The applause from the previous segment was still rippling through the JW Marriott ballroom when the lights shifted to a vibrant, youthful blue. The giant screens pulsed with the energy of the next generation.
Ayushmann Khurrana bounded back onto the center stage, microphone in hand, his tuxedo looking as sharp as ever despite the frenetic pace of the evening.
"We have honored the legends, and we have laughed with the captains," Ayushmann announced, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "But the future of Indian sport isn't just bright; it is blinding. It is time to recognize the young guns, the prodigies who are already making waves on the global stage."
He gestured to the wings.
"To present the award for Best Young Achiever (Male), please welcome the man who has redefined aggression in cricket, Virat Kohli, and the stunning, evergreen Mandira Bedi!"
The upbeat entrance music played. Virat walked out, adjusting his velvet blazer, a confident swagger in his step. Mandira Bedi, looking elegant in a signature noodle-strap saree, walked beside him. They met at the podium.
"Virat," Mandira smiled, leaning into the mic. "You know a thing or two about being a young achiever. U-19 World Cup captain, and now a regular in the Men in Blue. What is the secret?"
Virat leaned in, flashing a grin. "Hunger, Mandira. And maybe a little bit of Delhi food. But mostly hunger to win."
The audience chuckled.
"Well," Mandira said, opening the envelope. "This young man certainly has that hunger. The award goes to the shooting sensation... Asher Noria!"
Asher Noria, the young shooter who had set the range on fire, walked up to the stage. Virat shook his hand firmly, handing him the trophy. It was a moment of recognition from one rising star to another.
---
Ayushmann returned as Virat and Mandira exited.
"From one heartthrob to another," Ayushmann teased, looking towards the cricketers' table. "Our next presenter is a man who has had quite a year. He wins World Cups, he wins Purple Caps, and apparently, he wins hearts with flying kisses."
The camera panned to Siddanth Deva. He smiled, buttoning his black jacket as he stood up.
"Please welcome," Ayushmann announced, "The Devil of Cricket, Siddanth Deva, accompanied by the beautiful Prachi Desai!"
Deva walked onto the stage. The black monochromatic suit looked even more striking under the stage lights. He met Prachi Desai in the center. She was wearing a flowing pastel gown, looking every bit the Bollywood starlet.
Deva offered his arm. She took it with a smile, and they walked to the podium together. It was a picture-perfect moment—Cricket meeting Cinema.
"You look very serious, Mr. Deva," Prachi teased, her voice soft and melodious. "Is the pressure of the award show worse than a final over?"
Deva leaned into the mic, his voice calm and deep. "The final over is in my control, Prachi. Here? I'm just hoping I don't read the wrong name."
Prachi laughed. "Well, let's see. The award for Best Young Achiever (Female) goes to..."
She opened the envelope. Deva leaned in to read it with her.
"...the incredible talent on the chess board... Soumya Swaminathan!"
The applause was thunderous. Deva handed over the trophy, his demeanor respectful and poised.
---
The mood shifted gears instantly.
"Now," Ayushmann said, "We need some volleying. Not just in sports, but in words."
He welcomed Sania Mirza, the queen of Indian tennis, and Manish Paul, the television host known for his rapid-fire comedy.
Manish Paul bounded onto the stage, wearing a flashy jacket. Sania stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed but amused.
"Sania ji!" Manish exclaimed, pretending to be starstruck. "I have a question. In tennis, love means zero. In my life, love means zero. Does that mean I am a tennis player?"
Sania rolled her eyes, leaning into the mic. "Manish, in tennis, you need a serve. In your life, I think you just need help."
The crowd roared. Manish clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded.
"Game, Set, Match, Mirza," Manish admitted.
They proceeded to the awards.
"The Team of the Year," Sania announced with pride. "A team that fought against the odds. The Indian Davis Cup Team!"
The tennis squad walked up, receiving a huge ovation for their heroic efforts in the World Group play-offs.
"And," Manish added, "Behind every great athlete is a teacher who screams at them. The Coach of the Year goes to the man behind our wrestling glory... Yashvir Singh!"
---
The lights dimmed to a deep, sultry red. The sound of a rustic drum beat filled the air.
Ayushmann's voice floated from the darkness. "She has arrived with a bang. Or should I say, with a Dabangg."
Sonakshi Sinha appeared on stage, surrounded by background dancers. The hit song Munni Badnaam Hui blasted through the speakers.
It was a high-energy, mass-appealing performance. Sonakshi moved with infectious energy, her lehenga swirling.
The cricketers were loving it. Harbhajan Singh was shoulder-dancing in his seat. Yuvraj was whistling. It was the perfect Bollywood interlude to the sporting formalities.
---
As the music faded, Ayushmann returned, looking a bit more serious.
"2010 was the year Delhi hosted the world. The Commonwealth Games were a roaring success, and our athletes shone like gold."
He called up two names that had become household legends.
"For Outstanding Performance at the Commonwealth Games... the man with the golden aim, Gagan Narang!"
Gagan walked up, the weight of his four gold medals metaphorical but palpable.
"And," Ayushmann continued, "The girl who hit the bullseye and our hearts... Deepika Kumari!"
The young archer, shy but proud, accepted her award. The room stood up for them. These were the athletes who had put India on the Olympic sports map.
---
Then, the atmosphere changed completely. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop.
The lights converged on the center stage.
Shah Rukh Khan walked out.
He didn't speak to the audience. He looked at two men standing behind him—Sardara Singh and Sandeep Singh, the stalwarts of Indian hockey.
SRK looked at them, channeling Kabir Khan.
"Sattar minute," SRK whispered, the mic picking it up perfectly.
The room went pin-drop silent.
"Sattar minute hain tumhare paas. Shayad tumhari zindagi ke sabse khaas sattar minute..."
He delivered the iconic monologue from Chak De! India. His voice rose and fell, filled with the passion that had made the movie a cult classic. He wasn't acting; he was channeling the spirit of every sportsman in the room.
When he finished—"Jao, jee lo apni zindagi"—Sandeep Singh and Sardara Singh raised their hockey sticks.
SRK hugged them.
The applause was deafening. It was an emotional peak.
SRK wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and smiled, the intense coach vanishing, the charming host returning.
"Hockey is our heart," SRK said. "And these boys beat in our chests."
He moved to the podium.
"Now, back to the gentleman's game. Or in this case, the gentlewoman's game."
He opened the envelope.
"The Best Indian Female Cricketer. She is the captain, the leader, the legend. Mithali Raj!"
Mithali walked up in a saree. SRK kissed her hand gallantly as he gave her the trophy.
"You are the true 'Don' of cricket, Mithali ji," SRK charmed.
"And now," SRK took a deep breath. "The big one. Cricketer of the Year (Male). Do I even need to open the envelope? He scored 200 in Gwalior. He is timeless. He is... Sachin Tendulkar!"
Sachin walked up. The ovation was long and sustained. SRK bowed to him, a King bowing to a God.
Sachin accepted the award, his speech humble as always, dedicating it to the fans and his family.
---
SRK looked at the front row.
"We have royalty in the house. Sunil Gavaskar sir. Virender Sehwag. Please, come on stage. I need some batting tips."
Sunny G and Sehwag walked up. The stage now held SRK, Gavaskar, and Sehwag.
SRK put his arm around Gavaskar.
"Sunny sir, I have heard stories. They say you were the original 'Little Master', but you are also a master of melody. Is it true?"
Gavaskar laughed, looking embarrassed. "Shah Rukh, don't put me on the spot."
"Sir, for me?" SRK flashed his dimples. "Just two lines. An old classic."
Gavaskar sighed, smiling. He took the mic. He had a surprisingly decent voice.
He sang two lines from a Marathi folk song, his voice steady and rhythmic.
The crowd clapped along.
"Wah!" SRK clapped. "Multitalented!"
He turned to Sehwag. "Viru! You sing while batting. We know this. You sing Kishore Kumar while hitting sixes."
Sehwag grinned. "It helps me concentrate, Shah Rukh bhai."
"Okay," SRK said, rubbing his hands. "Singing is done. Now... Chak De needs a dance. Sunny sir, Viru, will you shake a leg with me?"
Gavaskar looked horrified but amused.
Sehwag, however, crossed his arms. He looked at SRK with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Shah Rukh bhai," Sehwag said into the mic. "I will dance. But on one condition."
"Anything for you, Viru."
"You have to bring Paaji," Sehwag pointed at Sachin, who was trying to sneak away. "If Sachin Paaji dances, I dance."
SRK laughed. "Done!"
He ran over to Sachin. He pleaded. He folded his hands.
Sachin shook his head, blushing, but the crowd started chanting "SA-CHIN! SA-CHIN!"
Finally, Sachin relented. He walked to the center.
"But wait!" SRK shouted. "This is Team India. We can't have just the openers. We need the middle order! We need the finishers! We need the future!"
SRK jumped off the stage. He ran into the audience.
He grabbed MS Dhoni by the hand. Dhoni laughed, standing up.
He pulled Rahul Dravid. The Wall looked reluctant but joined in.
He grabbed Sourav Ganguly. Dada adjusted his collar and walked up like a boss.
Then SRK ran to the back tables.
"Youngistan! Come on!"
He beckoned Virat Kohli, Siddanth Deva, Suresh Raina, and Cheteshwar Pujara.
Siddanth buttoned his jacket. "Here we go," he grinned at Virat.
"Don't step on my feet," Virat warned with a grin.
---
The stage was now full. A literal dream team.
Gavaskar, Sachin, Dravid, Ganguly, Dhoni, Sehwag, Yuvraj, Virat, Deva, Raina, Pujara.
Three generations of Indian cricket standing shoulder to shoulder with the King of Bollywood.
SRK stood in the front.
"Okay, listen!" SRK commanded, acting like the coach from the movie. "Nothing complicated. No moonwalks. Just one step. The Punjabi Power Step!"
He demonstrated. Hands raised high in a 'V', moving up and down to the beat.
"Simple? Ready?"
The DJ dropped the beat.
"Kuch kariye... Kuch kariye... Nas nas meri khole..."
The title track of Chak De! India blasted through the speakers.
It was a sight to behold.
Sunil Gavaskar was trying to match the beat, looking endearing.
Sehwag was dancing with abandoning, laughing at Dravid, who was clapping off-beat but smiling broadly.
Ganguly and Sachin were doing the step with synchronized grace.
Dhoni was cool, just bobbing his head and moving his arms.
And the youngsters? They went wild.
Virat and Deva were at the back, jumping higher than anyone else. Deva grabbed Raina and spun him around.
SRK weaved through them, hugging them, dancing with them.
The crowd was on its feet, clapping, cheering, some crying at the sheer magnitude of the legends on one platform.
Confetti cannons fired, filling the air with gold and silver paper.
As the song reached its crescendo—"Chak De India!"—SRK signaled.
All the players, from Gavaskar to Deva, raised their hands in unison, pointing to the sky.
A freeze-frame for the ages.
The past, the present, and the future of Indian cricket, united in celebration.
"Thank you, India!" SRK shouted over the fading music. "Goodnight! And keep playing!"
The broadcast faded to black, capturing Siddanth Deva laughing as Sachin Tendulkar patted him on the back, the torch passing invisibly but surely in the midst of the celebration.
The night was over. The memories were eternal.