shivnath strutted out cockily and took their place on the pitch. They got off to a solid start, piling up runs steadily. There was no hurry, of course, the required run rate was an easy 4.1 and getting lower with every delivery bowled.
They kept cutting to Khoda in the players' balcony and I couldn't understand why he was scowling so awfully, waving a red plastic stick with his hands. With a pang of regret I recognized the back-scratcher-cum-fly-swatter we'd bought together. Wes looked pretty worried next to him.
'Good performance by India today,' said Jay grudgingly as the camera zoomed in on Nikhil till we could see the stubble on his jaw in gorgeous detail. 'Young Nick Khoda found his compass again, what do you say, Beeru?'
'Or else he's steering by the stars, Jay,' said Beeru. 'He keeps looking at the sky all the time!'
Then a runner came on to the field with water for Harry and he clearly said something to him.
'Now what could that be about?' Jay said.
And Beeru responded, 'I think he's te
lling them to step up the run rate because he's worried about rain...'
The camera cut to Khoda and sure enough he was frowning up at the sky. With good reason. Grey clouds loomed over the Gabba.
'Oh no,' Rinku Chachi groaned and grabbed her phone calculator. 'Oh no! Hai Ram!'
'What?' I asked blankly. 'We're going to win, aren't we?' And then she told me that if it started raining nowand the match had to be stopped after 15 overs, they'd count it as a whole match. 'It's that bakwaas Duckworth-Lewis system,' she told me. 'When a match is interrupted by rain, they'll compare our score at 15 or 25 or 35 overs and their score at 15, 25 or 35 overs, and award the match to whoever was doing better at that point. And that, most probably, will be - '
The Zoya Factor Page 29