Joe Rogan leaned back in his leather chair, adjusting the heavy studio headphones over his ears. He took a slow sip from his freshly refilled Yeti mug, the ice clinking softly. The studio was comfortable, filled with the faint hum of the air conditioning, the rich smell of black coffee, and the ambient, relaxed energy of a conversation that had already been flowing seamlessly for over an hour.
"Alright, we're back," Joe announced, shifting closer to his microphone. "So, we talked about the mental discipline on the field. The focus, the captaincy, dealing with a billion people expecting you to win every single time you step outside. But there's this whole other side to your life that literally breaks my brain."
Joe gestured toward Siddanth across the table.
"How does a guy who spends his life hitting cricket balls and throwing 95-mile-per-hour fastballs end up building one of the biggest tech companies on Earth? Nexus. I mean, holy shit, man. Where does that even start? Were you always a computer guy?"
Siddanth took a sip of his green tea, setting the mug down with a soft clink. He smiled, a genuine, relaxed expression. "It started in a very small in Hyderabad with my best friend, Arjun, and fifteen other programmers."
"Just fifteen guys?" Joe asked, his eyebrows raising.
"Just fifteen staring at monitors, writing code," Siddanth nodded, adjusting his own microphone. "We didn't set out to build a billion-dollar conglomerate, Joe. We didn't have a grand master plan to take over the mobile industry. We were just a small coding group. We wanted to make mobile games."
"Games?" Joe asked, fascinated. "Like what?"
"Candy Crush was the first one, highly addictive, simple mechanics, bright colors. The dopamine loop was efficient. It caught fire. Then we transitioned into more complex physics engines. We developed the mobile architecture for a battle royale game. PUBG."
"Wait, you guys made the PUBG Mobile?" Joe's eyes went wide. He looked past his monitors toward the production desk. "Jamie, look at this. Are you hearing this? My friends play that game for hours. That game is a global phenomenon. It's massive."
"Yeah, that's insane," Jamie's voice floated through the studio speakers. "I was actually playing it last night. The server stability for mobile is unreal."
"Candy Crush gave us our initial capital," Siddanth said, resting his forearms on the desk. "Once those games succeeded, the revenue scaled exponentially. But we didn't want to just sit on the cash or stay exclusively in software. We looked at the hardware market in India. We had a billion people, and everyone was importing expensive foreign phones. We decided to build our own. That led to smartphones, tablets, laptops, and eventually an entire software and hardware ecosystem."
Siddanth chuckled softly, leaning back. "After that... everyone knows the story."
Joe laughed loudly, shaking his head. "You say that so casually! 'Oh yeah, we made a highly addictive game, then we made phones, and now we run the world.' That's wild, man! That's like Steve Jobs and Wozniak in the garage, except you're also winning World Cups on the weekend. So who runs the day-to-day? Does Arjun handle the business side?"
"Arjun handles everything," Siddanth admitted with a bright smile. "I am honestly the worst businessman in Nexus. If someone hands me a complex financial ledger or a tax amortization schedule, I just look at it and ask Arjun, 'Does this make money or lose money?' He does the math. I just like to build the products. I like the engineering."
"That's exactly how I am with the Comedy Mothership!" Joe slapped the desk, incredibly amused. "I have no idea how the plumbing works, or how the payroll is structured, or what our liability insurance is. I just tell my guys, 'Hey, make the lights in that room look cool, and make sure the sound system is perfect so the comics sound good.' Every successful company has to have that dynamic. One guy who is obsessed with operations and spreadsheets, and another guy who just wants to build cool shit."
"You need both," Siddanth agreed. "If two people are trying to build the product, the company goes bankrupt because no one is managing the supply chain. If two people are managing operations, the company never invents anything because they are too afraid of risk."
"Right," Joe nodded vigorously. "But game development... people think making games is easy. They just play it and think, 'Oh, cool graphics.' But the coding behind that is psychotic, right?"
"It is a nightmare," Siddanth laughed. "The public only sees the finished product. They don't see the voice acting coordination, the musical composition, the animation rigging. You spend three weeks trying to fix a bug where a character's foot clips through a staircase. You fix the staircase, and suddenly the character's gun won't fire. It's a house of cards."
"And balancing multiplayer!" Jamie chimed in from the back. "If one gun is too strong, the entire internet complains."
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded at Jamie. "You release an update, and within an hour, millions of players have found an exploit you never even conceived of. Then you have to patch it live while the servers are under massive stress."
"It's like stand-up comedy," Joe compared, his hands moving animatedly. "You write a joke in your room, and you think it's a masterpiece. You go on stage, deliver it, and the room goes dead silent. You realize you missed a beat, or the premise was flawed. The audience tests your product in real-time."
"And then you have the cheaters," Jamie pulled up a Reddit thread on the monitor. "Look at this. People writing aim-bots for mobile games."
"That's a constant war," Siddanth said, looking at the screen. "We have entire divisions dedicated just to cyber-security and anti-cheat algorithms. You are constantly trying to outsmart highly motivated hackers."
"Let's talk about the phones, actually," Joe shifted the topic, pulling his microphone closer. "The Bolt and the Apex. I read a little bit about them, and people are saying the security on these devices is military-grade. How does that work? Are they unhackable?"
"Nothing is completely unhackable, Joe," Siddanth clarified naturally. "If someone claims their system is unhackable, they are lying. But we use a microkernel architecture. Most traditional operating systems are monolithic. If a hacker finds a vulnerability in a flashlight app, they can use that to bypass the root protocols and access the whole system."
Siddanth used his hands to demonstrate. "Our system isolates every single application in its own digital sandbox. If a malicious code attacks your camera app, it is structurally trapped there. It cannot access your banking app or your messages. The walls between the applications are mathematically sealed."
"Has anyone hacked it?" Joe asked.
"We ran a public hacking challenge three years ago," Siddanth said. "We offered a massive, multi-million dollar cash bounty to any hacker or cyber-security firm in the world who could breach an Apex device. Thousands tried. So far, no one has successfully compromised the core."
From behind the monitors, Jamie cleared his throat.
"I actually use an Apex 4," Jamie said, leaning into his microphone.
Joe turned around in his chair, genuinely shocked. "You do? Jamie, you're the biggest Apple fanboy I know. You have every gadget they make. You switched from your iPhone?"
"I switched six months ago," Jamie confirmed, pulling a sleek, midnight-black phone with a crystalline logo from his pocket and holding it up for the cameras. "It's crazy, man. It's cheaper, it's significantly faster, the battery lasts for three days even with heavy use, and the security features are insane. Plus, the app ecosystem is actually more useful for what I do with video editing and file transfers."
"Holy shit," Joe muttered, staring at the phone. He looked back at Siddanth. "Jamie switching phones is the ultimate endorsement. I gotta try one of these."
"I'll have my team send you one tomorrow," Siddanth smiled.
"I'm holding you to that," Joe laughed. "But Jamie mentioned something else to me before the podcast. You guys have an AI assistant on these phones. Aura?"
"In India, it is called Vani," Siddanth clarified. "Globally, we launched it as Aura."
"Right. And it works offline?" Joe asked, leaning forward, highly fascinated. "Because Siri and Alexa, if you don't have an internet connection, they just give you that spinning circle and tell you they can't connect to the server. They become paperweights."
"That was the primary goal when we designed the hardware," Siddanth nodded. "In a lot of developing nations, or even in rural areas of developed nations, constant 4G or 5G internet isn't a guarantee. We didn't want our users to lose functionality. So we embedded a neural processing unit directly into the silicon of the phone."
"So the brain is in the phone, not in the cloud," Joe realized.
"Exactly," Siddanth said. "Aura processes a massive amount of on-device tasks without ever pinging an external server. It translates languages in real-time, sets complex routines, and controls device hardware entirely offline. The most important byproduct of this architecture is privacy. Your voice data, your queries... they don't get compressed and sent to a server farm in another country to be analyzed. The data stays in your pocket."
"Man, that is the future," Joe said, shaking his head. "Because this AI stuff... it's getting wild. You see what Elon Musk is talking about with OpenAI and Neuralink? He's warning everybody. People in Silicon Valley are terrified of artificial general intelligence. What do you think AI eventually becomes?"
Siddanth took a slow drink of his water. This was an era just before generative AI and large language models would explode into the mainstream public consciousness.
"Right now, the AI that the public interacts with is mostly predictive algorithms and task automation," Siddanth said thoughtfully. "It recognizes patterns. But within a few years, Joe, someone will release a conversational AI that changes everything. A generative model that doesn't just search a database for pre-written answers, but actually comprehends contextual nuance and synthesizes new information on the fly."
"Like a super-smart chatbot?" Jamie asked from the back.
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded at Jamie. "Nexus has a research division currently exploring these neural networks. We aren't the only ones; there are brilliant labs in the US and Europe doing the same. But when that threshold is crossed, it will restructure society fundamentally."
"In what way?" Joe asked. "Are we talking Terminator scenarios?"
Siddanth chuckled. "No, not Skynet. I'm talking about immediate, practical disruption. Coding assistance, where an AI writes eight percent of software architecture. Medical diagnosis, where an AI cross-references a patient's symptoms against every medical journal ever published in ten seconds to catch a rare disease a doctor might miss. Real-time education translation."
Siddanth leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Imagine a kid in a remote, impoverished village in India or Africa having a personalized, genius-level, infinitely patient tutor living inside a fifty-dollar smartphone. It democratizes knowledge."
"That's incredible," Joe breathed out. "But what about job replacement? Automation? Truck drivers, writers, accountants?"
"There will be a massive shift," Siddanth admitted practically. "Robotics integration combined with advanced AI will automate repetitive labor and data-entry jobs. But history shows that technology creates new economies. When tractors and industrial harvesters were invented, people thought farmers would starve and the agricultural economy would collapse. Instead, agricultural yields exploded, food became cheaper, and new jobs in logistics and engineering were created. We have to adapt. The transition period will be painful, but the ceiling for human potential will rise."
"That's a very rational way to look at it," Joe agreed. "I talk to guys from Silicon Valley who move here to Austin, and they act like the Terminator is going to knock on my door tomorrow morning to steal my podcasting equipment."
Joe laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. He paused, scrolling on his monitor.
"You know what's interesting about you, though?" Joe said, shifting gears. "For a guy who owns the technology, you barely use social media. You have tens of millions of followers. You are one of the most famous athletes on the planet. But you don't post much. You're not doing the influencer thing."
"I use it to interact with fans occasionally," Siddanth said, resting his hands on the table. "I announce new Nexus products. Sometimes I post about congratulation and appreciation posts. But I don't like preaching. I don't use it as a diary to broadcast my daily thoughts."
"Yeah, you don't tweet a picture of your breakfast," Joe laughed.
"I don't," Siddanth smiled. "And honestly, I think people should stop pretending they have every answer to every geopolitical or social issue. Social media algorithms reward outrage and moral superiority. Nuance doesn't go viral; anger goes viral."
"One hundred percent," Joe pointed a finger in aggressive agreement.
"You see someone preaching aggressively about veganism on Twitter and next day you see them wearing leather shoes," Siddanth pointed out. "Or someone preaching about climate change and carbon footprints while constantly flying on a private jet to vacation spots. The hypocrisy is exhausting. I'm a cricketer and an engineer. I'm not interested in telling people how they should live their lives."
"Amen to that," Joe said, throwing his hands up. "It drives me crazy. You see these Hollywood celebrities getting on Twitter from their gated mansions and attacking normal, working-class people for their choices. 'You shouldn't drive that truck! You shouldn't eat that meat!' It's a massive echo chamber of virtue signaling. Speaking of which, you mentioned veganism... are you vegan? Because a lot of elite athletes, especially endurance athletes, are trying it for recovery."
"I'm not vegan," Siddanth said frankly. "I enjoy both vegetarian and non-vegetarian food. The Indian diet is very diverse by nature."
"What do you eat?" Joe asked, his fitness-obsessed brain highly interested in athlete nutrition. "Because you guys are playing in brutal heat for eight hours a day in a Test match. You're bowling fast, sprinting in the outfield. What fuels that?"
"It is a balance of complex carbohydrates and lean proteins," Siddanth explained. "A lot of rice, dal—which is a lentil soup, very high in protein and fiber. Chicken, fish, and a heavy amount of curd or yogurt to keep the stomach cool and aid digestion in the heat. You need dense carbohydrates for sustained, slow-release energy in a Test match, and protein for immediate muscle recovery."
"No crazy diets? No raw meat or extreme fasting windows?" Joe joked.
"No," Siddanth laughed. "And I definitely have cheat meals. When I am training, I am strict. But a good Hyderabadi biryani is mandatory when I go back home. You cannot live in Hyderabad and not eat biryani."
"I've got to try that biryani you are talking about," Joe noted, practically drooling. "I hunt a lot, you know. I eat a lot of wild elk meat. Elk is incredible for you. Lean, organic, packed with nutrients. We should get you some elk next time you're in Texas. Maybe make some Elk Biryani."
"I'd be open to it," Siddanth nodded respectfully with a smile. "Though the traditionalists in Hyderabad might protest using elk."
Joe laughed loudly. "We'll keep it a secret."
He shifted in his chair, a curious gleam returning to his eyes.
"So, Jamie actually told me about this before you came in," Joe said, steering the conversation down a new avenue. "I was trying to find out what you do with your money. Because usually, guys with your net worth are buying superyachts or sports teams. I couldn't find much about your charity initially. But then Jamie found this."
The monitor switched to an article about the Nexus Sports Foundation.
"You guys fund other sports," Joe said, looking closely at Siddanth. "But not just building gyms or sponsoring an event. You literally pay them salaries? Like, a monthly paycheck?"
"Yes," Siddanth confirmed, his tone turning serious. "We fund food programs, education, cancer patients, and orphanages through the company's CSR wing. That is standard corporate philanthropy. But the Nexus Sports Foundation is my personal focus. We provide monthly stipends, full medical and surgical support, and international-grade equipment to athletes in non-cricket sports."
"Why did you start it?" Joe asked quietly.
"Because India has a population of 1.3 billion people, Joe," Siddanth stated, leaning forward. "We have an absolute ocean of raw, untapped athletic talent. We have the genetics for wrestling in the north, archery in the tribal belts, shooting, and track and field. But the infrastructure was broken."
Siddanth's eyes held a fierce intensity. "I saw brilliant athletes quitting at nineteen years old because they couldn't afford a proper protein diet, or they couldn't afford train tickets to attend the national championships. They were taking jobs as security guards or laborers to feed their families. I wanted to fix that. So we built an app. We scout the top athletes from every district, every state, and at the national level."
"That is wild," Joe shook his head in awe. "So you bypass the government bureaucracy completely?"
"We just provide the capital, the medical care, and the dignity," Siddanth said. "I want Olympic medals to come from established, reliable, scientifically backed systems, rather than hoping for a once-in-a-lifetime miracle where an athlete succeeds despite the system. If an athlete doesn't have to worry about feeding their family, they can focus entirely on winning. We are currently planning a big touranment for these athletes in 2nd half of the year"
"It's like the grassroots sports infrastructure we have here in America with the NCAA, the high schools, and colleges," Joe compared. "But you're doing it privately. You're funding a national Olympic program out of your own pocket. That is phenomenal, man. Truly."
"Thank you," Siddanth nodded.
Joe took a long drink of his coffee, looking down at his notes. He grinned. "Alright, let's talk about the movie. You produced and directed an animated film. The Ramayana. We saw the trailer... it looks spectacular. It doesn't look like standard animation."
"Thank you," Siddanth smiled.
"Why animation?" Joe asked. "Why not live-action? You have billions of dollars; you could have hired real actors, built massive physical sets, and done it like Lord of the Rings."
"We did hire real actors for the voices and facial capture references," Siddanth pointed out. "But I chose animation because I grew up loving anime. I watched Dragon Ball Z, Naruto, One Piece, Pokémon. The visual freedom that animation provides is limitless."
Siddanth leaned forward slightly, getting into his creative process. "If I make a live-action movie about a god firing a divine arrow that shatters a mountain, or an army of millions marching across a bridge built on the ocean, it relies heavily on CGI. And sometimes, CGI in live-action looks fake. It pulls you out of the immersion. In animation, the entire world—the characters, the magic, the environments—is built in the same visual language. The emotion, the scale, the magic—it all feels cohesive. I always wanted Indian mythology to receive that high-end, serious artistic treatment."
"It's like Greek or Norse mythology," Joe observed, fascinated. "Thor, Zeus, Hercules. Those stories survived and thrived globally because they were adapted into comic books and massive Hollywood movies. It keeps the culture alive for the new generation."
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded. "It introduces ancient philosophy to a new generation using a medium they understand."
"So, what is the core philosophy?" Joe asked, genuinely curious. "I don't know much about Hindu philosophy."
Siddanth paused, formulating a simple, grounded explanation. He didn't want to sound like a preacher; he wanted to sound like a storyteller.
"It relies heavily on concepts like Dharma and Karma," Siddanth explained calmly. "Dharma is a complex word, often translated as duty or righteousness. It is the cosmic order. The Ramayana explores what happens when individuals are forced to choose between their personal desires and their duty to their family, their kingdom, and the truth. It is a story about sacrifice."
"And Karma?"
"Action and consequence," Siddanth said. "Every choice you make sends a ripple into the universe, and eventually, that ripple returns to you. The epic is a profound study of free will versus destiny. The characters face terrible tragedies and heartbreaks, but they are defined entirely by how they react to them."
"Jamie, pull up some info on the villain," Joe requested, pointing at the monitor. "Ravana, right?"
"Yes," Siddanth confirmed.
"So... was Ravana just evil?" Joe asked, frowning slightly. "Like a standard, mustache-twirling bad guy who just wants to destroy the world?"
"No," Siddanth shook his head, enjoying the deep dive into the character lore. "That is what makes him so compelling, and why we spent so much time designing him. Ravana was a King. He was an incredibly brilliant scholar who mastered the ancient scriptures. He was a maestro of music. And he was the greatest devotee of Lord Shiva who is one of the 3 main gods in Hindu mythology. He achieved immense, terrifying power through pure discipline and grueling penance."
"So what went wrong?" Joe asked, intrigued. "If he was so smart, why be the villain?"
"Ego," Siddanth stated simply. "Arrogance. He believed his power and his knowledge made him greater than the laws of the universe. He let his desire consume his intellect. He is a tragic figure because he possessed all the knowledge in the world, but lacked the wisdom to conquer his own pride."
"Man... he's like Magneto," Joe whispered, his eyes wide. "Or Darth Vader. A complex, brilliant guy who just loses his way because of ego and power. That is fascinating. That makes a great story."
"It is a timeless character archetype," Siddanth agreed.
"And there's a monkey god?" Joe asked, looking at the monitor where Jamie had pulled up high-definition images of Hanuman from the trailer.
Siddanth smiled warmly. "Yes. Lord Hanuman. He is the opposite of Ravana. Hanuman possesses unimaginable, world-breaking physical strength. He can lift mountains and cross oceans in a single leap. But despite having ultimate power, he possesses unwavering humility and devotion. He never uses his strength for his own glory. Millions of people admire him because he represents selfless service and loyalty."
"That is beautiful," Joe murmured, leaning back. "It's wild how these stories parallel human psychology. You have the ultimate ego versus the ultimate humility."
Joe took a sip of his coffee. A familiar, curious glint appeared in his eyes.
"So, speaking of ancient India," Joe started, steering the conversation toward one of his absolute favorite podcast rabbit holes. "Did ancient India have technology beyond what people assume? You hear these wild theories about flying chariots—Vimanas—and nuclear weapons described in the ancient texts."
Siddanth took a slow sip of his tea, a mysterious glint appearing in his eyes.
"Honestly, Joe... I wouldn't rule it out entirely," Siddanth said, his voice dropping an octave. "I actually think there might have been airplanes and nuclear weapons."
Joe leaned forward instantly, his eyes lighting up. "Really? You think it's literal? Like, actual nukes?"
"When you read the descriptions of the Brahmastra weapon in the Mahabharata," Siddanth explained, getting into the details, "it doesn't just say 'a big fire'. It describes a single projectile charged with all the power of the universe. It describes an incandescent column of smoke and flame, as bright as ten thousand suns. And here is the terrifying part—it explicitly mentions that after the weapon was used, people's hair and nails fell out, birds turned white, and all the food went bad. Joe, that isn't a myth about a magic arrow. That is textbook radiation poisoning and nuclear fallout."
"Holy shit," Joe breathed out, staring at Siddanth. "Jamie, look that up. The Mahabharata nuclear blast description."
Jamie's keyboard clicked rapidly. "Yeah, I'm seeing it here. Oppenheimer even quoted the Bhagavad Gita after the Trinity test."
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded. "And the Vimanas, the flying chariots. They actually have ancient, highly technical manuals describing how to build them, including mercury-based vortex engines."
"That's wild," Joe said, shaking his head. "So what happened to all of it? Where is the evidence? Why don't we find crashed airplanes?"
"Here is my personal conspiracy theory," Siddanth said, leaning his elbows on the table. "As a guy who builds hardware and software... we assume advanced technology has to look like our technology. We look for silicon microchips, plastic, and steel. But what if a previous civilization reached a technological singularity using different materials? What if they manipulated acoustic frequencies, electromagnetism, and harmonic resonance using crystal oscillators and bio-degradable components?"
Siddanth gestured with his hands. "I think human civilization operates on a ten-thousand-year reboot cycle. We reach the peak of technological advancement, we inevitably use those weapons to wipe ourselves out, and the earth resets. The few survivors go back to the stone age. Thousands of years pass, and the stories of the 'gods throwing lightning' and 'flying in chariots' are just the fragmented memories of the previous iteration of humanity. The tech decayed, leaving only the stories behind."
Siddanth leaned in, his voice taking on a chillingly logical tone. "Think about it, Joe. Who knows? If a Third World War happens tomorrow and we nuke ourselves back to the Stone Age... the few people who survive will lose all our science within a couple of generations. Ten thousand years in the future, a brand new civilization will rise. And when they read fragmented stories about us—people flying in metal tubes across oceans, talking to each other across the planet through invisible waves, or wiping out cities with the press of a button... they won't think we were human. To them, we will look exactly like gods or aliens."
"Man..." Joe whispered, his mind absolutely blown. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. "That is profound. The cyclical reset. Graham Hancock talks about this stuff all the time, about a lost, highly advanced global civilization that got wiped out by a cataclysm. And you're right, if their tech was energy-based or organic, it wouldn't leave behind a rusty engine block for us to dig up."
"Right," Siddanth smiled. "And even if you look at the actual, physical archaeological evidence that did survive... their engineering and astronomical knowledge was staggering. There is an iron pillar in Delhi that has stood in the open air for over a thousand years and hasn't rusted. Modern scientists still debate the exact chemical coating and forging techniques they used to achieve that."
"Jamie, pull up the Kailasa temple," Joe commanded, his voice rising in excitement.
An image of a massive, impossibly intricate stone temple appeared on the screen.
"Look at that thing," Joe said, pointing at the monitor. "I read about this. They carved it from the top down. Out of a single, solid rock."
"Yes," Siddanth confirmed, looking at the image of the Ellora Caves. "The Kailasa temple. They removed hundreds of thousands of tons of solid basalt rock to reveal a multi-story temple complex. The precision required to carve from the top down, without making a single mistake, is mind-boggling. If you make one wrong chisel strike, you ruin the entire pillar. They didn't have heavy machinery. They used hammers, chisels, and a profound, intuitive understanding of geology."
"Holy shit," Joe breathed out, staring at the image. "How did they do it? Come on, man. Aliens?"
Siddanth burst out laughing, shaking his head. "No, Joe. Not aliens. Just disciplined human beings with generations of passed-down architectural knowledge and unlimited patience."
"I don't know, man," Joe grinned, playing along. "I've seen some Bob Lazar interviews. The universe is too big for us to be alone."
"Statistically, extraterrestrial life definitely exists," Siddanth conceded logically. "The universe is infinite. But whether they are biologically visiting us in flying saucers to help carve rocks in India? I think human ingenuity gets severely underestimated."
"What about simulation theory?" Joe asked, jumping tracks seamlessly. "Do you think we're living in a giant computer program? You're a tech guy. Elon Musk thinks the odds are a billion to one that we're in base reality."
Siddanth chuckled, taking another sip of his tea. "If we are in a simulation, the programmer definitely needs to fix a few societal bugs. But philosophically? It's an interesting thought experiment. Though, as a sportsman, when a fast bowler hits my finger at 150 kilometers an hour, the pain feels very real. My ribs ache. If it's a simulation, the haptic feedback is incredibly accurate."
Joe roared with laughter, slapping the desk. "The haptic feedback! That's brilliant."
The studio door clicked open quietly, and an assistant walked in, refilling Joe's coffee mug and pouring hot water over Siddanth's tea leaves before vanishing back into the hallway.
"So, speaking of fast bowlers," Joe said, adjusting his microphone. "You're dealing with crazy pressure. Fame. You're a billionaire. Can you even buy groceries? Can you just walk down the street in Hyderabad?"
"Not easily," Siddanth smiled. "I tried to buy ice cream from a local parlor in my early fame days. I thought I was being discreet. Within five minutes, there were two hundred people blocking the road. My friends had to pull me out."
"That sounds exhausting," Joe noted. "How do you protect your family? You have kids now, right?"
"Twins," Siddanth confirmed, a soft, protective warmth entering his voice. "A boy and a girl. We keep them out of the public eye as much as possible. They deserve a normal childhood, free from cameras."
"Did money change you?" Joe asked bluntly.
"I don't think so," Siddanth answered honestly. "Money removes the stress of survival. It allows me to build things without asking for permission. But it doesn't change what I enjoy. I still eat the same biryani I ate when I was a teenager. I still argue with my friends over video games. The core remains the same."
"What is your daily routine like?" Joe inquired. "How do you manage the cricket, the fitness, and the business?"
"It requires strict compartmentalization," Siddanth explained. "I wake up early. The morning is for physical training—gym work, cardio, bowling practice. By mid-morning, I switch to business. I take meetings with Arjun and the division heads. In the afternoons, I read or review tactical footage for cricket. The evenings are strictly for my family. And then sleep."
"You read a lot?"
"Is there one book you've gone back to more than any other?" Joe asked.
"Probably the Bhagavad Gita."
Joe nodded recognizingly. "I've heard that name a lot."
"I think many people in the West assume it's purely a religious book because it comes from the Mahabharata," Siddanth said, smiling slightly. "I don't read it that way."
Leaning forward, Joe asked, "How do you read it?"
"As a conversation about responsibility. It's about what you do when you're standing in front of the hardest decision of your life. You can replace the battlefield with a cricket ground, a boardroom, a hospital, or even your own home. The setting changes. The questions don't."
"So it's more philosophy than religion?"
"I think so," Siddanth agreed. "It talks about fear. It talks about attachment. It talks about doing the right thing even when the outcome is uncertain. Those ideas aren't limited to one religion."
"So what's the biggest thing you took from it?"
"There is a verse almost everyone knows: 'Karmanye vadhikaraste, ma phaleshu kadachana.' You have a right to your actions, but never to the fruits of those actions." Letting the words settle, he elaborated, "In cricket, I can't control whether the ball edges to slip or reaches the boundary. I can control whether I prepared well. I can control my decision. The result comes later. If you become obsessed with the result, you're already distracted."
Jamie nodded quietly from the production desk.
Sitting back, Joe exhaled. "Holy shit. That's actually useful." He laughed, shaking his head. "So you're telling me not to read the YouTube comments."
Laughter echoed through the room.
"Exactly," Siddanth smiled. "If you keep living through praise and criticism, you stop living through your own actions."
"I like that," Joe mused, thinking for a moment. "What else?"
"Another idea from the Gita is that death isn't something to fear. It reminds us that everything changes. People come. People leave. Titles change. Records get broken. The only thing you truly own is how you conduct yourself while you're here."
Joe's expression turned serious. "That's beautiful."
"When I retire one day, someone else will break my records. That's inevitable. If I built my happiness on keeping records forever, I'd be miserable. So instead, I focus on whether I honored the game."
"That's a really healthy way of looking at it," Jamie commented quietly.
"I think a lot of athletes struggle after retirement because their identity disappears," Joe noted.
"That's why you shouldn't become attached to the title," Siddanth nodded. "Captain. Founder. World champion. They're roles. They're not who you are."
"So if someone like me wanted to read it, where do I start?"
"I'd start with a translation that explains the context. Read it slowly. Don't read it to become religious. Read it the way you'd read Marcus Aurelius or Seneca. Read it because it asks difficult questions."
"I'll do that," Joe smiled.
"I'll order one," Jamie added.
"Do you meditate? A lot of athletes do."
"Reading quietly is my meditation," Siddanth said simply. "And chess. I play chess to focus my mind. Have you watched Magnus Carlsen play?"
"A little bit," Joe nodded. "Those guys operate on a different level of thinking."
"It's fascinating," Siddanth agreed.
Joe shifted in his chair. "Do you do any martial arts? I know Jamie said you do Krav Maga. I'm a huge Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu guy."
"I don't practice martial arts competitively," Siddanth clarified. "I learned Krav Maga primarily for self-defense, discipline, and situational awareness."
Joe lit up. Martial arts was his domain. "That's awesome. Krav Maga is brutal. It's all about surviving and neutralizing a threat instantly. Why Krav Maga?"
"Because it is practical," Siddanth explained. "If I am walking with my family and a situation escalates, I am not looking to score points in a cage. I am looking to protect them and escape. Krav Maga teaches you to avoid fights whenever possible, but if violence is inevitable, you end it quickly."
"Absolutely," Joe nodded. "Sport fighting is different from street survival. In the UFC, you have a referee. You have rules. On the street, there are no rules. It's terrifying. Have you ever sparred with professional fighters?"
Siddanth shook his head. "No. I train with experienced instructors, but I know my limits. A professional MMA fighter is a different breed."
"Good," Joe joked, laughing. "Because those guys would humble anybody. I don't care how fast you bowl a cricket ball; if Demetrious Johnson or Khabib gets a hold of you, it's a wrap."
"I have no doubt," Siddanth chuckled.
"But the reflexes must help, right?" Joe asked. "You're reacting to a ball traveling at 95 miles an hour. That hand-eye coordination has to translate."
"It helps with reading body language," Siddanth noted. "A fast bowler telegraphs his delivery in his run-up. A fighter telegraphs a punch in his hips and shoulders. The elite fighters you mentioned—Jon Jones, Adesanya—they process that visual data in milliseconds. It is very similar to an elite batsman."
"It is!" Joe said excitedly. "Jamie, pull up some Krav Maga disarm techniques."
Jamie played a short video of rapid disarms. Joe and Siddanth spent several minutes geeking out over the mechanics of leverage and balance.
"What about injuries?" Joe asked, transitioning back to cricket. "You guys play without pads on your bodies, right?"
"We wear leg pads, gloves, and helmets," Siddanth clarified. "But the hands, arms, and ribs are often exposed. I've had bruised fingers and cracked ribs. You learn to play through the pain. The adrenaline usually masks it during the match. You only feel it when you take your boots off in the dressing room."
"How much of success is luck?" Joe pondered.
"Luck dictates the opportunities you get," Siddanth analyzed. "Hard work dictates what you do with those opportunities. I was lucky to be born with a strong physical frame. But the thousands of hours I spent in the nets... that wasn't luck."
"Tell me a story about the dressing room," Joe laughed, wanting to lighten the mood. "Give me something funny about Virat or Dhoni."
Siddanth grinned, remembering the Champions Trophy. "Virat Kohli is a fitness freak. He weighs his food. But he is also competitive about everything. We won a major tournament in England. Virat was giving a very serious, deep interview on live television about handling pressure. My teammate, Jadeja, and I sneaked up behind him with orange cooler filled with freezing ice water and dumped the entire thing over his head."
Joe roared with laughter. "On live TV?!"
"Live TV," Siddanth confirmed, chuckling. "He was shivering, threatening to kill us, while the interviewer was just dying of laughter."
"That's amazing," Joe wiped his eyes. "And Dhoni?"
"Mahi bhai has the driest sense of humor on the planet," Siddanth smiled. "I once saw a fast bowler bowl a terrible, wide delivery. The bowler walked back, looking stressed. Dhoni just looked at him from behind the stumps and said, 'If you bowl there again, If you want to bowl like that keep it to youself.' The bowler was so confused he just nodded and bowled perfectly the next ball."
Joe laughed loudly. "I love that. Man, we haven't even talked about your city. Hyderabad. Jamie, pull up some pictures."
Images of the Charminar and Hussain Sagar lake appeared on the screen.
"It's a beautiful mix of history and modern tech," Siddanth explained as Joe admired the architecture. "The food is legendary. Irani chai, Osmania biscuits. We celebrate everything. Diwali is my favorite. The whole city lights up with oil lamps."
"I have to visit," Joe declared firmly. "I'm coming to India, and you're taking me to get that biryani."
"Consider it done," Siddanth smiled.
Joe looked up at the digital clock on the wall. He let out a long, heavy breath and chuckled.
"Man," Joe said, shaking his head. "We have been talking for nearly three hours. I feel like we've barely scratched the surface."
"It went by fast," Siddanth agreed, taking a final sip of his tea.
"Alright, before we wrap up, I do a quick rapid-fire round with some of my guests," Joe said, leaning forward. "Don't think too much, just answer."
"Ready," Siddanth nodded.
"Favorite cricketer?"
"Sachin Tendulkar."
"Favorite inventor?"
"Nikola Tesla."
"Favorite book?"
"Blindness."
"Favorite English movie?"
"Iron Man."
"Favorite Indian movie?"
"Athadu."
"Biggest fear?" Joe asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Getting out for a duck," Siddanth answered with a deadpan expression. "I've somehow avoided it so far."
Joe laughed out loud. "Favorite food?"
"Hyderabadi biryani."
"Hardest opponent?"
"Australia."
"Favorite country besides India?"
"Japan. The discipline, the technology, and the respect for craftsmanship are unmatched."
"Favorite sport besides cricket?"
"Football."
"Favorite place in India?"
"Ladakh."
Joe smiled, sliding his headphones off one ear. "Siddanth, man. This has been an absolute pleasure. We didn't even get into half the Nexus projects."
"There is always next time," Siddanth smiled smoothly.
"Oh, absolutely," Joe said, pointing a finger at him. "When the next Ramayana chapter releases... you're coming back. We are doing part 2."
"I'd love to."
Joe reached across the desk, and the two men shook hands firmly.
"Jamie, thanks for pulling up all those crazy temples," Joe called out.
"Anytime. Thanks for coming, Siddanth," Jamie said from the back.
"Thanks, Jamie," Siddanth nodded.
"Siddanth Deva, everybody!" Joe announced into the microphone. "Check out the Ramayana trailer. It's wild. We'll see you guys next time. Peace."
The red 'LIVE' light above the studio door blinked off. The room settled back into its casual, ambient hum.