Date: June 16th, 2011 (Thursday Night).
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Time: 10:30 PM.
The exhaustion of the day—the Income Tax exam, the movie, the arcade, the lies—had finally settled into Deva's bones. But sleep wasn't an option. Not yet.
Across the world, in Kingston, Jamaica, the final ODI between India and the West Indies was getting underway.
Deva sat in his media room, the lights dimmed, the giant flat-screen illuminating his face. He had a bowl of homemade popcorn (no butter, courtesy of Sesikala) on his lap.
On screen, Virat Kohli walked out to bat at Number 3. The series was already won 3-1, but for players like Kohli and Rohit Sharma, there was no such thing as a dead rubber.
Ping. 📲
Deva looked at his phone. He smiled. He knew who it was.
Headache:Are you watching? Or are you sleeping like a baby? 😴🍼
Deva typed back.
Me:Watching. Kohli just walked in. He looks angry. 😡
Headache:He always looks angry. It's his resting face. 😂🦁
Me:It works for him. Watch. 👀
They watched in silence for a few overs, separated by miles but connected by the satellite signal. Kohli started aggressively, pulling Ravi Rampaul for four.
Ping.
Headache:Okay, that was a good shot. But seriously, why is Rampaul wearing that chain? It's bouncing everywhere. It's distracting. ⛓️😵💫
Me:It's Caribbean swag, Krithika. You wouldn't understand. 😎🌴
Headache:I understand style, Siddarth. That is not style. That is a hazard. If it hits him in the eye, I am going to laugh. ⚠️🤣
Deva chuckled. She critiqued cricket like she critiqued his life—ruthlessly.
As the innings progressed, their text chain turned into a private commentary box.
India: 79/2. (Parthiv Patel out).
Headache:Ugh. Why do they play Parthiv? He looks like a schoolboy who got lost on the way to the bus stop. 🚌🎒
Me:He's a good keeper. And he scored runs in domestic. 🧤
Headache:He is shorter than the stumps! 📏 How does he even see the bouncer? He has to jump to high-five anyone! 🤦♀️
Deva laughed so hard he choked on a popcorn kernel.
Me:You are mean. 😂
Headache:I am honest. Deva would have hit that ball for six. Just saying. 🏏🚀
There it was. The inevitable comparison.
Me:Deva isn't there. Let the others play. 🤷♂️
Headache:It's boring without him. It's like watching a movie without the hero. Like watching Pirates without Jack Sparrow. 🥱🏴☠️
Me:Jack Sparrow was good today, though. 😉
Headache:He was okay. The company was... tolerable. 🙄
Me:Wow. High praise. 🙌
Headache:Don't let it go to your head, chipmunk. 🐿️
On screen, Kohli was building a partnership with Rohit Sharma. It was the future of Indian cricket on display.
Me:Rohit is playing well. Lazy elegance. ✨
Headache:He is lazy, period. He runs singles like he is doing a favor to the nation. "Okay, fine, I will run, but I won't like it." 🚶♂️🐌
Me:That's just his style! He has so much time. 🕒
Headache:He needs an alarm clock. Run faster, man! ⏰🏃♂️
---
Kohli reached his 90s. The tension rose. He was batting beautifully, dismantling the West Indies attack.
Ping.
Headache:94 runs. Look at him. He is in the zone. He is definitely getting the 100. I am calling it now. 💯🔥
Deva frowned. He knew the superstition of cricket. You never call it before it happens.
Me:Don't jinx it. 🤫
Headache:I don't believe in jinxes, Siddarth. He is set. Nothing can stop him. He is going to score big. Mark my words. 🔮✨
Deva looked at the TV.
Ball: Kohli tapped the ball to point.
Call: He called for a quick single.
The non-striker hesitated for a split second.
Throw: Ramnaresh Sarwan picked it up and fired a rocket.
Impact: Direct hit.
Kohli was short.
OUT. Run out for 94.
Deva stared at the screen, then at his phone.
Ping.
Headache:...
Headache:NOOOOOOO! 🤬🤬🤬
Headache:How?! Why?! Who ran him out?! 🔪😤
Me:YOU ran him out! I told you not to say it! "Nothing can stop him," huh? You are a bad omen, Krithika! 🐈⬛💀
Headache:Shut up! I am going to write a letter to the BCCI. This is unacceptable. My heart is broken. 94! 💔😭
Me:Remind me never to let you watch when India plays important games. You are dangerous. ⚠️
Headache:I hate this sport. 😭
The collapse followed. India posted 251.
Headache:It's not enough. Pollard will eat this score for breakfast. 🍽️👹
Me:We have spinners. Mishra is playing. 🌀
Headache:Mishra ji is good, but Pollard is a giant. It's like David vs Goliath, but Goliath has a bigger bat. 🤏🆚🦍
Deva watched as the West Indies chase began. Krithika's prediction was eerily accurate. Kieron Pollard and Lendl Simmons smashed the bowling to all parts.
Headache:See? I told you. Pollard is eating the ball. He thinks it's a ladoo. 🍪🤤
Me:Okay, you were right about Pollard. Wrong about Kohli, right about Pollard. Are you a cricket analyst in secret? 🧐
Headache:I am just a genius. You should know this by now. 🧠💅
India lost the match by 7 wickets. The series ended 3-2.
Headache:We lost. Sad ending. I am going to sleep angry. 😡🛌
Me:It's a dead rubber. We won the series. 🏆
Headache:Winning is a habit. Losing is a disease.
Me:Goodnight, Fan Girl. 😴
Headache:Goodnight, Fake Analyst.
Deva put the phone down. He looked at the TV screen where the West Indies players were celebrating. He felt the fire in his belly.
Next tour: England.
He wouldn't be watching on TV. He would be there. And he would make sure the fan girl had nothing to complain about.
"Just two more exams," Deva whispered.
He turned off the TV and went to sleep, the blue light of the phone fading into the darkness.
---
Date: June 17th, 2011 (Friday).
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Time: 9:00 AM.
Siddanth Deva stood in the paddock, holding a bucket of oats. Toofan, the Marwari stallion, nudged his shoulder impatiently. Deva laughed, stroking the horse's mane. The morning was cool, the peace of the farm unbroken.
His phone rang. It was the daily ritual. Arjun.
Deva put the bucket down on the fence post and answered via his Bluetooth earpiece. "Good morning, Mr. Musk. Did you invent the iPhone killer overnight?"
"Working on it," Arjun's voice was crisp, caffeinated. "But first, your schedule. The exams finish on the 25th, right?"
"Yes. Advanced Accounting on Tuesday, Management Accounting on Thursday. Then I am a free man."
"Good," Arjun said. "Because your freedom lasts exactly 48 hours. I have locked the dates for the Fastrack shoot. June 27th. Mumbai. Mehboob Studios again."
"27th works," Deva noted mentally. "I need to be in Chennai by July 1st for the pre-tour camp. It fits."
"Also," Arjun paused, letting the silence build the hype. "We got a call from Sony TV. From the producers of Kaun Banega Crorepati."
Deva stopped stroking the horse. "KBC?"
"Yes. Season 5 is starting soon. They want a special guest for the premiere week. They want you."
Deva smiled. KBC was not just a quiz show; it was a cultural phenomenon. And sitting across from Amitabh Bachchan was a rite of passage for Indian icons.
"Which other cricketer has been on it?" Deva asked.
"From cricket? Only one," Arjun said. "Sachin Tendulkar appeared in Season 1. Since then? No active cricketers. You will be the second. The 'Devil following the God'. That's the angle they are pitching."
"Accept it," Deva said instantly. "It's Big B. You don't say no to Big B."
"Done. They are flexible with dates. We'll slot it in before you fly to England. Now, check your email. The ad agency sent the script for the Fastrack commercial. They are very excited. They call it 'Edgy and Youthful'."
"Edgy," Deva repeated, suspicious. "Okay. I'll read it now."
---
Deva walked back to the villa, entering his study. He opened his laptop and refreshed his inbox.
Subject:Fastrack TVC - Script Draft 1 - "Move On"
Attachment:Script_v1.pdf
Deva clicked it open. He leaned back, sipping his green tea.
He read the first page. He frowned.
He read the second page. His frown deepened.
He read the dialogue.
Scene: Interior. Airplane Cockpit.
Characters: A young, dashing Pilot (Deva) and a glamorous Air Hostess (Genelia D'Souza).
Action: The Pilot is flying. The Air Hostess enters. They lock eyes. The Pilot activates 'Auto-Pilot'. He unbuckles his belt. The Air Hostess locks the cockpit door. She unfolds the 'Do Not Disturb' sign...
Tagline: Move On.
Deva stared at the screen. He knew this ad. In his previous life, this ad had aired featuring Virat Kohli and Genelia. It was provocative, suggestive, and created a massive buzz.
But it also got banned.
The Ministry of Information and Broadcasting had pulled it off the air within weeks for being "indecent." It was a PR mess.
Deva scrolled down. There was another option.
Scene: Hotel Room. A girl packing her bags. A boy (Deva) walks out of the shower in a towel. The girl throws a watch at him. 'Your time is up'. The boy catches it, winks, and puts it on. Another girl walks out of the bathroom...
"Jesus," Deva muttered. "They really want to market me as a playboy."
This wasn't the brand he was building. He wasn't the 'Bad Boy' of Indian cricket. He was the 'Devil'—fierce, competitive, but disciplined. He wasn't a casanova.
He picked up the phone and dialed Arjun immediately.
"Did you read it?" Arjun asked.
"I read it," Deva said, his voice flat. "And you need to call them right now and tell them to burn it."
"What?" Arjun sounded surprised. "Why? It's bold. It's sexy. Genelia is a big star. The chemistry would be—"
"Arjun," Deva cut him off. "It's cheap. It's filled with sexual innuendos. 'Auto-pilot'? really? It looks like a deodorant ad from the 90s."
"It's Fastrack, Sid. Their tagline is 'Move On'. They target college kids."
"I am a college kid!" Deva argued. "And I don't want to be known for... this. Listen to me. The government is conservative. The Censor Board is strict. If we shoot this, it will air for two days, create a controversy, and then get banned. Fastrack gets publicity, but my image takes a hit. Parents won't like it."
"You think it will get banned?"
"I guarantee it," Deva said (knowing the future). "It's too much. I am a role model. I can't be doing cockpit romances."
"Okay," Arjun sighed. "So what do you want to do? Sell watches by reading a book?"
"No. Action," Deva said, standing up and pacing. "Fastrack means speed. It means energy. Make it physical."
"Like what?"
"Cycling," Deva pitched. "Mountain biking. Downhill. Mud flying. Sweat. High intensity. Or Rock Climbing. Free soloing a cliff face. The tagline can still be 'Move On'—but move on from limits, not from relationships."
"Action hero vibe," Arjun mused. "Like Tom Cruise."
"Exactly. Make me look cool, not horny. Put me on a bike. Put me on a cliff. Put me in a parkour chase scene. But get me out of that cockpit."
Arjun was silent for a moment. "That... actually sounds better. It fits the 'Bolt' image too. Speed. Power."
"Tell them," Deva commanded. "If they refuse, tell them I'm out. I am not doing the cockpit script."
"I'll handle it," Arjun said. "I'll tell them the 'Devil' wants danger, not romance. They'll eat it up."
"Good," Deva sat back down. "And Arjun? One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"We need to hire someone."
"We are hiring engineers every day, Sid. The Bolt team is growing."
"Not for NEXUS," Deva said. "For me. For us."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I just called you—the CEO of a multi-million dollar tech company—to complain about a script for a watch ad. You are negotiating my appearance fees for KBC. You are booking my movie tickets. You are buying land for my farm."
Deva took a breath. "You have too much on your plate, Arjun. You need to focus on Bolt 1. You need to focus on the PUBG engine. You can't be my manager anymore."
"I don't mind," Arjun said softly. "It's fun."
"It's inefficient," Deva countered. "We need a buffer. We need a Personal Assistant. Or a Talent Manager. Someone who handles the dates, the scripts, the travel, the fan mail. Someone I can call to book tickets without bothering you during a board meeting."
Arjun laughed. "You finally realized I have a job?"
"I realized I am annoying," Deva smiled. "Hire someone. Someone sharp. Someone who can handle the press, handle my schedule, and handle me."
"Okay," Arjun agreed. "I'll put out a feeler. Discrete hiring. We need someone trustworthy."
"On it. Now go study. You have an exam on Tuesday."
Deva hung up. He looked at the laptop screen, at the rejected script. He selected the file and hit Delete.
He wasn't going to be a puppet for an ad agency. He was Siddanth Deva. He wrote his own scripts.
He picked up his Advanced Accounting book.
"Back to the real world," he whispered.