The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the hotel suite. Deva buttoned his shirt, checked his reflection, and grabbed his key card. He didn't have to go far for his morning check-in; his parents were staying right next door.
He knocked on the door of the adjacent room, and a moment later, his mother opened it, beaming. "Good morning, Kanna."
"Morning, Amma," Deva smiled, stepping into their room. His father was already sitting at the small dining table, scanning the newspaper.
"Breakfast is on the way," his father said, folding the paper. "We ordered extra idlis for you. We know you need your strength."
When the room service cart arrived, they sat together, the smell of fresh sambar and filter coffee filling the room. It was a rare moment of quiet before the chaos of his schedule took over.
"So," Deva asked, dipping a piece of idli into the chutney, "what's the plan for today? Where are you going first for sightseeing? Gateway of India? Marine Drive?"
"Your mother wants to see the Siddhivinayak Temple first," his dad replied. "Then maybe we'll drive past the Sea Link. We don't want to tire ourselves out for tomorrow's show."
"Sounds perfect," Deva said, wiping his hands. "Take lots of photos. And don't get stuck in traffic."
He stood up, checking his watch. "I have to run. The car is waiting."
"All the best for the shoot," his mother said, patting his cheek. "Look handsome."
Deva grabbed his bag from his room and headed downstairs. A sleek black company SUV was waiting. The driver held the door open. "Good morning, sir. Ready for the shoot?"
"Always," Deva nodded, sliding into the backseat.
The drive to the location—a massive studio lot on the outskirts of the city—was smooth. As the car pulled up to the entrance of Studio 4, Deva stepped out, adjusting his sunglasses.
The moment his feet hit the pavement, the bustling activity on the set froze. Light boys paused with reflectors in hand, the sound guys lowered their boom mics, and the chatter died down. All eyes were on him.
A man in a sharp blazer hurried over. "Deva, sir! Welcome! I'm Vikram, the production manager."
Deva smiled, shaking his hand firmly. "Good to meet you, Vikram."
Slowly, the paralysis broke. One by one, the crew members drifted closer. The director, the DOP, the assistants—they all formed a semi-circle.
"Big fan, sir," a camera assistant said nervously, extending a hand. "Watched your last innings. Incredible."
"Thank you," Deva said, shaking the man's hand warmly. He moved down the line, greeting everyone personally. "Hi, I'm Deva. Great to be working with you." His lack of airs put everyone at ease immediately.
Vikram guided him toward a large, silver caravan parked near the green screen setup. "We've got you in Caravan A for hair and makeup. Ms. Genelia will be joining you shortly. Since it's a quick 6-hour schedule, we thought sharing the space would be easier."
"No problem at all," Deva said, climbing the steps.
Inside, the AC was blasting. Deva settled into the makeup chair. Just as the stylist was applying the first layer of base, the door swung open.
Genelia D'Souza walked in, bringing a burst of energy with her. "Hi everyone!" she chirped. Then she saw Deva.
She paused, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh, wow. Hi! I'm Genelia." She extended a hand. "I have to say, I am a huge fan. My family doesn't miss a single match."
Deva stood up halfway, grinning. " The pleasure is mine. And trust me, I'm a big fan too. Hasini, right?"
Genelia laughed, that signature infectious laugh. "Oh my god, you've seen Bommarillu?"
"Seen it? I love it," Deva admitted. "That 'Ha-Ha-Hasini' line is legendary."
They sat in adjacent chairs as the makeup artists went to work.
"So, what are you working on now?" Deva asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "Any new movies coming up?"
"Yeah, just finished a schedule in Hyderabad," Genelia replied, tilting her head for the brush. "It's a rom-com, lots of running around. Keeps me fit. What about you? I heard about the England tour?"
"Yeah," Deva sighed, though he looked excited. "Flying out next Tuesday. It's going to be a tough series. Green tops, swinging ball. Different ball game."
"You'll crush it," Genelia said confidently. "Just play as you usually do. It's majestic."
"I'll try," Deva laughed.
"Sir, Ma'am, ready for wardrobe," the stylist interrupted gently.
Deva grabbed his outfit—a rugged leather jacket and jeans—and headed to the changing partition. "I'll see you out there, Hasini."
"See you, Devil," she teased back.
Ten minutes later, Deva stepped out of the caravan, looking every bit the rugged adventurer. He leaned against the door, checking his Fastrack watch. A moment later, Genelia stepped out, rocking oversized shades and a colorful jacket.
"Ready to get wild?" she asked.
"Let's roll," Deva said.
"ACTION!" the director shouted.
---
Setting: A dense, green forest. A fork in the trail.
Product Focus: Fastrack Reflex Smartwatch (GPS/Compass features) & Sunglasses.
Scene:
Deva is studying a physical map, looking serious. He points to the safe, paved path on the left.
Genelia is bored, blowing a bubble with gum. She looks at the dense, overgrown path on the right.
Genelia taps her smartwatch. It beeps.
She grabs Deva's map, crumbles it into a ball, and tosses it over her shoulder.
She points to the wild jungle path.
Deva: "That's not a path. That's a death wish."
Genelia: (Grinning) "Exactly. Race you to the waterfall?"
Deva: (Smirks, adjusting his sunglasses) "Give me a ten-second head start."
Deva sprints into the bushes. Genelia laughs and chases after him.
Voiceover/Text: Why follow the map?
Move On. to the Unknown.
---
Setting: A boring, stuffy black-tie party on a rooftop.
Product Focus: Metallic/Edgy Watches & Bags.
Deva and Genelia are dressed in formal wear but wearing funky Fastrack watches and sneakers.
The party is dull. Classical music plays.
They lock eyes across the room.
Genelia signals to the fire escape.
They sneak out.
Cut to a montage of them running down the metal stairs, jumping over puddles in a back alley, and sliding down the railing of a subway station.
They end up at an underground rave/street food stall, eating spicy noodles in their suits/gowns.
Genelia: (Wiping sauce off her lip) "Best dinner date ever?"
Deva: (Checking his watch) "We still have 20 minutes before the speeches end. One more round?"
Make Every Second Count.
Fastrack.
---
Setting: A dusty highway in the middle of nowhere (Ladakh vibe). An old open-top jeep has smoke coming out of the hood.
Product Focus: Sunglasses & Backpacks.
Scene:
Deva kicks the tire of the jeep in frustration.
Genelia is sitting on the hood.
Deva: "Engine's dead. We're stuck."
Genelia: "Correction. We're free."
Genelia hops off the hood, shoulders her Fastrack backpack, and sticks her thumb out to the empty road.
A massive, colorful truck horns in the distance.
Genelia grabs Deva's hand, and they start running towards the moving truck, laughing.
Cut to them sitting on top of the truck cargo, wind in their hair, wearing cool shades.
Voiceover: Plans are boring.
Tagline:Move On.
---
After wrapping up the intense "Urban Jungle" sequence, the crew called for a lunch break. While most headed to the catering tent, Genelia motioned Deva towards a quieter spot near the props department.
"Set food is okay," she said, pulling out a multi-tiered tiffin box from her bag, "but nothing beats ghar ka khaana. Want to share?"
Deva's eyes lit up. "I would never say no to home-cooked food."
They sat on a couple of apple boxes, plates balanced on their knees. Between bites of paneer and dal, the conversation flowed easily—completely avoiding the topic of cricket.
"So," Genelia asked, tearing a piece of roti, "watched any good movies lately? Or is it just practice footage?"
"I actually watched Pirates of the Caribbean last week," Deva said, smiling. "Jack Sparrow... what a character. The music, the adventure—I absolutely loved it."
"Classic choice," Genelia nodded approvingly. "What about Hindi? Seen anything recent?"
Deva thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not a Hindi one in a while, honestly. Schedules have been crazy." He paused, tapping his fork thoughtfully. "But I did catch a Telugu movie recently. Khaleja."
"Oh! Mahesh Babu!" Genelia beamed.
"Yeah. It was brilliant," Deva said earnestly. "The concept, the comedy, the action... I really enjoyed it. A very good movie. I honestly don't know why people said it flopped. It deserved better."
"Sometimes the best ones are misunderstood," Genelia grinned. "Glad you have good taste."
---
Later that afternoon, during the filming of Script 3: The Breakdown, things went a little off-script. The special effects team was tasked with creating "engine smoke" coming from the jeep's hood.
"Action!" the director called.
The machine whirred to life, but instead of a gentle plume, it belched out a massive, thick gray cloud that instantly engulfed the entire vehicle.
Deva, who was supposed to look frustrated, started coughing. Genelia, perched on the hood, completely disappeared into the fog.
"Okay, that's a lot!" Deva laughed, waving his Fastrack backpack wildly to clear the air.
Genelia popped her head out of the smoke, laughing hysterically. "I think the jeep isn't just broken, Deva, I think it's exploding!"
Instead of cutting the scene, the director kept the cameras rolling. The two of them spent the next minute genuinely cracking up, waving their bags and sunglasses to fan the smoke away, looking like two friends having a blast in a bad situation.
"Cut!" the director yelled, smiling. "We're keeping that take. That was pure gold."
---
As the sun began to set, painting the studio lot in shades of orange and purple, the assistant director shouted, "And that's a wrap!"
Applause broke out across the set. Deva shook hands with the crew one last time before heading back to his caravan to change. When he emerged, Genelia was just stepping out of hers.
"Great shoot today," Deva said, walking over. "Thanks for the food. And the company."
"Anytime," Genelia smiled. She pulled out her phone. "Hey, we should stay in touch. Maybe I can send you some movie recommendations for your flight to England."
"I'd like that," Deva replied, pulling out his own phone.
They exchanged numbers, saving the contacts.
"Good luck with the tour, Deva," Genelia said, waving as her car pulled up.
"Thanks, Hasini," Deva smirked. "See you at the movies."
---
The city lights were flickering to life as the SUV pulled up to the hotel entrance. Deva checked his phone; it was nearly 8:30 PM. He dialed his mother's number as he walked into the lobby.
"Amma, I'm back. Where are you guys?"
"We are just ten minutes away, Kanna," his mother's voice crackled over the line. "The traffic near the Sea Link is terrible."
"Okay, no problem. I've finished the shoot. I'll freshen up and come straight to your room. See you in half an hour."
Deva went to his room, washed off the day's makeup and grime, and changed into a comfortable t-shirt and tracks. Thirty minutes later, he walked down the hallway to the adjacent room and knocked.
The door swung open, revealing his father, who looked tired but happy.
"Welcome back, superstar," his father joked, ushering him in.
Deva went to his mother, who was already setting up the small dining table. "How was the sightseeing?" he asked, sinking into a chair.
"Oh, Siddhivinayak was beautiful," his mother said, her eyes shining. "We had a very good darshan. I prayed for your series in England."
"And the traffic?" Deva asked with a grin.
"Don't ask," his father groaned, sitting opposite him. "Mumbai traffic is a sport of its own. But the Sea Link was impressive. We took plenty of photos." They spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through the pictures on his father's phone—blurry shots of the temple, a selfie of his parents against the sea breeze, and a video of the sunset.
"Let's order," Deva said, picking up the room service menu. "I'm starving. No diet today."
They ordered a heavy dinner—Butter Chicken, Dal Makhani, and a basket of rotis. They ate together, talking about home, relatives, and the upcoming tour, enjoying the rare family time without cameras or fans interrupting.
By 10:30 PM, Deva stood up, stretching. "I should get some sleep."
"Go rest," his mother said. "We'll see you at breakfast."
As Deva walked to the door, his father stood up quickly. "One minute, Deva. For tomorrow..."
"Yeah?" Deva asked, hand on the doorknob.
"Make sure you are ready early," his father said, his voice serious but his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We have the Kaun Banega Crorepati recording. We cannot be late for Mr. Bachchan."
Deva chuckled. "Dad, the call time is at 11:00 AM. We'll be fine."
"No, no," his father insisted. "It is Big B! The Shahenshah! We have to be there before the time. I want us to look sharp. Let's not make him wait even for a second."
Deva smiled, seeing the fanboy in his usually calm father. "Don't worry, Nanna. We'll be on time."
"Good," his father nodded, satisfied. "I've already told all my friends my son is sitting on the Hot Seat opposite Amit-ji."
Deva shook his head, laughing as he stepped out into the hallway. "Goodnight, Nanna. Goodnight, Amma."
He walked to his room, smiling. No matter how big a cricket star he became, to his dad, the real star was always Amitabh Bachchan.