Date: August 3, 2013
Location: Queens Sports Club, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe
Event: 5th ODI, India Tour of Zimbabwe
The transition from the high-pressure cauldrons of the Champions Trophy and the Caribbean Tri-Series to the quiet, dusty grounds of Zimbabwe was stark. The BCCI had rested MS Dhoni and several other senior players for this tour, opting to send a young, relatively inexperienced squad to Harare and Bulawayo.
The captaincy, unsurprisingly, was officially handed to Siddanth Deva.
Leading a squad of debutants and fringe players—including Cheteshwar Pujara, Ambati Rayudu, and Jaydev Unadkat—Siddanth had approached the five-match ODI series with ruthless, clinical efficiency.
Up in the commentary box during the fifth and final match, former Zimbabwean fast bowler Pommie Mbangwa and Harsha Bhogle summarized the entirely one-sided affair.
"Welcome back to Bulawayo for the final stages of this ODI series," Pommie Mbangwa's distinct voice echoed on the broadcast. "India is currently up 4-0, and they are absolutely cruising toward a historic 5-0 whitewash. Chasing a modest 164 set by Zimbabwe, the Indian captain, Siddanth Deva, is in an absolute hurry."
"It has been a completely dominant tour for this young Indian side, Pommie," Harsha Bhogle agreed. "We wondered how Deva would handle a team consisting almost entirely of youngsters, but he has marshaled them beautifully. Amit Mishra has been phenomenal with the ball all series, and right now, Deva is exhibiting to finish the tour."
Down on the pitch, Siddanth stepped down the track to the Zimbabwean off-spinner, Prosper Utseya. He didn't slog; he drove the ball with a high, flawless elbow, sending it soaring over long-off for a massive six.
"And that brings up his half-century! Fifty for the Indian Captain off just 31 deliveries!" Pommie called out. "He hit three wickets for just 22 runs in the first innings, and now he is finishing the chase with absolute perfection. Zimbabwe simply has had no answers for him throughout this entire series."
Two overs later, Ravindra Jadeja hit a boundary through square leg to finish the match.
"And there it is! India wins by 7 wickets!" Harsha Bhogle announced as Siddanth and Jadeja walked off the pitch to polite applause from the small crowd. "A comprehensive 5-0 series whitewash. Siddanth Deva collects his first trophy as Indian captain. It's been a highly successful, highly professional tour for the Men in Blue."
During the post-match presentation, Siddanth accepted the bilateral trophy, handing it off to the youngest members of the squad. He had done his job. The young players had gained valuable international experience. Now, he just wanted to go home.
[SIDDANTH DEVA - ZIMBABWE TOUR STATS (5 Matches)]
Batting: 214 Runs (Average: 107.00, Strike Rate: 135.4)
Bowling: 11 Wickets (Economy: 4.12, Best: 4/18)
---
Date: August 7, 2013
Location: The Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad, Hyderabad
The afternoon sun baked the quiet Shamshabad estate. Inside the cool, air-conditioned living room of the farmhouse, Siddanth Deva was finally enjoying the rare luxury of doing absolutely nothing.
Dressed in a faded grey t-shirt and loose black track pants, the Vice-Captain of India and billionaire was sprawled out on the large sofa. His bare feet were propped up on the coffee table, and a bowl of salted peanuts rested on his chest. He was mindlessly flicking through television channels, occasionally tossing a peanut into his mouth.
His internal Perfect Rhythm trait had already cleared the travel fatigue from the long flight back from Harare. For the first time in six months, he didn't have an immediate cricket camp, an IPL auction, or a smartphone launch to worry about. He was on mandated rest.
Ding-dong.
The sharp chime of the front doorbell echoed through the quiet house.
Siddanth frowned slightly. His father, Vikram, was out meeting his friends, and his mother, Sesikala, was somewhere in the back rooms organizing the pantry. He wasn't expecting any of his friends today.
He grabbed the bowl of peanuts, set it on the coffee table, and hauled himself off the sofa.
Walking to the front entrance, he unlatched the heavy wooden door and pulled it open.
Standing on the porch, wearing a simple blue cotton kurti and carrying her heavy university backpack, was Krithika.
"Surprise," Krithika said, offering a wide, slightly sheepish grin.
Siddanth simply stared at her. He blinked once. Then twice. His mind was trying to figure out if there was a security breach or if he had somehow forgotten a planned date. He looked past her to the driveway, noting that she had clearly ridden her purple TVS Scooty all the way to the farmhouse.
"What are you doing here?" Siddanth asked, genuine shock coloring his usually composed voice.
Krithika's smile faltered slightly into a defensive pout. She shifted her backpack higher on her shoulder. "What? Can't I come over to see you?"
"I mean... yeah, of course you can," Siddanth replied, stepping aside to let her into the cool hallway, shutting the heavy door behind her. "But a heads-up would have been nice. You just drove twenty kilometers across the city unannounced."
Krithika slips her sandals off near the doorway. "I didn't come unannounced. I came because your mother invited me."
Siddanth stopped walking. He turned around, looking at her with absolute bewilderment. "My mother invited you?"
"Yes," Krithika nodded matter-of-factly, walking past him toward the living room. "When you're away on your long tours, hitting centuries in England and West Indies, she calls me frequently. We talk. And I come over to the house frequently to visit her. We had plans today."
Siddanth stood frozen in the hallway. A man capable of anticipating a 150 kmph inswinger before it left the bowler's hand, had absolutely no idea that his girlfriend and his mother were coordinating social calendars behind his back.
Right on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Sesikala Deva emerged, wiping her hands on a dry towel. She stopped when she saw Krithika standing in the living room.
"Who is it, Siddu?" Sesikala asked, before her eyes landed on the girl. A warm, familiar smile immediately broke across the older woman's face.
"Hi, Aunty," Krithika greeted politely, her posture instantly straightening into that of a respectful guest.
Sesikala's smile remained, but her tone immediately shifted into a familiar, scolding maternal register. "Why are you so late, Krithika? I explicitly told you on the phone to come by morning ten o'clock. It is twelve in the afternoon."
Siddanth watched the exchange, feeling entirely like a spectator in his own house.
"I wanted to come early, Aunty, I promise," Krithika defended herself quickly, dropping her backpack near the sofa. "But the traffic near Mehdipatnam was terrible today. There was a political rally blocking the main junction, and my Scooty got completely stuck."
"Always the traffic with you," Sesikala sighed, shaking her head, though there was no real heat in her voice. She walked closer, looking Krithika up and down. "Did you at least eat anything before driving all this way under the hot sun?"
"Yeah, I did, Aunty. I had breakfast at home before leaving."
Sesikala turns toward the kitchen. "Well, come with me. I will make you a nice, hot cup of tea first. Then we will figure out lunch."
"Thank you, Aunty," Krithika smiled, following the older woman toward the open kitchen.
Siddanth stood in the living room for a moment, completely processing the sheer domestic normalcy of the situation. He shook his head, a small, amused smile touching his lips, and followed them into the kitchen.
The kitchen in the farmhouse was massive, featuring a large, dark granite island in the center with several high wooden bar stools.
As Sesikala reached for the tea container in the pantry, Siddanth stepped past her.
"Sit down, Amma. I'll make the tea," Siddanth insisted, taking the container from her hands.
Sesikala looked at him, slightly surprised, but nodded and took a seat on one of the high stools next to Krithika at the island. "Fine. Make sure you crush the ginger properly, Siddu. Krithika likes it strong."
Siddanth raised an eyebrow, looking at Krithika. She knows how you like your tea? he mouthed silently.
Krithika just offered a smug little shrug.
Siddanth turned to the stove. Thanks to his newly acquired Master-Level Barista & Mixology (Gold Tier) passive skill from the Champions Trophy victory, his understanding of fluid dynamics and temperature control was absolute. He didn't just boil water; he executed a flawless extraction of the tea leaves, crushing the ginger and cardamom with perfect precision, bringing the milk to an exact simmer to caramelize the sugars without burning them.
As Siddanth worked silently at the stove, Sesikala and Krithika fell into an easy, comfortable conversation.
"So, what were the protests about today?" Sesikala asked, resting her elbows on the granite counter. "Is it the Telangana statehood issue again?"
"Yes, Aunty," Krithika nodded, her tone turning analytical as she tapped the counter. "The Congress Working Committee officially passed the resolution for the separate state of Telangana last week. The entire city has been buzzing since July 30th. The Seemandhra politicians are furious, so counter-protests are happening everywhere. The traffic is a nightmare because everyone is holding rallies."
Siddanth poured the boiling, fragrant tea through a strainer into a steel jug. He turned around, genuinely curious to hear her take.
Siddanth poured the boiling, fragrant tea through a strainer into a steel jug. He turned around, maintaining the careful illusion of their professional relationship.
"What are the PR feeds at the office telling, Krithika?" Siddanth asked smoothly. "How are we analyzing the bifurcation impact? If the state splits, how does it affect our company?"
Krithika didn't miss a beat, seamlessly slipping into her fake role while utilizing her actual sharp, MBA-student insight. "The public sentiment is divided, sir," she said, adding a playful, professional edge to the title. "But purely from a logistical standpoint, Hyderabad will likely become a joint capital for a few years. Our PR strategy should highlight our commitment to local infrastructure. The new Telangana government will be desperate to prove their economic viability. If we position NEXUS as a foundational tech partner now, they will likely offer massive tax breaks and subsidized land allocations to keep us from relocating."
Siddanth smiled slightly, his Mind acknowledging the accuracy of her assessment. It was exactly the political shift he and Arjun had been secretly planning to exploit to build their massive NEXUS semiconductor fabrication plants.
"You have a very sharp head on your shoulders, Krithika," Sesikala praised warmly, adjusting her saree. "It will be a chaotic few years for the city, but it is good to see young people thinking ahead."
Siddanth finished preparing the tea. He picked up three ceramic cups and poured the perfectly brewed, rich brown liquid into them, the aroma of ginger and cardamom filling the kitchen.
He handed one cup to his mother, slid one across the granite island to Krithika, and picked up the third one for himself.
He took a sip. It was the most perfect cup of tea ever brewed in the history of the subcontinent.
"Very good, Siddu," Sesikala praised after taking a sip. She set her cup down on the saucer and looked up.
"So," Sesikala said, her voice completely casual, devoid of any sudden shift in tone. "From when are you both seeing each other?"
The world stopped.
Siddanth's internal system, capable of calculating 150 kmph trajectories and routing billions of dollars in stock trades, instantly flashed a blinding red warning across his retinas.
[THREAT LEVEL: EXTINCTION EVENT.]
[ENTITY: INDIAN MOTHER (FULLY AWARE STATE).]
[STEALTH MODE: COMPROMISED.]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: ACCEPT FATE WITH DIGNITY.]
Siddanth's fingers went completely numb. The ceramic teacup slipped smoothly out of his grip, plummeting toward the hard granite floor.
His elite, superhuman fast-twitch muscle fibers reacted entirely on autonomous instinct. Before the cup could even drop six inches, his right hand snapped down like lightning, catching the ceramic handle perfectly mid-air, saving the cup and not spilling a single drop of the scalding liquid.
He slowly brought the cup back up, his heart executing a rare, violent spike in his chest.
His reflexes had saved the cup. His life decisions, however, were beyond saving.
Krithika didn't have superhuman reflexes. She simply froze. Her teacup was frozen halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went incredibly wide, her jaw dropping open slightly. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.
They both turned their heads mechanically, very slowly, to look at Sesikala.
The matriarch of the Deva household was sitting comfortably on her bar stool, resting her chin on her hand, a deeply amused, knowing smile plastered across her face.
Siddanth cleared his throat. The man who stared down express fast bowlers without flinching suddenly found his voice sounding remarkably hollow.
"What are you talking about, Amma?" Siddanth asked, attempting a tone of mild, innocent confusion.
"Yes," Krithika squeaked, her voice cracking an octave higher than normal. She hurriedly set her teacup down so she wouldn't drop it. "What are you talking about, Aunty? Seeing who?"
Sesikala rolled her eyes, picking up her tea again.
"Oh, please. Spare me the bad acting," Sesikala scolded lightly, waving a dismissive hand at both of them. "I know you both are in a relationship, so do not act surprised about it. You think you are very smart, sneaking around, but you are not. Now, tell me the truth. From when?"
Siddanth looked at Krithika.
Krithika was sputtering, her face turning a bright, violent shade of crimson. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, and looked at Siddanth with wide, panicked eyes, silently screaming for him to handle the situation.
Siddanth let out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. There was no point trying to lie to his mother when she had already caught them dead to rights.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, setting his teacup down on the counter. "Since the last semester exam of degree."
Sesikala's smile widened. She nodded approvingly, taking another sip of her tea. She didn't look angry. She didn't look disappointed. She simply looked like a mother who had finally forced a confession out of her stubborn children.
"Very good," Sesikala said warmly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the island. "And how did you meet for the first time?"
Siddanth crossed his arms, leaning against the stove. A small, dry smirk touched his lips as he looked at Krithika, perfectly willing to throw her under the bus to deflect his mother's attention.
"We met in the examination hall, Amma," Siddanth stated smoothly, his voice returning to its normal, confident register. "She sat right behind me during the final exams. About halfway through the exam, she kicked my bench from behind, demanded that I show her my paper so she could copy my answers, and basically forced me to let her cheat. From then on, she would just bully me to show her the answers every single day."
Krithika's head snapped toward him, her panic instantly evaporating, replaced by sheer, unfiltered indignation.
"What bullying?!" Krithika demanded, her voice rising sharply. She glared at him. "Did I put a knife to your neck to show me the answers? No! I asked nicely to see the paper, which you voluntarily moved! Do not tell lies to Aunty just to make yourself look like a victim!"
Siddanth looked at her incredulously, dropping his arms.
"Nicely? You call that nicely?" Siddanth argued, stepping closer to the island, entirely forgetting his mother was sitting right there. "You literally threatened to kick my shin until I showed you the answer sheet! You didn't ask nicely. You conducted a hostile takeover of my answer sheet. When I hesitated, you asked me what my problem was. You asked me if I was a descendant of Gandhi, and if you had asked for my ancestral land papers!"
Krithika scoffed loudly, waving her hand in dismissal. "I do not think so. I would never say something like that. You are completely making things up now to sound dramatic."
"I have a good memory, Krithika," Siddanth shot back, his competitive nature flaring up. "I remember the exact words. You were a terror."
"I was desperate to pass!" Krithika yelled back, pointing an accusing finger at him. "And you were wearing a surgical mask and a hoodie indoors like a complete weirdo! I thought you were just some local nerd! Oh please, Mr. Genius. If I didn't push you, you'd still be writing step-by-step explanations for a 2-mark question!"
"I was trying not to be recognized by a hundred screaming college students!"
"Well, you looked like a bank robber!"
The two of them bickered back and forth, their voices bouncing off the granite countertops of the kitchen. They argued like a cat and a dog, throwing minor insults and defending their first meeting with absolute, fiery passion. The crushing reality of the interrogation was completely forgotten as their natural, highly combative dynamic took over.
After two full minutes of relentless, rapid-fire arguing, Siddanth was about to make a point about her terrible driving skills on their first date, when he suddenly stopped.
He looked over at his mother.
Krithika stopped talking a second later, her mouth snapping shut as she followed Siddanth's gaze.
Sesikala Deva was sitting on her bar stool, quietly drinking her tea. She wasn't angry about the shouting. She was watching the two of them fight with an expression of quiet amusement. Her eyes were warm, taking in the absolute comfort and lack of pretense between her son and this girl.
Sesikala took a slow sip of tea, her expression calm. Yes, she thought. This one can handle him.
Realizing they had just spent two minutes screaming at each other like an old married couple in front of the matriarch of the house, the embarrassment hit Krithika with the force of a physical blow.
Krithika let out a small, horrified squeak. She immediately put her head down on the granite counter, burying her flushed face entirely in her arms, completely unable to show her face to the older woman.
Siddanth simply picked his teacup back up and took a slow, silent sip, refusing to make eye contact with his mother, though the tips of his ears were slightly red.
Sesikala let out a soft, melodic laugh. She set her cup down, reached over across the island, and gently placed her hand on Krithika's arm.
"Look up, child," Sesikala said gently.
Krithika slowly lifted her head. Her face was flushed, and she looked incredibly nervous, expecting to be kicked out of the house.
Instead, Sesikala reached across the counter, gently cupped Krithika's cheek, and placed a warm, affectionate kiss on the girl's forehead.
Krithika blinked, completely stunned.
"Do not worry," Sesikala said, her voice filled with absolute, maternal sincerity. She looked Krithika straight in the eye. "I accept the relationship. You are strong-willed, you are intelligent, and you are not afraid to yell at him when he acts too smart. You have everything I want in a future partner for my Siddhu."
Krithika's breath hitched. A massive, overwhelming wave of relief washed over her chest. She couldn't formulate a proper sentence, so she just nodded rapidly, a bright, watery smile breaking across her face.
Siddanth watched his mother smile at the girl he loved. The tension completely drained from his broad shoulders. The most terrifying hurdle of his personal life had just been cleared effortlessly.
"Now," Sesikala ordered, patting Krithika's cheek one last time. "Drink your tea. It will get cold."
Krithika immediately grabbed her cup with both hands and took a large, obedient gulp.
Siddanth leaned against the counter, his analytical mind finally rebooting. He looked at his mother, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"Okay, Amma. I confess. We're together," Siddanth said. "But how exactly did you know? We were incredibly careful. Nobody saw us. We didn't leave a paper trail."
Sesikala gave him a patronizing look, as if he were a toddler asking a very stupid question.
"You are good at playing cricket, Siddu, but you think you are James Bond," Sesikala scoffed lightly. "You left a trail. Remember last year, during the Dussehra festival?"
Siddanth frowned, recalling the massive party he had thrown at the farmhouse. "Yes. What about it?"
"You invited all your friends and company workers. You, Arjun, Sameer, Feroz... everyone was sitting during lunch," Sesikala explained, stirring her tea. "When I asked Arjun why Krithika didn't come to the office celebrations."
"Arjun had a confused face," Sesikala laughed, clearly enjoying the memory. "Like someone paused him with a remote. Even his chewing stopped. I was worried he forgot how to breathe. Then he looked at you for a second and came up with a very weak excuse about her being at her village, celebrating with her family. I agreed at that time and walked away."
"That doesn't prove anything," Krithika pointed out softly, feeling a bit braver.
"It doesn't," Sesikala agreed, looking at her. "But it made me suspicious. So, a few hours later, I quietly asked two other normal employees of your company who were eating food near the buffet. I casually asked them how Krithika from the content writing department was doing."
Sesikala smiled triumphantly. "They both looked at me, confused, and said, 'Aunty, there is no Krithika in our company.' And that is when I put the pieces of the puzzle together. My son brings a beautiful girl to the house, lies about her job, and his CEO best friend confused when I mention her name. I solved it that very night."
Siddanth stared at his mother. He had built a massive, multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate, written an Artificial General Intelligence, and possessed a literal system in his head, but he had been effortlessly outmaneuvered by a middle-class Indian mother utilizing basic conversational deduction at a festival buffet.
Krithika looked at Siddanth, equally shocked by how easily they had been unmasked.
She turned to Siddanth, raising an eyebrow. "Do you always freeze and make your friends panic when you have to lie?"
"No," Siddanth defended himself flatly. "Arjun just panicked."
"You do," Krithika shot back, pointing a finger at him. "Because every single time I had to cover up when I was seen with you, or when we came to your parents, I was the one who had to invent the story. I was the one who said I was an Eenadu reporter. I was the one who came up with the excuse of you taking my job interview when we were caught talking for a long time in the farm. You literally just stood there and let me do all the talking!"
"Well," Siddanth admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, a rare look of sheepishness crossing his face. "I freeze when I have to lie to my parents. It's an ingrained habit. I can bluff a fast bowler, but I can't bluff my mother."
Sesikala smiled warmly at the admission, thoroughly enjoying seeing her usually stoic, unyielding son looking slightly embarrassed.
"Does Nanna know?" Siddanth asked, referring to his father, Vikram.
Sesikala shook her head. "No, he doesn't know the truth yet. He still thinks she is a very hardworking journalist who likes his mangoes."
Siddanth sighed, preparing for another battle. "I should probably tell him."
"Don't worry about your father," Sesikala reassured him, waving a hand. "I think he already has a very good opinion of her. He praises her manners all the time. When the time is right, we will tell him. There is no rush."
Siddanth narrowed his eyes, putting the logistical pieces of the afternoon together. He looked at his mother. "Wait. Is that why you sent him out to the agricultural committee meeting to meet his friends today? So you could interrogate us alone?"
Sesikala just smiled innocently and took a sip of her tea, nodding her head once.
Siddanth shook his head, a genuine, defeated laugh escaping his chest. His mother was a tactical genius.
He pushed off the counter and walked over to the massive, double-door stainless steel refrigerator. "Alright. Since I am officially off the hook, I will prepare lunch for us. What do you both want to eat?"
"Mutton curry," Sesikala demanded immediately. "You haven't cooked for me since before the IPL started."
"I could eat," Krithika agreed eagerly.
"Mutton it is," Siddanth said, pulling out a large bowl of marinated meat, fresh tomatoes, onions, and green chilies. He set them on the granite island. He grabbed a heavy wooden chopping board and a sharp chef's knife.
He handed a second knife to Krithika. "If you want to eat, Shorty, you have to work. Start dicing those onions. Fine dice, not chunks."
Krithika grumbled but took the knife.
For the next twenty minutes, the kitchen was filled with the comfortable sounds of domesticity. Siddanth worked efficiently at the stove, his movements fluid and precise, browning the meat and grinding fresh spices. He talked with his mother about the latest neighborhood news, listening to her complain about the rising prices of vegetables.
Next to him, Krithika was waging an absolute war against a large red onion.
She held the knife awkwardly, chopping the onion into massive, uneven, jagged chunks. Her eyes were watering profusely, and she was sniffling, clearly struggling with the basic culinary task.
Sesikala stopped talking and watched the girl butcher the vegetable.
"Krithika, child," Sesikala asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "Do you know how to cook?"
Krithika sniffled, wiping her watery eyes with the back of her wrist, looking slightly embarrassed. "A little bit, Aunty."
Siddanth paused his stirring. He looked over at the massive, uneven chunks of onion on her board.
"Like what, Krithi?" Siddanth teased mercilessly. "Boiling water? Or making Maggi noodles in the microwave?"
"Careful," Siddanth added, looking at the board. "At this rate, the onion pieces will qualify as a vegetable salad."
Krithika glared at him, gripping the chef's knife tightly. If looks could kill, the Vice-Captain of India would have dropped dead on the kitchen floor.
THWACK. Before she could defend herself, Sesikala reached out and slapped Siddanth hard on the shoulder.
"Shush," Sesikala scolded her son, pulling the chopping board away from Krithika to save the rest of the vegetables. She looked at Krithika with a warm, maternal smile. "Don't worry about cooking, child. Siddhu cooks very good food. He learned from me. When you are married, he will do all the cooking for you."
Siddanth blinked, rubbing his stinging shoulder, looking entirely offended by the sudden shift in household dynamics.
"What?!" Siddanth protested, looking at his mother. "I'm supposed to cook all the meals? Then what exactly is she going to do in the house?"
Sesikala didn't miss a beat. She looked at her towering, world-famous son, and offered a witty, devastatingly accurate response.
"She will rule the house, Siddu," Sesikala said calmly. "And she will make sure your massive ego is kept under control."
She paused, then added—
"That is a full-time job. Possibly overtime."
Krithika burst into loud, victorious laughter, leaning against the counter. She looked at Siddanth and stuck her tongue out playfully.
Siddanth just stared at the two women who had effortlessly formed an alliance against him in his own kitchen. He shook his head, a massive, genuine grin breaking across his face. He turned back to the stove, stirring the mutton curry.
An hour later, the food was ready. Siddanth set the dining table, bringing out the steaming bowls of fragrant mutton curry, hot rice, and fresh rotis.
They sat down together. There were no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, and no heavy corporate decisions to be made. It was just a quiet, grounded family lunch in a farmhouse in Shamshabad.
Siddanth looked at his mother, happily eating the food he had cooked, and then looked at Krithika, who was arguing with him over who got the last piece of meat.
He was home.