The morning sun filtered through the dusty window grilles of the Deva residence, casting striped shadows across the dining table. It was a quiet, domestic scene that stood in stark contrast to the madness of the previous day.
Siddanth sat picking at his idli, the ceramic plate chipped at the edge. He looked around. The paint on the ceiling was peeling slightly in the corner. The fan wobbled with a rhythmic click-click-click that had been the soundtrack of his childhood. The house was large—built in his grandfather's time when land in Mehdipatnam was cheap—but it was tired. It groaned under the weight of decades.
He put his spoon down.
"Amma, Nanna," he started, testing the waters. "I was thinking."
Sesikala looked up from serving chutney. "Thinking what? You want more ghee?"
"No, not ghee," Siddanth smiled. "About the house. We have money now. The prize money, the IPL contract... it's significant. This place... it's getting old. The plumbing is bad, the roof leaks in the monsoon. Maybe... maybe we should shift? Buy a villa in Jubilee Hills or Gachibowli? Something modern. Secure."
The silence that followed was louder than the fan.
Sesikala stopped mid-serve. She looked at the walls as if Siddanth had suggested burning them down.
"Go where?" she asked, her voice dropping. "Leave this house? I entered this house as a bride, Siddu. Your grandfather died in that room. You grew up here. Every happiness, every sadness we have ever known... it is in these walls."
"I know, Amma," Siddanth said gently. "But it's crumbling. We can keep it, rent it out. But for living..."
"No," Vikram interrupted. His voice was firm, the tone he used when he refused a bad loan at the bank.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked his son in the eye.
"Siddu, look outside. Walk to the balcony."
Siddanth frowned but stood up. He walked to the balcony door.
Outside, the remnants of the celebration were still there. Flowers on the street. The banner fluttering. A group of kids playing cricket with a tennis ball, shouting his name.
"What do you see?" Vikram asked, coming up behind him.
"The colony," Siddanth said.
"Exactly," Vikram said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You see the colony. I see my life. I grew up playing on these streets. The shopkeeper, the milkman, the neighbor who fights with us—they are family. Yesterday, they danced for you. They cried for you. They received you like a King. Why? Because you are one of them."
Vikram turned Siddanth around.
"If you move to a gated community in Jubilee Hills, you become just another rich celebrity behind a high wall. You become untouchable. Here? Here you are, their pride. You are the boy who made it. Do you want to trample on that pride just because you have a heavier bank balance now?"
Siddanth stared at his father. His mind, usually so calculated, felt a sudden wave of humility. He had been thinking about asset depreciation and lifestyle upgrades. His father was thinking about roots. About legacy.
"You're right," Siddanth said softly. "I didn't think of it that way. I just... I didn't want you guys living in a place that needs repairs every month."
"Then fix it," Vikram said, a gleam returning to his eye. "We don't leave. But we can change."
He looked around the living room, critically this time.
"You are right about one thing. Big people will come here now. Ministers. Cricketers maybe. We can't have the house looking like it belongs in a museum of the 1980s. The wiring is a fire hazard."
"So..." Siddanth grinned. "Renovation?"
"Reconstruction," Vikram corrected. "We keep the foundation. We keep the soul. But we knock down the walls and build it stronger. Modern. A palace in Mehdipatnam, not a villa in Jubilee Hills. I will contact a builder I know. We will make this the best house in the colony."
Sesikala looked relieved. "As long as my puja room stays in the same corner. And the kitchen. Don't make the kitchen 'modern' and open. I don't want guests watching me sweat over the stove."
Siddanth laughed. "Done. Puja room and kitchen stay. Everything else... we upgrade."
It was settled. They weren't leaving their roots; they were just watering them with success.
---
An hour later, Siddanth walked down the street to Arjun's house. The neighbors waved, and he waved back, feeling a renewed sense of belonging. His dad was right. This was his kingdom.
He climbed the stairs to Arjun's room. It was a mess of wires, empty soft drink bottles, and the low, constant hum of computer fans.
Arjun was sitting in a ergonomic chair, staring at three monitors.
"The Hero arrives!" Arjun spun around. "How does it feel to be the King of Mehdipatnam?"
"Feels like I need to spend some money," Siddanth said, dropping a bag on the bed. "Lock the door."
Arjun's eyebrows shot up. "Scandalous." He locked the door.
Siddanth sat down. "Let's talk business. The 2008 crash money. Where are we at?"
Arjun pulled up a spreadsheet. "We bought at the bottom, just like you said. The market is recovering. We are sitting on a very, very healthy profit. Plus, your match fees, the IPL bonus, the World Cup bonus... Sid, you are liquid. Very liquid."
"Good," Siddanth said, his eyes narrowing. "We double down."
He knew the trajectory of the next decade. 2009 was the launchpad.
"We split the capital. 40% stays in cash for the house construction and emergencies. 60% goes into the market. Aggressive."
"Hit me," Arjun said, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
"First, NVIDIA," Siddanth said.
Arjun paused. "The graphics card guys? For the gaming rigs?"
"For the future," Siddanth said. "Everything is going to run on their chips. In 2009, they are trading around $10-12 dollars (adjusted). Buy as much as we can legally hold."
"Okay... Nvidia. Next?"
"Reliance Industries," Siddanth said. "They are solid. But they are going to pivot eventually. Digital. Retail. It's a long-term hold. Safe harbor."
"Done. Reliance."
"MRF," Siddanth added. "Not just because of Sachin. Their stock price is going to become a meme it'll get so high. Buy it."
"And banking?" Arjun asked. "HDFC?"
"HDFC Bank. Yes. Always HDFC."
They spent the next two hours moving money, placing orders, and structuring the portfolio. To an outsider, it looked like two college kids playing with a simulator. In reality, they were building a financial fortress that would rival the GDP of a small island nation by 2025.
"And the mining?" Siddanth asked, looking at the whirring rig in the corner.
"72,000 Coins," Arjun grinned. "I added the new GPUs you brought from London. The hash rate is flying. But Sid... electricity bill is killing me."
"Pay it from the trading profits," Siddanth said. "Don't sell a single coin. Not one."
---
By 2:00 PM, their brains were fried from numbers.
"Enough capitalism," Arjun declared, stretching. "I need explosions. Loud ones. Giant robots punching each other."
"What are you talking about?" Siddanth asked.
"Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Released yesterday. Prasad's IMAX. Large screen. Popcorn. Let's go."
They called Feroz, Ravi, and Sameer.
Getting to the theater was an operation. Siddanth wore a cap pulled low and dark sunglasses. It was the standard 'Celebrity Disguise Kit'.
Prasad's IMAX, the pride of Hyderabad, was bustling. The giant screen, one of the largest in the world, was a magnet.
They slipped in just as the trailers started.
The movie was loud, chaotic, and gloriously mindless. For three hours, Siddanth wasn't thinking about run rates, swing bowling, or stock portfolios. He was just watching Optimus Prime fight Decepticons. He ate caramel popcorn by the bucketload. He laughed at the bad jokes. He cheered when Bumblebee fought.
It was the normalcy he craved. In the darkness of the theater, nobody cared who he was. He was just another face in the crowd, illuminated by the flickering light of the screen.
As they walked out, blinking in the late afternoon sun, a few people did double-takes.
"Is that...?"
"No, can't be. Why would he be here?"
Siddanth kept his head down, hustling into the car with his friends.
"That was close," Sameer laughed. "Almost got mobbed."
"Worth it," Siddanth grinned. "Did you see that forest fight scene? Sick."
---
Night fell over Hyderabad. The heat of the day dissipated, replaced by a cool breeze that rustled the neem trees.
The gang gathered on the terrace of Arjun's house.
Plastic chairs were arranged in a circle. Bottles of fruit Juice, Thums Up, and packets of biryani from Shah Ghouse were opened. The aroma of saffron and meat filled the air.
This was their sanctuary. The terrace where they had played cricket with a tennis ball, where they had discussed girls, exams, and dreams. Now, one of them had conquered the world, but up here, nothing had changed.
"So," Ravi asked, tearing a piece of naan. "What's it really like? Facing Lee? Malinga?"
"Fast," Siddanth said, taking a sip of fruit juice. "You don't see the ball. You feel it. You hear it. It's like a buzzing sound."
"And the hat-trick?" Sameer asked, eyes wide. "That slower ball?"
"Instinct," Siddanth shrugged. "I just knew he would swing hard. If I bowled fast, it would have gone for six. So I pulled the string."
They talked for hours. About the sledging (Symonds was funny, Johnson was angry), about the food in England (bland), about the girls in the stands (very pretty).
Then, Arjun's phone rang.
It was a jarring, professional ringtone, distinct from his personal one.
Arjun looked at the screen. He silenced the laughter with a raised hand.
"Business," he whispered.
He put the phone on speaker, but kept the volume low.
"Hello? This is Arjun speaking. Manager for Siddanth Deva."
Siddanth suppressed a smile. Manager. Arjun was growing into the role fast.
"Yes, Mr. Arjun," a slick, corporate voice came through. "This is Mehra from Deccan Cements. We've been trying to reach you. We are very interested in signing Siddanth for a multi-year endorsement deal."
Arjun leaned back, looking at Siddanth. Siddanth gave him a small nod. Play it cool.
"Mr. Mehra," Arjun said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding bored. "We have received many inquiries. Siddanth is currently... decomposing."
"Decompressing," Siddanth whispered loudly.
"Decompressing!" Arjun corrected quickly. "He is resting. We are not signing anything today."
"Of course, of course," Mehra said hurriedly. "We understand. But we would like to present our offer before the market gets... crowded. When can we meet?"
Arjun looked at Siddanth. Siddanth held up two fingers. Then he mimed a cricket bat.
"There is a felicitation ceremony," Arjun said. "In two days. At the LB Stadium. By the State Government."
"Yes, we are aware."
"Come there," Arjun said firmly. "We will have a brief window after the ceremony. I will text you the address of the hotel where we will be hosting a private reception afterwards. If your offer is serious, bring the paperwork. But I warn you... The valuation has changed since the World Cup."
"We understand completely. We will be there. Thank you, Mr. Arjun."
The call cut.
The terrace was silent for a second. Then the boys erupted.
"Mr. Arjun!" Ravi mimicked. "Valuation has changed!"
"You sounded like a don!" Sameer laughed.
Arjun wiped sweat from his forehead. "I was terrified. Did I sound okay?"
"Perfect," Siddanth said, clinking his bottle against Arjun's. "You made them wait. That makes them want it more."
"LB Stadium," Arjun mused. "That's going to be big."
"It's where it started," Siddanth said, looking out at the city lights. "Ranji's debut. U-19 selection. Now... felicitation."
"You're going to get a plot of land, I heard?" Ravi asked.
"Maybe," Siddanth said. "Dad wants to build the house here, but a plot in the city... that's a good asset."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the moon rise over the Charminar in the distance.
Siddanth felt a sense of peace.
He had the money. He had the fame. He had the family. And he had friends who didn't care about any of it, as long as he passed the Thums Up.
"To the Devil of Cricket," Feroz toasted, raising a chicken leg.
"To the Devil," the others chorused.
Siddanth smiled.
The laughter resumed, drifting into the Hyderabad night, a melody of youth and success. The future was unwritten, but they held the pen. And the ink was gold.