Date: May 12th, 2012.
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Time: 4:30 PM.
The heat of the Deccan summer was beginning to mellow as the afternoon stretched into evening. Inside the living hall of the farmhouse, the air conditioner hummed a lullaby of cool air.
Siddanth Deva lay on the plush L-shaped sofa, his right leg resting on a cushion. The heavy boot was gone, replaced by an ankle brace. He was going through his prescribed isometric exercises—flex, hold, release—while half-watching the news on TV.
The screen showed highlights of the Deccan Chargers losing yet another close game. Deva sighed. It was painful to watch.
Sitting in the adjacent armchairs were Vikram and Sesikala. Vikram was reading a business magazine, peering over his spectacles, while Sesikala was shelling peas for dinner, the rhythmic snap-pop adding to the domestic quiet.
It was peaceful. It was safe. It was a fortress.
Tring-Tring.
The landline phone on the side table rang, shattering the silence. It was the intercom line from the main gate.
Deva frowned. They weren't expecting anyone. Arjun usually called his mobile.
He reached over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Sir," the watchman, Ramu, spoke. He sounded confused. "There is a... guest at the gate. A madam."
"A madam?" Deva repeated, confused. "Who is it, Ramu?"
"She says her name is Krithika, Sir. She says she has an appointment with you for 4:30."
Deva's heart stopped. It literally skipped a beat. The blood drained from his face.
Krithika.
Here.
At the gate.
He looked to his left. His father was turning a page. His mother was looking at him curiously.
"Who is it, Siddanth?" Sesikala asked.
Deva pressed the receiver against his chest, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. He had told her specifically not to come. He had told her his parents were strict. He had told her it was a fortress.
And she had driven her purple Scooty right up to the moat.
He put the phone back to his ear. "Ramu... are you sure? Is she... does she look like..."
"She is on a Scooty, Sir. Purple color. She is very insistent. She says she confirmed the time with your PA."
She lied to the guard. Deva closed his eyes. She was unstoppable.
"Sir?" Ramu asked. "Should I send her away?"
Deva looked at his parents again. If he sent her away, she would probably scream over the gate or call his phone incessantly until his parents got suspicious. If he let her in... he had to come up with a lie. A big one.
"No," Deva said, his voice tight. "Send her in. Let her in."
He hung up.
"Who is coming?" Vikram asked, taking off his glasses.
"Business," Deva said quickly, standing up. He tested his weight on his ankle. It held. "An appointment I forgot about."
"Business?" Sesikala frowned. "On a Sunday evening? Who does business on a Scooty? I heard Ramu say Scooty."
Deva winced. His mother had ears like a bat.
"It's new generation Amma, they don't care about what vehicle they drive."
Deva improvised badly. "I'll go meet them outside. You guys relax. Watch the news."
"We will say hello," Vikram said, starting to get up. "It is rude to let a guest stand outside."
"No!" Deva said, a little too loudly. "I'll take care of it. Please, Dad. Sit."
Vikram looked at him suspiciously but settled back down. "Fine. But offer water. It is hot outside."
"Yes. Water. Will do."
Deva moved as fast as he could towards the main door, cursing under his breath.
---
Deva stood on the porch steps, the evening sun hitting his face. He watched the long driveway.
A minute later, the familiar sound of a small engine whined in the distance. And there she was.
The purple TVS Scooty Pep+ looked comically small against the backdrop of the sprawling lawns and the massive farmhouse. Krithika was wearing a helmet that was too big for her, a kurta that fluttered in the wind, and she was driving with the confidence of someone who owned the place.
She pulled up right in front of the porch, skidding slightly on the gravel. She kicked the stand down and killed the engine.
Deva crossed his arms, trying to look intimidating. It was hard when he was wearing track pants and slippers.
Krithika took off her helmet. She shook her hair out. She looked at him and grinned—a wide, unrepentant grin that lit up her face.
"Hi," she chirped.
Deva glared at her. "Hi? That's it? You just break into my house and say 'Hi'?"
"I didn't break in," she corrected, hanging the helmet on the mirror. "I was invited. Ramu Uncle is very nice. We chatted about the weather."
"I told you not to come," Deva hissed, glancing back at the front door to make sure it was closed. "I told you it's risky."
Krithika pouted. She actually pouted. She leaned against her Scooty, looking up at him with big, sad eyes.
"I know," she said, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "But what could I do? It has been weeks, Siddanth. Weeks! I haven't seen you since you left for Dhaka. I saw you on TV, sure, kissing hands and winning trophies. But real life? Nothing."
Deva softened slightly, but he kept his guard up. "We talked on the phone last night."
"It's not the same," she argued, walking up the first step. "I missed your face. Your actual face, not the JPEG version. So... I took a risk. I Googled the directions. I fought the traffic. Just to see if you were actually alive."
She looked at him, her eyes searching his. For a second, the banter dropped, and Deva saw genuine affection there. It disarmed him.
"You're crazy," Deva sighed, shaking his head. "Complete lunatic."
"I know," she beamed, the sadness vanishing instantly. "So? Aren't you going to invite me in? I want to see the Fortress. I want to meet Lakshmi the buffalo."
"No," Deva blocked her path. "You are leaving. Now. Before my parents come out and ask who you are."
"Aww," she made a sad face again. "You don't want to introduce me? Are you ashamed of your 'Headache'?"
"I am protecting you," Deva said. "My mother will interrogate you. My father will check your background. It's too much."
"I can handle it," she challenged, leaning forward with a teasing glint in her eye. "Oh come on. I drove all this way. Just let me meet Uncle and Aunt once. Just a quick hello."
Deva's eyes widened. "No. No, no, no. You are not meeting them. That is not happening."
"Why not?" she persisted, taking a step up the stairs. "I'll be polite. I'll touch their feet. 'Namaste Uncle, Namaste Auntie, your son is very handsome but very annoying.' It will be cute."
"It will be a disaster," Deva hissed, stepping in front of her. "Please, Krithika. Just go."
"Just one peek?" she teased, standing on her toes to look over his shoulder. "I bet your dad looks just like you. Does he have the smirk too?"
"Krithika, seriously," Deva pleaded, his hands raised. "Go. Now."
"Siddanth?"
It was his mother's voice.
Deva froze.
Sesikala and Vikram walked out onto the porch. They looked at the scene. Their son, looking panicked. And a pretty girl in a yellow kurta standing near a purple Scooty.
"Who is this?" Sesikala asked, her eyes darting from Deva to Krithika.
Deva spun around. His mind went blank.
"Amma," Deva stammered. "She is... she is..."
He looked at Krithika, pleading with his eyes for help. Do something.
Krithika looked at the parents. She saw the confusion. She saw Deva's panic.
She straightened her posture. She adjusted her dupatta. She put on her most professional, serious face.
"Namaste, Madam. Namaste, Sir," Krithika said, folding her hands respectfully. Her voice changed. It became crisp, formal, and polite.
"I am Krithika," she stepped forward confidently. "From Eenadu newspaper."
Deva blinked. Eenadu?
She reached into her bag and pulled out a lanyard with an ID card. She flashed it quickly—too quickly for anyone to read the fine print (which actually said 'St. Francis College - Student ID').
"I am a junior reporter," she lied smoothly. "I contacted Mr. Deva's office for an exclusive interview. His manager, Mr. Rahul, squeezed me in for a short slot today."
She turned to Deva, giving him a professional nod. "Sorry I am a bit early, Sir. The traffic was lighter than expected."
Deva stared at her. It was a masterpiece of improvisation.
Vikram's expression changed from suspicion to interest. "Eenadu? That is a very good paper. We read it every day."
"Thank you, Sir," Krithika smiled. "We wanted to do a feature on the 'Human side of the Hero'. How the family supports him during tough times."
She had hit the jackpot. Flattery of the parents.
"Oh," Sesikala beamed. "That is a lovely topic. Yes, we support him very much. Even when he is stubborn about eating."
"See?" Krithika looked at Deva, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "That is exactly the kind of insight we need."
Deva found his voice. He decided to lean into the skid.
"Yes," Deva said, clearing his throat. "I... I forgot to mention it, Amma. I was bored sitting inside, so when she called... called the office... I said yes. It's just a short interview."
"Well, you can't do an interview standing in the sun," Vikram declared. "Come in, beta. Come inside."
"Oh, I don't want to intrude," Krithika said with fake modesty.
"Nonsense," Sesikala waved her hand. "You have come all the way from the city on a scooter? You must be thirsty. Come in."
The parents turned and walked back into the house, expecting them to follow.
Deva and Krithika were left alone on the porch for a second.
Deva looked at her. She let out a breath and grinned, sticking her tongue out at him.
I got you, her face said. I totally got you.
She started to walk towards the door, a skip in her step.
Deva reached out. He grabbed her long plait.
He didn't yank it hard, just a sharp, quick tug to say 'You are a brat'.
"Ouch!" Krithika yelped, louder than intended. She spun around, rubbing her head.
Vikram and Sesikala stopped in the hallway. They turned back.
"What happened?" Sesikala asked, concerned. "Did you fall?"
Deva stood there, hands innocent in his pockets, looking at the ceiling.
Krithika looked at Deva, narrowing her eyes. She looked at his parents.
"No, Madam," Krithika lied again, rubbing her head but pointing at her foot. "I just... stubbed my toe. On the steps. Clumsy me."
"Oh, dear," Sesikala said. "Be careful. The steps are uneven."
"I will be," Krithika glared at Deva. "Very careful."
She walked past him, whispering, "You are going to pay for that, Mr. Interviewee. I am going to ask very difficult questions."
"Bring it on, Reporter," Deva whispered back.
They walked into the cool living room.
"Sit, sit," Sesikala gestured to the sofa set. "Siddanth, sit with her."
Krithika sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling out a notebook and pen from her bag. She looked the part perfectly.
"I will bring tea," Sesikala announced. "And snacks. Have you eaten?"
"No, Madam," Krithika said honestly. "I came straight from... the office."
"Then you must eat. I'll bring some snacks for you."
Sesikala hurried to the kitchen. Vikram sat in his armchair, observing the 'reporter'.
"So, beta," Vikram asked. "How long have you been with Eenadu?"
Deva held his breath.
"Six months, Sir," Krithika said confidently. "I am an intern. This is my big break. Interviewing the Vice-Captain... it will make my career."
"Good," Vikram nodded approvingly. "Work hard. Siddanth also works hard. Too hard sometimes."
"That is my first question, actually," Krithika said, clicking her pen and looking at Deva professionally. "Mr. Deva. Your fans are worried. They say you work too much. Do you ever take time to... enjoy life? Maybe watch a movie? Or go to an arcade?"
Deva choked back a laugh. She was referencing their date.
"I try," Deva said, playing along. "Sometimes I escape. With friends."
"Interesting," she scribbled 'nonsense' in her notebook. "And these friends... are they good influences?"
"Some are," Deva said, looking her in the eye. "Some are headaches."
Vikram laughed. "He is talking about Arjun. Arjun is a good boy, but always on the computer."
"I'm sure," Krithika smiled sweetly.
Sesikala returned with a tray laden with tea, biscuits, and cake.
"Eat first," Sesikala commanded. "Interview later."
Krithika took a murukku. She bit into it. "Wow. This is amazing."
"You like it?" Sesikala beamed. "I will pack some for you to take home."
Deva watched the scene unfolding. His secret girlfriend was eating snacks with his parents, lying to their faces, and charming them completely.
He leaned back in the sofa, sipping his tea. The anxiety was gone. It was replaced by a strange sense of comfort.
His two worlds were colliding in his living room, and somehow, the house hadn't exploded.
"Okay," Krithika said, brushing crumbs off her kurta. "Let's start the interview. Mr. Deva, tell us about your injury. The nation wants to know... does it hurt when you kick things?"
She smirked.
Deva sighed. "Next question, please."
It was going to be a long evening. But for the first time since the injury, Deva wasn't bored.