✍️ Chapter 4 – Back on Set, Back in Brotherhood
Sidharth stepped out of the vanity van, the hot studio floor buzzing beneath his polished boots. Huge white reflectors towered overhead, fans churned the warm air, and distant assistant directors hollered into walkie-talkies. Even after years around sets in another life, he still felt that small, electric charge run through him.
This was different.
Not a luxury photoshoot, not an experimental web ad.
A full-fledged television drama.
A chance to finally act again — not as a host or game mastermind, but slipping into a new skin, telling a living story.
🎬 The role of Kabir
His character, Kabir Singh Rathore, was the childhood friend and closest confidant of Roop. Their fathers had been army comrades, thick as thieves long before either boy was born. After Kabir's father died on duty, Roop's father had taken a quiet vow to always look out for the boy — though in his gruff, pride-choked way.
Kabir's mother, meanwhile, had moved to America, building a chain of import businesses with sheer grit. She raised Kabir to be tough, honorable, unflinchingly loyal. And when he came of age, she sent him to the same military academy that had shaped generations of their family — the same one Roop's father insisted on for his own son.
So Kabir and Roop grew up on parade grounds, under the same strict instructors, carrying rifles twice their weight, learning to run on blistered feet. They laughed together, broke rules together, stitched each other up after punishment drills.
Now, years later, they had come home together — disciplined, physically hardened, but with hearts that still questioned the suffocating notions of masculinity their families clung to.
🎥 First day on set
On set, Sidharth wore rugged denim jeans, a plain olive kurta, and worn boots — Kabir's off-duty civilian style. A slim leather band graced his wrist, a quiet tribute to his character's father. When he stood next to Shashank Vyas, in Roop's softer printed shirts, the contrast spoke volumes without a word spoken.
The director clapped his hands.
"Alright, let's block the first major reunion scene. Kabir walks up to the Vaghela house, sees Roop after three years, they meet, hug — but with that typical macho stiffness. Remember, these are boys raised by men who think feelings are weaknesses."
Sidharth nodded, rolling his shoulders once, letting Kabir's posture slide over his own — ramrod straight, precise. His jaw tightened, eyes scanning like he was constantly on perimeter watch. It was funny how easily it came back. All those academy drills, silent nights on a parade ground. Even if fictional here, it was muscle memory from his past life too.
🎭 Lights, camera, raw emotion
"Action!"
He walked up the dusty stone path, the Vaghela house looming ahead. Roop stood on the veranda, arms folded, eyes hard. For a breath, neither moved. Then Kabir's lips twitched into a half-smile. Roop cracked a grin back, stepped forward — and they collided in a quick, hard embrace, both thumping each other's backs with just enough force to cover the welling relief in their chests.
"Kaise hai tu, fauji?" Roop muttered.
"Better than your fashion sense, yaar," Kabir shot back, glancing pointedly at the bright floral shirt Roop wore.
Roop let out a bark of laughter. "Some things never change."
"Good. Means I still know you."
The director yelled, "Cut! Perfect, boys. That tension — then that rough warmth. Exactly right."
Shashank clapped Sidharth's shoulder after the take.
"Man, you've slipped into this like you were born for it. Have you seriously never done serials before?"
Sidharth just smiled faintly.
"Guess I've practiced longer than anyone knows."
🏠 Off-camera camaraderie
Between shots, Sidharth and Shashank sprawled in folding chairs, sipping tiny paper cups of set chai. Crew members bustled past, fixing lights, adjusting microphones.
"So your mom's still in the US?" Shashank asked, curious about Kabir's scripted backstory.
"Yeah," Sidharth said, half in character, half enjoying the blend. "Runs businesses in Boston, mostly. Imports, luxury retail. She's tougher than any colonel we ever had. Lost my dad when I was ten, so it was her way or the highway."
Shashank grinned. "Explains the silent soldier vibe. Makes Roop look like a hyper puppy next to you."
Sidharth laughed — low, warm, the kind that made nearby junior artists glance over.
"You keep calling me soldier, I'll start making you do push-ups."
🚙 Small flashback: Military school days
A short scene filmed later that day was a dreamlike flashback. Younger versions of Roop and Kabir in full academy cadet gear, racing across muddy fields. A drill sergeant's whistle screamed behind them.
"Faster, maggots! Or you're scrubbing latrines for a week!"
Kabir grabbed Roop's wrist, yanking him over a ditch just in time. Both collapsed on the other side, gasping, covered in mud.
"Bhai, I swear if you fail endurance, I'll carry you the next lap," Kabir wheezed.
Roop glared. "I'm not your princess to be carried."
"Fine. Crawl. I'll watch."
They lay there laughing until another whistle blast sent them scrambling again.
When the director finally called cut, Sidharth brushed fake mud off his sleeves, sharing a long look with Shashank. Even for actors, the bond felt strangely real.
📱 Night call home
That night in his hotel, still wearing a soft white T-shirt and joggers, Sidharth lay on the bed, phone to his ear. His mother's voice filled the room from across oceans.
"They're treating you well? Eating properly? Not just black coffee and ambition?"
"Yes, Maa," he said, smiling at the ceiling. "Also lots of dust, sweat, and enough fake blood packets to fill a tank."
She laughed, the sound rich and familiar. "Your father would have been proud to see you wearing the uniform, even for a story."
His throat tightened for a moment.
"I know, Maa. I hope so."
🌅 The quiet after
Next morning, before shooting resumed, Sidharth wandered through the Vaghela set alone. The painted mud walls, clay pots, old charpoys — all painstakingly crafted to look like a real Rajasthani village.
He wore his Kabir look again: olive kurta, sturdy boots, leather wristband. A small boy on the crew scampered past carrying a huge light reflector, nearly tripping. Sidharth caught the metal edge just in time.
"Slow down, cadet," he teased softly, ruffling the kid's hair.
The boy giggled and ran on.
For a heartbeat, Sidharth stood there alone, breathing in the dusty studio air that smelled faintly of sweat, tea, and grease paint.
Round two, he thought again, the old mantra steady in his chest.
Only this time, he wasn't just stepping into someone else's script.
He was writing new chapters for himself — as an actor, as a son, as a brother not just to Roop on screen, but to everyone whose life he brushed