Silly Point

Chick lit meets cricket. But the length takes away much of the spunk

The Zoya Factor,
Anuja Chauhan
HarperCollins India, Rs 295

Single, young woman determinedly searches for Mr Right. That species being extinct — or gay and married — there’s a lot of angst to deal with. Enter friends, wit and retail therapy. And before the plot and the fun ends, a scrumptious mate too. Chick lit for you. To that concoction, Anuja Chauhan, author of The Zoya Factor and the adwoman who has given us lines like “Nothing official about it” and “Yeh dil mange more”, adds the authentic Indian fizz, cricket.
You have curly-haired chubby-cheeked Karol Bagh-type Zoya Singh Solanki, a client-servicing executive in love with the “fascinating, unabashedly shallow world” of advertising. Before she can start brooding about her single status — in the time-honoured tradition of chick-lit heroines, Zoya finds herself in the middle of managing an ad campaign with the Boys in Blue. After a breakfast with the cricketers during the ICC Champions Trophy, the secret is out. Zoya, born at the moment India won the Prudential World Cup on June 25, 1983, is a cricket goddess — the team that eats with her, licks the rivals clean. The Indian cricket board sends her to World Cup 2011 as the official lucky mascot. Only, Captain Nikhil Lodha, with cute butt, “Boost-brown eyes”, the earnestness of a Nike ad and a soft spot for our heroine, is furious.

Chauhan has an ear for dialogue and the hybrid language of urban India crackles in her hands, though she gets carried away sometimes. The ensemble characters, mostly drawn from reality, keep you on a fun guessing game. There’s Birendra Singh, the motor-mouth commentator; Zahid Pathan, the fast bowler with Greek-god looks; Jogpal Lohia, the venal head of the cricket board and even an Australian coach whose angry e-mail gets leaked.

The novel begins well and has an interesting premise. But the easy wit in the writing turns screechy at the end as the plot goes around in loops. Zoya, the goddess with a swollen head, swings often between love and distrust and gets catty with Lodha for no reason. By the end of the book, she has lost out in generosity and our patience.
The editors should have lopped off 200 pages. At 509 pages, it’s a chick epic. That takes away much of the spunk.

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