Free The Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan Page A

charm?' he said calmly enough. 'Of course, I don't. But the next match is against Australia, so I don't want to take any risks. If it gives some of the lads more spunk, I'm all for it.'
    'But suppose you win that one?' I protested. 'Harry's quite capable of insisting I stay on for the match after that too!'
    Khoda smiled enigmatically. 'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. You set up your patchwork shoot for the evening after the next match and get yourself a seat on the morning flight.'
    I nodded back at him doubtfully and he reached out and tousled my hair in a nice, elder-brotherly sort of way. 'Now smile,' he said.
    I smiled.
    The elevator pinggged open. He stood aside to let me exit first, in this very cheesy mock-chivalrous way.
    'By the way, Zoya?'
    I turned.
    He grinned at me, white teeth flashing in his brown face, 'Nice life philosophy.'
    Huh?
    He glanced down at my tee shirt quizzically and then walked away.
    Puzzled, I yanked it away from me and squinted at the lettering. There, in bright firoza blue on a purple background were emblazoned three words I'd failed to read when I'd slipped on Neelo's tee shirt in the morning: DRINK. HUMP. DIE.
    I aimed a woman-of-the-world-ish shrug in the general direction of where he'd gone. 'Yeah...heh, heh,' I said weakly, 'pretty nice, huh?'
    ***

    Later that day when the three of us went down to the lobby we saw this big Zing! banner strung up outside one of the banquet halls. It said 'A SODA WITH KHODA' in big blue letters and underneath was a message in Bangla which Neelo translated for us, ' Welcome Little Winners of the Share-a- Zing! with Nikhil Khoda Contest !'
    There was a scrum of dark-eyed, excited-looking kids at the door, most of them looking no older than twelve, escorted by some event management people in Zing! tee shirts. A perspiring Lokey was standing by the door, talking on the same cellphone Nikhil Khoda had shaken threateningly under my nose a couple of days ago.
    'Hey, hey stop!' Neelo said, grabbing the back of my, well actually his , stupid tee shirt (which I was now wearing inside out). 'Let's go in and watch. It should be a blast, man!'
    Lokey said it was cool if we watched, so we went in and found some chairs in the back row and settled down. There was a little stage up front and lots and lots of kids, some of them with bats and balls and pads, all of them with Zing! bottles in their hands.
    'Where are these bachchas from?' I asked Lokey as he came in and collapsed on a chair next to me.
    'From all over the subcontinent, they are thirty-five in all,' he puffed.
    'What did they have to do to win, dude?' Neelo asked curiously. 'Some of them look really small.'
    It was an under-the-crown-cap scheme, the event management guy explained. They all got to have a Q and A session with Khoda, and one of them (the first Indian kid to have found the A SODA WITH KHODA crown cap) would get to read out a special message that he wrote himself (well, with a little help from his dad or his elocution teacher or whatever) for the Indian team. He pointed out the winner kid to us, very small and brown, but with spiky hair and eyes as bright as buttons. He was wearing a shiny suit with a ready-made tie on an elastic band and had a very purposeful expression on his face. He held a thick sheaf of papers in his hand.
    'Khoda had better watch out,' Vishaal snorted. 'That kid means business, dude!'
    'Where's he, anyway?' I asked, hoping Khoda wouldn't be starry and show up late or not at all and fully break the children's hearts.
    'He's here, Joyaji!' Lokey puffed. 'Look, he's walking in now.'
    Sure enough, Nikhil had just emerged from behind the stage in a blue Zing! tee shirt and grey tracks, grinning happily, waving with both hands.
    The kids all jumped up and cheered, ' Khoda ! Khoda ! Khoda! '
    It was infectious. I found I'd leapt up too, clapping madly.
    Khoda pulled the mike out of the upright stand, walked forward casually, collapsed cross-legged right at the edge of