The Zoya Factor Read Online Free

the campaign should appear (as in TV channels, radio channels, newspapers, magazines, the Internet, and street hoardings) so that the maximum number of people of the type the client wants to target end up seeing it. It's a fascinating, unabashedly shallow world, and I fell madly in love with it when I came here as a summer trainee two years ago.
    I snuck into Sanks's cabin and hung around waiting for him to look at me. But he was leaning back in his armchair, both eyes closed, listening to a script that Neelo Basu (a lean, mean cadaverous machine, in a SICK MY DUCK tee shirt who lives to smoke joints and download south Indian sleaze off the Net) was narrating with full feeling. I had no option but to hang around near the cabin door and hear it too.
    'Film opens on this sexy fucking highway, okay? There's this biker dude riding the Terminator, and as he cruises by, these massive fucking gates open for him, all by themselves, like magically. The dude grins a crooked grin and rides through and then he comes up to this high mountain pass in fucking Ladakh, okay? And these massive boulders roll aside magically too. He grins, again, like this happens every day for him, you know? And then he passes this green meadow where these babes are doing yoga, okay? They're all really hot, stacked types. Solid mutton -shutton happening, in skin-tight leotards, okay. And as he approaches them, they do this fucking mandook aasan , the frog position, okay, basically all hundred of them go up on their hands, raise their butts in the air and spread their legs out, like fully, man. Then this Hollywood-trailer type voice-over says: "THE WORLD OPENS WIDE FOR THE NERO-TASHA TERMINATOR."'
    Neelo dropped the dramatic pose he'd frozen in, looked eagerly at Sanks and asked, 'What d'yu think?'
    Sanks, eyes still closed, said mildly, 'Comments, gentlemen?'
    One brave little servicing guy spoke up. 'I like it,' he said stoutly. 'It's different. It'll get us noticed.'
    Neelo beamed at him, but Sanks said, eyes still closed, 'Why don't you come naked to work tomorrow, fucker? You'll be different and you'll get noticed.' The servicing guy shrank backward as Sanks opened dangerously glittering eyes and glared at Neelo. 'It's the Nero-Tasha Terminator, you fuck,' he spat out balefully. 'Not the Nero-Tasha Fornicator. When are you going to get your mind out of the gutter?'
    But Neelo stood his ground. 'Don't be so one-track-minded, Sankar,' he said loftily. 'I'm showing how much respect this bike commands. Gates and shit open for it. Ladakhi boulders! And I did research, man! I went on the Net and found out the names of yoga aasans and all. This is a real aasan, by the way, in case you think I've made it up. Actually, if you think about it, it's quite a subtle script...'
    Sanks got to his feet. 'Subtle, my ass,' he said rudely and then, spotting me, said, 'Aah, Zoya, take Subtle Bihari Vajpayee here and hit the airport. Your flight leaves at one.'
    So then Neelo took me home in his rattling car to pick up my things for the trip. On the way he went on about how cool his script was and how he was a creative giant reporting to pygmies-in-suits and how the only way to sell bikes was to tell the consumer he would get laid big time if he bought the Nero-Tasha bike.
    'In fact,' said Neelo, fully warming to his theme, 'that's the only way to sell anything, man! Bikes, televisions, insurance, cold drinks.... Buy this, get laid! Buy that, get laid! Buy fucking anything , get laid! Hey, maybe I can sell my script to Zing! whatdyuthink, Zoya? "The World Opens Wide For The Zing! Drinker". Cool, huh?'
    ***
    3

    Dhaka isn't that popular a destination but that day the lines snaking in front of the Biman Air counters were the longest in the terminal. Malayalis, Manipuris, Sardars, old, young, pierced or vibhooti-smeared, they were all in the queue.
    That's cricket fever for you.
    It's the Great Indian Disease, I tell you. Worse than dengue or polio or tuberculosis. They should