The Zoya Factor

by Anuja Chauhan

  Rawal grunted. 'But they're uncomfortable to wear. I won't be able to smile properly.'

  Hairy and Shivnath started sniggering at this and Vishaal shot them a dirty look. I wondered if I should tell Rawal that we didn't want smiling shots and the grimmer he looked the better, but before I could, Neelo said pleasantly, 'We can shoot you in your socks, sir.'

  But Rawal wasn't falling for that. 'Then I'll look short,' he said.

  So Vishaal said, somewhat ill-advisedly, that we could give him a little stool to stand on. Hairy and Shivee sniggered even more loudly at this and Rawal started to look thunderous. So I got into my in-charge mode and hurriedly asked him, as politely as I could: 'So what do you want us to do, Rawal-sir?'

  He looked at me like I was super-dumb or something. 'Get me new shoes, obviously. A UK nine-and-a-half. These are UK nines.'

  Man, this was an all-time low. This is why I'd gone to management school, apparently. So I could scurry around buying a pair of shoes for some dumb-ass whose only claim to fame was that when he hit a small round object with a stump of wood it travelled very far indeed.

  'Okay,' I told him, smiling through gritted teeth. 'I'll go get you a new pair of shoes.'

  'Nike,' he called after me. 'I can't wear anything else. I'm on contract.'

  I nodded and ran for the door. 'Keep shooting,' I told Vishaal as I left. 'I'll jugado something.'

  Luckily there was some kind of shopping arcade in the hotel so I hurtled in there and told the guy behind the counter the size I wanted. He was showing this lean dark dude some shoes but looked up long enough to shake his head and say in a singsong manner, 'No UK-nine-and-half-in-Nike-madum.'

  Shit! Should I buy some other brand? Or appeal to Lokey for help? But Lokey'd probably just say Rawal's Standing-in-thee-Society would go down if he wore anything less than a genuine pair of UK nine-and-a-half Nikes.

  'Okay,' I told him rapidly. 'D'you have one in any other brand?'

  He waved to an underling, who came up and started showing me the size in lots of other brands. I grabbed a pair of Montu shoes (very-good-local-brand-madum-very-cheap-madum!) whipped out a black permanent marker and blacked out the logo. Then I asked the dark guy (who was signing a credit card receipt at the counter) for his blue ballpoint pen and made an artistic little Nike swoosh on the side of both shoes.

  Then I dashed back to the banquet hall and presented the UK nine-and-a-half Montu-Nikes to dumb-ass Rawal, panting slightly.

  He nodded regally and cracked a constipated kind of smile. Get a move on, you lid. I thought. We're losing time here. Man, did he expect me to put his shoes on for him or something?

  'They're Nike, na?' he asked, one fat foot sliding reluctantly into the right shoe.

  'Sure,' I said heartily as I turned away. 'They're Ni...'

  And found myself face to face with the dark dude whose pen I'd just borrowed. And then Lokey hurried up, puffing a little, and said, 'Joya! Meet Nikhil. Nikhil Khoda. Thee skipper, you know.'

  I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and looked thee skipper in the eye. I mean, what else could I do? 'Hi,' I said, shaking his hand firmly and praying he wouldn't squeal on me. 'Nice to meet you.'

  Nikhil Khoda was tall. His shoulders were broad under his navy-blue India blazer, and his slightly overlong hair was very black against his creamy white shirt. His brown eyes were warm in a strong, bronzed face. As his lean fingers gripped mine an insane little voice in my head instantly started warbling, Yeh toh bada toinnngg hai...

  I shook my head to clear it.

  'Zoya's from servicing, Nikhil,' Lokey was saying. 'She's here to keep everything running smoothly.'

  'And I'm sure she does a good job of it,' Khoda said to Lokey in a deep easy voice. Then he turned to me, 'I've seen you before.'

  'Yes, I know,' I responded hurriedly, my heart sinking. I sneaked a look in Rawal's direction, lowered my voice and said, 'Look, I'm sorry but it was an emergency...'

  'Oh, not when you were buying those genuine Nikes,' Khoda said, his mouth twitching just a little. 'Earlier.'

  'When?' I asked blankly.

  'Yesterday. It was you, wasn't it? The pyromaniac who was letting off all those mini-Scud Missiles on the parapet last night?'

  I flushed a little and Vishaal said, 'She can't help it, dude, it's in her genes. These Rajputs smell baarood and their nostrils flare. They start rolling their eyes, tossing their heads and pawing the ground, frantic to rush out into war.'

  'Brave but stupid,' Neelo said, chiming in happily.

  'Definitely the latter,' Nikhil Khoda said dryly. 'You could've hurt yourself, you know.'

  Great. This was going so well. The captain of India's loser cricket team had just called me stupid in front of a whole bunch of people. What made it worse was that right away everybody - includingVishaal and Neelo who'd been with me last night - started nodding sycophantically and murmuring, Yes-yes-very-unsafe-very-risky-not-good-very-bad-small-children-make-them-in-Sivakasi-causes-pollution-also.

  I wanted to tell them that, hello, Truly Spiritually Evolved persons behave exactly the same in front of a king as they do in front of a beggar, and that they didn't have to slavishly agree with everything Nikhil Khoda said, but all I managed was a defensive, 'Oh no, I've been lighting crackers in my colony for years. I've got loads of experience,' which made Khoda raise a disapproving eyebrow. And then Neelo said jovially, fully putting the chopped green coriander on the bharta of my mortification, 'You can take the girl out of Karol Bagh but you can't take Karol Bagh out of the girl.'

  It was awful. I was this close to tears.

  So, of course, I squared my shoulders and smiled so brightly my cheeks hurt. There was an awkward little pause as everyone stood around grinning foolishly at famous Nikhil Khoda and then he said, 'Would you like me to change?'

  'Sure,' I nodded, quickly giving the fully professional once-over. 'The make-up room's through there.'

  He nodded, hitched his kitbag a little higher onto his shoulder and walked away. Automatically, my eyes strayed towards his fabled butt, but just then, he turned and smiled at me, in a very no-hard-feelings sort of way, and his eyes were suddenly so warm that my stupid Non-Truly-Spiritually-Evolved heartbeat zoomed to about a thousand beats per minute and I couldn't help smiling back.

  I was still smiling idiotically when Hairy came up, a full two minutes later. 'What's this about you being a fireworks freak, Zenia?' he demanded as the make-up man touched up his face.

  'It's Zoya,' I told him. 'And yes, I am a bit into fireworks, but that's just because the day I was born so many crackers went off it kind of got internalized into my DNA.'

  'You were born on Diwali?' Shivee asked.

  'No,' I said laughing. 'I was born the day India won the World Cup. You know, in '83.'

  'Twenty-fifth of June,' said Hairy promptly.

  I nodded and then Vishaal said testily, 'Harry, if you've finished your touch-up can I have you two back in the frame, please?'

  I don't think they liked the way he said it, because right away, the two of them started messing around. They got hold of the phuss phuss sprayer the make-up people were using and started spraying serious amounts of water onto Zahid Pathan's face, chortling happily.

  I think they were picking on Pathan just because they'd spotted he was a total heart-throb in the making. A simple boy from Sangrur district in Punjab, with tousled copper curls, fair Greek god looks (except for a delightfully snub nose), and big brown eyes. The most attractive thing about him was that he didn't have a clue how hot he was, though I'm sure there were a billion girls out there who'd be happy to enlighten him. And I think that's what was getting Hairy and Shivee's goat.

  Pathan was being good-natured about all the kidding around. I could see Vishaal was getting hassled though, but was too intimidated to protest. Damn, I hope I wouldn't have to go over and intervene. I nudged Lokey: 'Do something, na.'

  'I don't have to,' he whispered back. 'Look, Khoda's coming now.'

  A
nd sure enough, the moment Nikhil Khoda took his place between them they got all sober and cooperative.

  The rest of the shoot was pretty orderly. Zahid went off for a bit to read his namaz while Saif hung around guiltily, but didn't go. Neelo was looking more relaxed now, as one by one he ticked off all the shots on his list. I studied Khoda while we shot him because I was curious to see how he would react in front of the camera. Most cricketers freeze when the lights come on, they smile this stiff, too-wide smile and their eyes get a panicked deer-in-the-headlights look. You have to shoot reams of film just to get one decent shot where they don't look like halfwits. Or they make their eyes all big-big, as Eppa would say, and end up looking idiotically startled. Orthey get that cocky grin that Hairy and Shivnath had perfected. The one with that cheapie meet-me-outside-baby-I'll-show-you-my-quick-middle-wicket quality to it.

  Nikhil Khoda did square his shoulders just a little when the camera came on, but he didn't turn into a halfwit. I was pretty impressed, till I remembered that he probably had a lot of experience doing this kind of stuff. I mean, he's done so many ads for Vodafone that people have started calling it Khodafone. The only telltale sign that he wasn't absolutely comfortable facing the lights was the way he sort of narrowed his eyes down to slits before every shot. Luckily for us, though, that ended up looking good.

  The players seemed to like Neelo. He'd shot with them tons of times and they were all fairly matey. Over tea he told me that some of them, specially Hairy, were curious about me. 'They asked me who that little girl was and I told them you're this major executive who only does the Bollywood shoots,' he grinned. 'Now they all want to know if you'll go out with them.'

  I knew he was pulling my leg of course, but he'd definitely created some trouble in my life, because the next thing I knew, Shivee and Bala were on my case demanding to know why I didn't make an ad featuring them and Deepika Padukone. 'Arrey, we'll never be able to get three big stars like you together on the same dates,' is all I could come up with. 'But it's a great idea, all the same. We'll get our creative team to work on it.'

  They went off gratified and I slumped back in relief, only to notice Nikhil Khoda looking at me with amusement in his eyes. 'Nice save,' he said quietly.

  'Save?' I replied, widening my eyes as innocently as I could.

  He nodded unconvinced, and then leaned forward suddenly and touched my knee. 'Look, I'm sorry, but we have to leave now.'

  'Huh?' I said, a little wildly. 'Neelo, d'you have any shots left...?'

  He did. Three vital shots with Shivee and Hairy for a promo we were going to run called OPEN YOUR ZING! COLA WITH THESE TWO OPENERS. I whispered to him what Khoda was saying and he said all he needed was the openers for forty-five minutes more.

  'Sorry,' said Khoda, when I told him this as nicely as I could. He got to his feet and suddenly loomed hugely above me. 'The boys have to leave now - practice. And Harry has an appointment with the physio.'

  And that was it!

  In spite of the obscene amount of money we put into this stupid sport, they all just grabbed their kitbags, muttered goodbye, and left! Lokey, the snake, who pockets this huge commission from Zing! Co. as well, didn't say a word! And of course my idiot client Ranjeet just smiled weakly and thanked them in a servile way. The best part was, remember that dumbass Rawal? The one who'd caused us to lose a good half an hour at least? He took away three pairs of shoes with him! His own, the Montu-Nikes, and the pair he claimed didn't fit! What kind of cheapskate was he, anyway?

  Now I was stuck in bloody Dhaka, with a bunch of shots left to shoot and a deadline staring me in the face.

  Damn! I thought wildly. What the hell am I going to tell Sanks?

  ***

  4

  Neelo, Vishaal and I had a distress meeting after the players left and tried to figure out if we could manage without the opener shots. 'I could do some Photoshop, I guess,' Neelo said dubiously. 'Shoot some guys in office and stick Harry's and Shiv's heads on their torsos, but it'll look fake.'

  'Besides,' I reminded him, 'we cost separately for those shots and if we don't get them Zing! won't cough up that money.'

  That made Vishaal sit up and take notice. 'Fuck, do something, Zoya!' he pleaded. 'You're in servicing. This is your thing! You didn't just come to Dhaka to meet a lot of hot cricketers, you know.'

  Hello, that was so uncalled for! I had done nothing but concentrate on work the whole day. Okay, except for one quick peek at Nikhil Khoda's chest as he'd switched shirts (totally biteable, sculpted toffee, awesome). Still, these creative types panic easily, so I didn't take offence. Just looked into his wild staring eyes, patted his arm and told him reassuringly, with more confidence than I felt, 'Chill, okay? I'm on it.'

  That evening I took a long walk past the hotel property and down a tree-lined lane. I even did some jogging, and each time my feet hit the ground a voice in my brain went 'don't panic, don't panic' in an insanely martial rhythm. But it was useless. I was completely and totally panicked. The shots I'd missed were actually vital. We needed them for a promo that was breaking ten days from now. Two litre and 600ml Zing! bottle labels had to go in for printing in three days' time.

  I collapsed onto a conveniently placed wooden bench as little pulse points twitched all the way up and down my legs. I twisted my sweaty hair, curling wildly in the humidity, into a knot at the nape of my neck and sighed. What was an unsporty person like me doing taking all this exercise, anyway?

  'Excuse me, is this seat empty?'

  The inane question was uttered in a smoothly sing-song voice, which I recognized instantly. Sure enough, I looked up to see Hairy the opener smiling down at me. 'No, it's cool,' I managed to answer and he promptly folded up beside me. He'd obviously been out jogging too; he was all sweaty and smelly. He pulled out a bottle of Gatorade and chugged it down while I looked at him warily, not quite knowing what to make of the situation.

  'The batti went in the Sonargaon,' he announced eventually. 'Instead of waiting for it to come back, I decided ki, chalo, ditch the treadmill and hit the road!'

  'Oh,' I said inadequately.

  Then, Hairy Harry started jerking one leg up and down, up and down, up and down. It is a very irritating habit. My brother Zoravar used to do it a lot when he was younger, but he stopped when one of his Military Academy instructors told him that it was a habit that betrayed extreme sexual frustration. (He didn't put it quite so elegantly, though; his actual words had been, 'It reveals you're tharki, Solanki.')

  'So...how long have you been a custard?' I finally heard myself say.

  'Hain?' He looked at me in surprise.

  God, what was wrong with me? 'I meant a -' I cut myself off abruptly. I had been about to say 'cut-surd' but then I thought maybe it wasn't a politically correct question. 'Damn these machchars,' I said quickly, slapping at the mosquitoes on my bare arms. 'Are they biting you too?'

  'No,' he said, brightening up. 'But, pata hai, I know this really cool joke about machchars. There was this one machchar, okay, and he got married to a makkhi, okay? On his wedding night all his buddies pushed him into the wedding suite for his suhaag raat but he kept coming out into the corridor instead. They sent him back in again, but again he came out. Again they sent him in, again he came out. So then they asked him ki why do you keep coming out of the room? And he said, "What to do, the makkhi has put Odomos and slept!"'

  Oh my God, how old was this guy? He was looking at me, expecting me to crack up. So I did. He nodded at me happily and then - with rather obvious cunning - draped one arm over the back of the bench. 'You know, Zeeta,' he said, one leg twitching madly, 'there's a very nice nightclub at the Sheraton, do you want to go check it out tonight?

  'No, thanks,' I managed, 'and it's Zoya. I have a lot of work to do. But if you're so free' - I tried some obvious cunning myself - 'why don't you just shoot my three shots tonight?'

  His handsome face clouded over. 'Nikhil-sir won't let us-'

  I didn't let him finish. I could see Sankar Me
non's big bulging eyes before me, telling me to go for the jugular or he'd dock huge chunks off my measly salary. 'Hairy,' I said, sidling closer, 'isn't there any way we could shoot those shots we missed today? They are very important. I can't manage without them. Because you and Shivnath are the...uh...biggest stars in the team.'

  'Really?' he asked eagerly. 'And how do you measure that, Zoya?'

  'We do research,' I told him smoothly, lying through my teeth. 'Among teenage boys and young men. Across five metros, twelve mini-metros, and thirty small towns. They rate celebrities on a scale of one to ten. You are nine, Shiv is eight, and Shah Rukh Khan is seven.'

  'What about Nikhil-sir?'

  'We didn't bother to research him,' I said dismissively. 'We only did big stars.'