Date: March 24th, 2012.
Location: Grand Hyatt, Mumbai (Hosted by Mukesh & Nita Ambani).
Event: Celebration of Sachin Tendulkar's 100th Century.
While Siddanth Deva was on his way back to Hyderabad, the rest of the cricket world was gathered at the Grand Hyatt in Mumbai for the party of the decade. Mukesh and Nita Ambani had thrown a massive bash to honor the God of Cricket, and the guest list was a who's who of India.
The ballroom was a sea of tuxedos, designer sarees, and flashing cameras. A live orchestra played soft, classical renditions of Bollywood hits. The air smelled of expensive perfume and triumph.
In one corner, Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev were chatting over champagne.
"Feels a lot lighter in here, doesn't it, Paaji?" Sunny asked, looking around the relaxed crowd. "For a year, every time Sachin walked out, the air got so heavy. Now, everyone can finally breathe."
Kapil laughed. "The monkey is off the back, Sunny. The gorilla is gone! I looked at him earlier; he looks ten years younger. He can finally just play cricket again."
The lights dimmed, and Nita Ambani took the stage. She looked elegant in a golden saree.
"Tonight, we aren't just celebrating a record," she said warmly. "We're celebrating a man who taught a nation to dream. Sachin, you're the heartbeat of India. The 100th hundred isn't just a number; it's proof of your passion and your love for this country."
Applause rippled through the hall. Abhishek Bachchan took the mic next. He adjusted the stand, towering over the podium, and flashed a grin at Sachin.
"You know," Abhishek started, his voice light and teasing. "Growing up in a house with my father, I thought I knew what 'stardom' was. Then I went to a stadium with Sachin Paaji. My dad waves, people cheer. Sachin walks out, people stop breathing. It's a different level!"
The crowd laughed.
"And Paaji," Abhishek continued. "I am 6 foot 2. I have to look down to talk to most people. But when I stand next to you... I feel very, very small. Your shadow covers the whole country. Thank you for making us all walk taller."
He raised a toast, and the room applauded warmly.
Then, the mood lightened up even more when Salman Khan took the stage. The Bollywood superstar brought his usual swagger, loosening his tie.
Salman brought his trademark swagger, loosening his tie as he leaned against the podium, a mischievous glint in his eye. He looked at Sachin seated in the front row and decided to pay tribute in his own unique style, modifying an iconic dialogue from the film Don.
"Sachin," Salman said, his voice dropping to a dramatic bass. "Sachin ka record todna mushkil hi nahi, namumkin hai." (Breaking Sachin's record is not just difficult, it is impossible.)
The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. Salman waited for the noise to die down before pointing at himself.
"Aur yeh Don nahi, main bol raha hoon." (And this isn't Don saying it, it is me.)
He grinned, "And I can say this because my father, Salim Khan, wrote the original Don script. So I have the legal right to use it!"
The room roared at the lighthearted dig. Salman continued, his tone shifting to self-deprecation.
"I hope this record breaks because records are made to be broken," Salman said. "I am trying to break Aamir [Khan]'s records for a while now but in vain."
He chuckled along with the audience before turning serious. He walked down from the stage to where Sachin was seated, handing him a microphone.
"Tell me honestly," Salman asked. "Who do you think will break your 100-century record?"
Sachin smiled, taking the mic. "I see many youngsters in the back. They can break my record. Virat (Kohli) and Rohit (Sharma) are the ones."
Sachin paused, glancing at the at the table where the young players sat.
"And Siddanth Deva," Sachin added. "As long as an Indian breaks my record, I don't mind."
Thunderous applause followed. It was the passing of the torch, acknowledged publicly by the Master himself.
Salman wasn't done yet. He leaned in, putting a hand on Sachin's shoulder.
"Ek do sau ho jaye kya bidu?" (Should we go for a double hundred, partner?) Salman joked. "You have already made 100, all you need to do is make another 100. How much time can it take?"
Sachin laughed heartily, shaking his head.
"Very proud of you, man," Salman concluded, hugging him. "Love you."
Aamir Khan then came up, speaking about the human side of the legend, followed by a touching speech from Mukesh Ambani. The night was a celebration of a legacy secured.
---
Date: March 25th, 2012.
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Status: Injured.
The black SUV rolled through the iron gates of the farmhouse, the gravel crunching softly under the tires. For the first time in two years, Siddanth Deva wasn't returning as a conqueror on a short break; he was returning as a patient.
He sat in the backseat, his right leg encased in a heavy, grey pneumatic walking boot, elevated on a cushion. Beside him sat his kit bag, the zippers still coated in the dust of Mirpur.
The car stopped at the porch. Vikram Deva and Sesikala were waiting.
Vikram opened the door. He didn't say anything initially. He just looked at the boot, then at Deva's face. He saw the fatigue etched around his son's eyes—not the physical tiredness of a match, but the mental exhaustion of an injury.
"Home," Vikram said softly, offering his hand.
Deva gripped it, using his upper body strength to hoist himself out of the car. He reached for the crutches leaning against the doorframe.
"Careful, careful," Sesikala fretted, hovering around him like a nervous bird. "Don't put weight on it. Raju, help him!"
"I'm fine, Amma," Deva said, gritting his teeth as he swung his body forward on the crutches. "I've mastered the hop."
They walked slowly into the living room. It was cool and dark, the curtains drawn against the harsh Telangana summer sun. The familiar smell of incense and old wood greeted him.
"We have set up the ground floor bedroom for you," Sesikala said. "So you don't have to climb stairs. Everything is ready. TV, fridge, internet."
Deva sank onto the bed in the guest room, which had been transformed into a recovery suite. He exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders.
"Thanks, Amma," he whispered.
"I made Paya soup," she said, smoothing his hair. "Bone broth. Good for the ligaments. You will drink it three times a day."
Deva smiled weakly. "Yes, boss."
For the next two months, this room would be his world. The stadium lights were replaced by a reading lamp. The roar of the crowd was replaced by the hum of the AC.
The Devil was caged.
---
Date: April 5th, 2012.
Event: IPL Opening Ceremony (Watched on TV).
Status: Day 12 of Rehab.
The doorbell rang at 10:00 AM sharp. A man walked in with a gentle smile and a soft demeanor.
Nitin, the physio, was a calm, soft-spoken man who treated Deva more like a younger brother than a patient.
"Hey, Sid," Nitin said, putting his bag down. "How's the champion doing today? Still bored?"
"Incredibly," Deva sighed, sitting up. "The wall is starting to talk to me."
"Well, let's get you moving then," Nitin pulled up a chair. "Shall we take a look at that boot? No rush."
Deva unstrapped the velcro. The ankle was still swollen, a kaleidoscope of purple and yellow bruising.
"Colors are fading a bit," Nitin observed optimistically. "That's good. Okay, whenever you're ready, try to flex your toes. Just as much as you can. Don't push through pain."
Deva gritted his teeth and pushed his toes forward. A dull ache shot up his shin, but it was bearable.
"Nice," Nitin nodded encouragingly. "That's better than yesterday. Now, gently back."
Deva pulled his toes back.
"The swelling is going down," Nitin noted, pressing the tissue. "But the atrophy... hang on."
He frowned. He squeezed Deva's calf muscle. He checked the quadriceps.
"This is weird," Nitin muttered to himself.
"What?" Deva asked.
"Usually, after two weeks of zero weight-bearing, the muscle starts to disappear. It turns soft. Yours... it feels like rock. Are you doing calf raises in your sleep?"
"No," Deva promised. "I just hop around a lot."
"Your muscle retention is incredible," Nitin shook his head, amazed. "It's like your body refuses to lose condition. Whatever your mom is feeding you, keep eating it. It's working wonders."
Deva smirked. He knew exactly what was happening.
[System Status: Active]
[Skill: The Metabolic Forge]
[Caloric Intake: High]
[Conversion Rate: 100% to Muscle Preservation/Repair]
Deva was eating like a horse. Sesikala was feeding him ghee-laden biryani, mutton curries, and rich soups. In any other human, this would have resulted in a rapid accumulation of belly fat. But the System was burning it all, channeling every calorie into knitting the ligaments and maintaining his lean muscle mass.
He wasn't getting fat; he was just getting healed.
After Nitin left, Deva picked up the dumbbells. He couldn't run, but he could lift. He did seated shoulder presses until his arms burned.
He turned the TV off. The IPL was on, but he didn't want to watch. He had other worlds to visit.
---
With cricket off the menu and movement restricted, Deva needed a retreat. He didn't want to learn something new; he wanted the comfort of the familiar.
He turned to his laptop.
He had downloaded a hard drive with movies and shows from torrents.
Deva opened the folder. Folder:Anime.
He clicked on "Death Note".
He had watched it in his previous life, years ago. But watching it now, knowing the twists, seeing the battle of wits between Light and L, felt like visiting old friends.
"I forgot how intense the potato chip scene was," Deva chuckled, clicking 'Next Episode'.
He moved to "Naruto". He skipped the fillers (he remembered which ones they were). He watched Rock Lee drop his weights.
"That," Deva pointed at the screen, "is the ultimate training montage."
He watched "Breaking Bad". He watched "Game of Thrones" (Season 1 had just aired).
He wasn't analyzing them for strategy this time. He was just enjoying the stories, letting his mind drift away from run rates and strike rotations.
He spent his days in a rhythm:
8 AM: Breakfast & Physio (Chatting with Nitin).
10 AM: Upper body workout.
12 PM: Lunch (The Feast).
1 PM: Nap.
3 PM: Tech Review (Reviewing Bolt 1 specs via email).
5 PM: Rewatching Classics.
8 PM: Dinner with parents.
And then... the best part of the day.
Time: 10:30 PM.
The house was quiet. His parents were asleep. Deva lay in bed, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face.
Ring.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Hello, Shorty."
"Hello, Hop-along," Krithika's voice came through, warm and lively. "How is the foot? Still attached?"
"Barely," Deva said, shifting position. "My mom tried to feed me Paya soup for the third time today. I think I'm turning into a goat."
Krithika laughed. "It's good for you! Collagen! You should listen to your mother."
"I do listen," Deva sighed. "I just wish she wouldn't watch me eat every spoonful. She stares at me like I'm a science experiment. 'Is the bone knitting yet? Can you feel it knitting?'"
"She loves you," Krithika said. "So, what did you do today? Stare at the wall?"
"I watched Naruto," Deva admitted.
"You watched cartoons?"
"It's not cartoons, it's anime! It's serious! There is death! And philosophy! And ninjas!"
"Nerd," she teased affectionately. "I went to Sultan Bazaar today. It was a war zone."
"Yeah?" Deva smiled. "Did you survive?"
"Barely," she recounted dramatically. "I was looking for these specific jhumkas (earrings) for my cousin's wedding. There was only one pair left at the shop. And this other aunty—she must have been fifty—she lunged for them. But I was faster. I used my elbow."
"That's a foul," Deva noted. "Yellow card."
"It's Sultan Bazaar, there are no rules," she laughed. "Then we went to eat Chat at Koti. I dropped chutney on my new white kurti. My mom is going to kill me if she sees the stain."
"Use lemon juice," Deva advised. "Or white vinegar. It works."
"Look at you, Mr. Domestic," she giggled. "What else happened in the Fortress?"
"Dad is trying to teach the new calf tricks," Deva chuckled. "He named him 'Veeru' after Sehwag because he runs around aimlessly. Today Veeru broke the fence. Dad spent two hours lecturing the cow about discipline."
"I would pay money to see that," Krithika laughed. "Vikram Uncle scolding a cow. Did the cow listen?"
"No. He just chewed grass and looked bored. Just like Sehwag in a team meeting."
They talked for another hour. They didn't talk about the match scores. They didn't talk about MBA entrance exams. They talked about the neighbor's loud music, the heat in Hyderabad, the weird plot holes in movies, and the specific annoyance of mosquitoes.
It was mundane. It was trivial. And for Deva, it was the most grounding thing in the world.
"Okay," Krithika yawned around midnight. "I need to sleep. I have to help my mom make pickles tomorrow. It's mango season."
"Save me a jar," Deva requested. "My mom's is good, but I need variety."
"I'll think about it," she teased. "Depends on your behavior. Goodnight, Siddanth."
"Goodnight, Krithika."
Deva hung up. The silence of the room didn't feel so heavy anymore.