Date: May 12th, 2012.
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Time: 5:00 PM.
The living room of the Deva household had transformed into a makeshift studio, minus the cameras. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly fried Murukku and strong ginger tea.
Krithika sat on the edge of the plush sofa, her posture perfect, a notepad balanced on her knee. She held a pen with the authority of a seasoned journalist, though Deva knew that the only thing she had ever reported on was the seating arrangement in the exam hall.
Siddanth Deva sat opposite her, his injured leg elevated on a pouffe. He was trying to look relaxed, but his eyes kept darting between his "interviewer" and his parents, who were seated in the armchairs like a proud audience.
Sesikala beamed, pushing a plate of biscuits towards Krithika. "Eat, beta. You are too thin. Reporting must be hard work."
"It is, Madam," Krithika smiled, taking a biscuit. "Running after celebrities is exhausting. Especially the elusive ones." She shot a sharp look at Deva.
Deva cleared his throat. "Shall we start the interview... Ms. Krithika?"
"Yes, Mr. Deva," she flipped a page theatrically. "Let's get down to business. Our readers at Eenadu are very concerned about your health."
She clicked her pen.
"Tell us, what has it been like? Being bedridden for nearly a month and a half? For a man who runs as fast as you do, being stuck in one room must be... frustrating."
Deva looked at her. He saw the glint of amusement in her eyes. She knew exactly how frustrating it was; she had listened to him complain about it every night on the phone.
"It has been... challenging," Deva said, using his media-trained voice. "As an athlete, you want to be on the field. But injuries are part of the game. It taught me patience. It taught me to slow down."
"Patience," she wrote down the word, nodding. "Interesting. And how did you kill the time? Surely you didn't just stare at the ceiling?"
"I focused on recovery," Deva said.
"And?" she pressed. "Hobbies? Entertainment?"
Deva hesitated. His parents were watching.
"I watched a lot of TV," Deva admitted. "Movies. TV series."
"And?"
"And... Anime," Deva muttered.
Krithika stopped writing. She looked up, feigning innocence. "Anime? You mean... cartoons? Does the Vice-Captain of the Indian Cricket Team watch cartoons?"
Deva's eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth. "It is not cartoons. It is Anime. Japanese animation. It deals with complex themes. War, peace, morality, the human condition."
"Like Tom and Jerry?" she asked sweetly.
"No! Not like Tom and Jerry!" Deva snapped, forgetting his media persona for a second. "It's Naruto. It's about a ninja who—"
"I don't see the difference," Sesikala interjected from the side, sipping her tea. "Drawings are drawings, Siddanth. Whether it is a mouse or a ninja. You are 21 years old."
Krithika stifled a laugh, biting her lip. "Write that down," she whispered to herself loud enough for Deva to hear. "The Devil watches cartoons."
Deva glared at her. "Next question."
"Right," she composed herself. "Let's talk about cricket. Serious topics."
Her demeanor shifted. She leaned forward, and for a moment, Deva saw the genuine fan in her eyes.
"The World Cup win in 2011. You were the Man of the Tournament. You lifted that trophy at the Wankhede. Describe that feeling. Not the media answer. The real feeling."
Deva looked at her. He forgot about the charade for a moment.
"It was... heavy," Deva said softly. "The trophy. It was heavier than I thought. But when I held it, I felt light. Like gravity didn't exist. I looked at Sachin Paaji, and I saw tears in his eyes. Sharing a dressing room with him... playing for him... that was the real trophy. The cup was just metal. The memory is gold."
The room went quiet. Vikram Deva wiped his glasses. Sesikala looked at her son with adoration.
Krithika stopped writing. She just looked at him. "That was... a good answer."
"I have my moments," Deva shrugged.
Krithika shook her head, snapping back into character. She flipped the page.
"Okay, enough emotional stuff. Let's get to what the youth of Andhra Pradesh want to know. The gossip."
Deva tensed. "Gossip?"
"You are young, rich, and famous," Krithika said, twirling her pen. "Rumors fly. Tell me, Mr. Deva... have you dated anyone? Is there a special someone?"
Deva opened his mouth, but his mother beat him to it.
"No!" Sesikala declared firmly, shaking her head. "My son does not chase after girls. He is very dedicated to cricket. He wakes up at 5 AM. He sleeps at 9 PM. Where is the time for girls?"
Krithika looked at Deva. A mischievous, devilish smile curled her lips. She knew he stayed up last night talking to her until 1 AM.
"Is that so, Sir?" she asked Deva. "No girls? No secret rendezvous?"
"No," Deva lied, his face burning. "I am... very dedicated. Just like Amma said."
"Hmm," she scribbled something. Probably 'Liar'. "So you don't go out? You don't watch movies?"
"Rarely," Deva said.
"If you do watch movies," she pressed, "do you watch them in a theater? If so, which was the last movie you watched? And with whom?"
Deva stared at her. She was walking a fine line.
"The last movie..." Deva said slowly, holding her gaze. "Dookudu. At Prasad's IMAX."
"Oh? Good movie?"
"It was entertaining," Deva said. "I went with a friend."
"A friend?" she raised an eyebrow. "What kind of friend?"
"A very... annoying friend," Deva said, emphasizing the word. "He talks during the movie. He eats all the popcorn. And he complains about the air conditioning."
Krithika's jaw dropped slightly. She recovered quickly. "He sounds... charming. You must have a lot of patience to tolerate such an annoying person."
"I have the patience of a saint," Deva grinned.
"Right," she huffed.
She leaned back, tapping the pen on her chin. "Mr. Deva, you have done many commercials recently. Nike. Fastrack."
"Yes," Deva said cautiously.
"Do you think you have a future in acting?" she asked, her voice dripping with innocence. "Do you think you are good at... playing a role? Pretending to be someone else?"
Deva glared at her. He knew exactly what she was doing. Siddarth Reddy.
"I prefer to be authentic," Deva said, his voice dry. "Acting is... exhausting. Keeping track of the script, the costumes, the lies... it takes a toll."
"Is that so?" Krithika smirked. "Some people say you are a natural actor. That you could fool anyone if you put on a... costume."
"I stick to cricket," Deva said firmly.
She wrote down something in her notepad. Deva craned his neck. She had written: 'Thinks he deserves an Oscar.'
"Moving on," she said. "Video games. Are you as competitive in games as you are on the field?"
"I play to win," Deva said.
"Our sources," Krithika said, checking her notepad as if reading a dossier, "suggest that you throw tantrums when you lose. Is this true? Do you lose your cool over a game of... say... Tekken?"
Deva laughed. "Your sources are unreliable. I only get annoyed if my opponent cheats."
"Cheats?"
"Yes. Button mashing is cheating. It's not skill. It's chaos."
"Chaos is a strategy, Mr. Deva," Krithika retorted. "Maybe you just need to learn how to defend against it."
"Maybe," Deva conceded. "Or maybe I let the opponent win because I am a gentleman."
"I doubt that," she murmured.
Krithika turned her attention to the parents. Deva relaxed slightly, taking a sip of water.
"Sir, Madam," Krithika addressed Vikram and Sesikala. "It must be hard. Watching him play. When he faces a ball at 150 kmph... what do you feel?"
Vikram leaned forward. "Fear," he admitted honestly. "Every ball, I pray. When he gets hit, I feel it. But when he hits it back... when he stands tall... I feel pride. He is living the life I couldn't."
"And bowling?"
"I worry about his ankles," Sesikala said, pointing to Deva's foot. "See? He runs too fast. He jumps too high. I tell him, 'Bowl slow, take wickets with brain'. But does he listen? No. He wants to be a rocket."
"He is a rocket, Ma'am," Krithika smiled warmly. "The whole country runs on his fuel."
Sesikala blushed. "You speak very well, child."
Krithika flipped to the last page of her notebook. She looked at Deva. There was a glint in her eye that terrified him more than any fast bowler.
"Mr. Deva," she said formally. "You are arguably the most eligible bachelor in India right now. Every magazine puts you on the 'Most Desirable' list."
Deva reached for his glass of water. "That's just marketing."
"Is it?" she asked. "The nation wants to know... are there any plans? Of getting married soon?"
Deva choked.
He sputtered, water going down the wrong pipe. He coughed violently, his face turning red.
"Careful, careful!" Sesikala patted his back. "Why do you drink so fast?"
"Marriage?" Vikram laughed. "He is 21! He is a baby!"
"Not right now," Sesikala clarified, wiping water from Deva's chin. "Maybe after a few years. He needs to settle down first."
"Settle down?" Krithika asked. "He has settled the Australian bowling attack. Isn't that enough?"
"Life is long," Sesikala said sagely. "Cricket is short."
"True," Krithika nodded. She leaned in towards Sesikala, her voice turning conspiratorial. "So, Aunty... in the future... what type of wife do you want for your son? Do you have a list?"
Deva stared at Krithika. She is actually doing this. She is interviewing my mother about my future wife.
Sesikala thought about it. She looked at Deva, then at Krithika.
"She should be smart," Sesikala began. "Siddanth needs someone who can challenge him. He gets bored easily. If she just says 'Yes, Yes' to everything, he will go crazy."
Deva's eyebrows shot up. Accurate.
"She should be beautiful, of course," Sesikala continued. "But more importantly... she should understand him. His life is not normal. He will be away for months. He will be on tour. She needs to be independent. She should be able to take care of the house, the children... she needs to be strong. She cannot be a crybaby who calls him every time the light bulb fuses."
Krithika nodded, writing it all down. "Smart. Independent. Strong. Got it."
She paused. She looked at Deva, then back at Sesikala.
"And... status?" Krithika asked, her voice slightly softer. "Does she need to be a celebrity? Like an actress? Aishwarya Rai? Deepika Padukone?"
Deva held his breath.
"Or..." Krithika continued, gesturing to herself vaguely. "Is someone from a common family okay? A normal girl? Does she need to come from a rich background?"
The room went quiet. Even the AC seemed to hum quieter.
Sesikala shook her head firmly.
"Rich or poor doesn't matter," Sesikala said. "We were also a middle-class family once, beta. Money comes and goes. Character stays."
She looked at Krithika kindly.
"If she is a good girl... if she respects the family... if she is understanding of him... I will welcome her with an open heart. She doesn't need to be a movie star. She just needs to be his star."
Sesikala smiled. "If she is as beautiful and smart as you... I would be very happy."
Deva's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at his mother. Then he looked at Krithika.
Krithika was staring at Sesikala, her reporter mask slipping for a fraction of a second. A genuine blush rose on her cheeks.
"Thank you, Aunty," Krithika whispered.
Deva smiled. It was a small, secret smile.
Vikram nodded in agreement. "Yes. Someone who can talk. Siddanth is too quiet at home. We need noise."
Krithika looked down at her notebook. She pretended to write.
"Well," she muttered under her breath, barely audible. "I am ready to be the bride."
Sesikala leaned forward. "Did you say something, beta?"
Krithika snapped her head up, eyes wide. "No! Nothing! Just... checking my notes. 'Ready to provide... the summary'."
Deva bit his lip to stop from laughing. He kicked her foot gently with his good leg. She kicked him back.
"Okay," Krithika cleared her throat, her face still pink. "I think I have enough on the personal life."
She flipped a page. She looked at Deva. The interview wasn't over. She wasn't letting him go that easily.