The black-and-silver sedan, utterly silent, glided to a halt under the imposing portico of the Park Hyatt in Banjara Hills. Before Siddanth could even unbuckle his seatbelt, a doorman, dressed in crisp livery, had the car door open.
"Welcome to the Park Hyatt, sir," he said.
"Thank you," Siddanth replied, sliding out. He was dressed in the "brand" he and Arjun had curated: dark-wash, perfectly-tailored jeans, minimalist white sneakers, and a sharp, navy-blue polo shirt. He looked less like a 17-year-old kid and more like a 25-year-old tech founder. Perception matters.
Another attendant was already at the boot, retrieving his new leather duffel and his cricket kit bag. "Your luggage, sir. We will have it sent to your room."
Siddanth just nodded, handing over the claim tags. This was a new world. This wasn't the functional chaos of the NCA dorms or the Spartan, shared rooms of a Ranji guesthouse. This was corporate, five-star efficiency.
He walked through the towering glass doors. The lobby was a cavern of polished marble, hushed whispers, and the faint, expensive scent of sandalwood. A young woman in a sharp blazer approached him, a booklet in her hand.
"Mr. Deva? Mr. Siddanth Deva?"
"Yes, that's me."
"A pleasure to welcome you to the Deccan Chargers camp, sir," she said with a bright, professional smile. "If you'll just come this way, we have a private check-in desk for the team."
She escorted him to a roped-off area near the reception. A man with a Deccan Chargers logo on his shirt greeted him, checked his name off a list, and handed him a slim, key-card wallet.
"Welcome to the team, Mr. Deva. We're thrilled to have you." The representative, a man in his late 30s, had the polite but neutral eyes of someone in franchise operations. "You're in room 1104. We've roomed you with another of our young talents, Mr. Halhadar Das. Your luggage will be up in a few minutes. The first team-wide event is the meeting at 4 PM in the main conference room."
"Halhadar Das," Siddanth repeated, his mind filing the name. Uncapped wicketkeeper-batsman and wicketkeeper from Orissa. "Got it. Thank you."
He took the card, his new leather duffel slung over one shoulder, and walked towards the lift bank. He felt... calm. This wasn't intimidating. It was just a new office.
As he approached the lifts, he saw three men already waiting. Siddanth's internal sensors went on high alert. This wasn't a U-19 camp. This was the big leagues.
He recognized them instantly.
Venugopal Rao: The Hyderabad Ranji captain. A local legend, an Indian international. The face of Hyderabad cricket.
Chamara Silva: The Sri Lankan middle-order batsman. A wily, experienced international, known for his wristy, unorthodox style.
RP Singh: The left-arm pacer. A hero of the T20 World Cup, his long hair and aggressive energy a sharp contrast to the quiet, composed Siddanth.
This was his first real test. Not as a player, but as a colleague.
He walked up, his pace even, his expression polite but confident.
"Hello, how are you? I am Siddanth Deva, one of the uncapped players," he said, giving a respectful nod.
The three men turned. Venugopal Rao smiled warmly. "Ah, Siddanth. Welcome. Good to see you."
"Good to see you too, Vennu-anna," Siddanth replied, using the familiar, respectful term for the local senior.
"RP," he said, turning to the fast-bowler. " This is Siddanth Deva, we were teammates in Ranji."
"RP Singh," the bowler replied, his grip firm. He had a sharp, appraising look.
Siddanth then greeted Chamara Silva, who greeted him back.
A ding announced the lift's arrival. The doors slid open. They all shuffled in, and Venugopal hit the button for the 11th floor. The doors closed, and the lift began its silent ascent.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It was that classic, awkward, "first day at the office" lift ride. Siddanth's mind was screaming, "Say something! Crack a joke! Ask RP about the T20 final bowl-out! Ask Chamara about Murali!"
But he clamped himself down, hard. Be quiet. Be professional. You are not a jester. You are a colleague. Wait.
He stood there, perfectly still, his eyes on the floor numbers... 8... 9... 10...
It was RP Singh who finally broke.
"That catch, yaar," he said, his voice loud in the small space, making Siddanth look up.
"Sorry?"
"The U19 World Cup final," RP said, a look of genuine, professional respect in his eyes. "That last ball. The one-handed dive. I was watching it at home with my family. We all went mental."
Chamara Silva chuckled. "You were flying, man. I thought, 'No way, no way.' But... catch. Match. Over." He mimed the catch with a flick of his wrist.
Venugopal Rao, the senior statesman, just smiled. "We were all very proud, Siddanth. It was a hell of a catch."
Siddanth's head relaxed, hearing that. The ice was broken.
"Thanks, bhai," Siddanth said, a small, genuine smile on his face. "Honestly, I just threw my hand out and prayed."
The doors slid open on the 11th floor. "This is us," Venugopal said.
They all stepped out, the camaraderie already building.
"See you at the meeting, Sid," RP said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"See you there, Bhai."
Siddanth watched them walk to their rooms before turning to 1104. He swiped the key card. The light turned green. He was in.
The room was vast. A king-sized bed, a plush sofa, a workstation, a massive flat-screen TV, and a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the green, urban sprawl of Banjara Hills.
A few minutes later, the doorbell chimed. A housekeeper, polite and efficient, wheeled in his luggage. "Where would you like this, sir?"
"Just here by the wardrobe is fine. Thank you," Siddanth replied, handing him a crisp 100-rupee note. He knew that the service staff were the invisible glue of any organization.
He was just laying his new, store-bought clothes into the drawers when the doorbell chimed again.
"Come in," Siddanth called out.
The door opened, and a young man, about his age, poked his head in. He was a bit shorter than Siddanth, with a stocky, athletic build and the unmistakable, wary eyes of a new arrival.
"Siddanth Deva?" he asked, a slight Odiya accent in his voice.
"Yes, I am," Siddanth said, walking over and offering his hand. "Siddanth Deva."
"Halhadar Das," the newcomer replied, his grip strong. "They told me you were my roommate. Man, I saw you in the final. That catch... and that 150kph bowling... madness."
"Just got lucky," Siddanth smiled, using his now-standard line. "Welcome. I think that's your bed."
"Great," Das said, dropping his own kit bag with a heavy thud. He was clearly nervous, but also vibrating with excitement. He, too, was an uncapped player, a wicketkeeper-batsman.
Siddanth went back to unpacking his things, his movements calm and methodical. Das, taking his cue, started doing the same, though his unpacking was more of a chaotic "dump-and-stuff" into the drawers.
After a few minutes, Das zipped up his empty bag. "Right. I'm going to grab a quick shower, freshen up. It's been a long flight from Bhubaneswar."
"Sure, man," Siddanth said. "Take your time."
The door to the bathroom clicked shut. It was 1:00 PM. Siddanth turned on the TV, flipping past the news, finally landing on a sports highlights show that was, inevitably, talking about the upcoming IPL. He watched for a while, the noise a comfortable blanket.
Then, after a while, Siddanth picked up the room-service menu. He didn't order for one.
By the time Das came out of the bathroom, steam-faced and in a fresh t-shirt, there was a knock at the door.
"Did you order something?" Das asked.
"Yeah, just some lunch," Siddanth said.
A trolley was wheeled in, laden with two large grilled chicken Caesar salads, a side of roasted vegetables, and two tall glasses of fresh watermelon juice. Clean, high-protein, functional.
"Hope you're good with salad," Siddanth said, signing the bill. "Figured we should eat before the meeting."
Das looked at the spread, then at Siddanth, his expression a mix of gratitude and awe. "Dude. Yeah. Perfect. Thanks, man. I was starving."
They sat, Das on the sofa, Siddanth in the desk chair, and ate. The food was a perfect icebreaker.
"So," Das said, mid-bite, "favorite match you've ever played?"
Siddanth smiled. This was the universal language. "The U-19 World Cup final, for obvious reasons. But before that... the Ranji semi-final against Mumbai. That 91 not out... that felt different. That was a fight."
"Yeah, watched the finals, it was a great game." Das.
"Thanks, man," Siddanth then asks, "What about you? Your best knock?"
Das lit up. He talked about a double-century he'd hit in the Cooch Behar Trophy, the feeling of batting for two full days, the sheer exhaustion and joy. Siddanth listened, really listened, nodding, asking questions.
They were deep in a debate about the 2001 Eden Gardens Test when the room phone rang, a sharp, jarring sound. It was 3:00 PM.
Siddanth picked it up. "Hello?"
"Mr. Deva? This is the team representative. Just confirming that the first all-team meeting will commence at 4:00 PM sharp in the main conference room on the lobby level. Please be there."
"We'll be there. Thank you," Siddanth said and hung up.
"One hour," he said to Das.
Das, who had been relaxed and laughing, immediately tensed up again. "Okay. Okay. Right. Meeting. God, I wonder if Gilchrist will be there."
"He will," Siddanth said, standing up. "And so will we. Let's get down there early."
At 3:50 PM, Siddanth and Halhadar Das stepped out of the lift. Siddanth had swapped his polo for a crisp, casual button-down shirt. Das had done the same. They looked like young professionals.
They walked into the conference room. It was already half-full, a low hum of conversation filling the air.
And just as Siddanth had predicted, the hierarchy was instantly visible.
In one corner, a "Boardroom" table. There sat the gods.
Adam Gilchrist, his Australian vice-captain's energy radiating, was laughing with Andrew Symonds, who looked like a coiled spring of dangerous energy.
VVS Laxman was with them, his presence a calm, graceful anchor. Rohith Sharma and RP Singh were deep in conversation.
In another area, the "Barista" table. A cluster of young, nervous, uncapped players. The guys from the Ranji squads, the U-19s. Das immediately gravitated towards them, a magnetic pull of shared anxiety.
"Come with me," Siddanth murmured to Das.
He walked straight towards the "Boardroom" table. Das is following him.
The conversation stopped. Six pairs of world-class eyes turned to him.
"Good evening, sir," Siddanth said, his voice calm, respectful. "Siddanth Deva. It's an honor to be on the team with you."
Laxman smiled, standing up to shake his hand. "Siddanth. Welcome. We've been looking forward to meeting you. A hell of an innings in the Ranji final against Delhi."
"Thank you, sir. It means a lot coming from you."
Gilchrist gave him a sharp, appraising nod. "Good to have you, mate. Watched that catch in the final. We can use that on the boundary."
"I'll do my best, sir."
Then Halhadhar Das introduced himself to them.
They didn't linger. They didn't try to join their conversation. They paid their respects, acknowledged their place, and then, with a polite nod, they walked over to the uncapped players, who were all discussing something.
"Hey," he said, grabbing a vacant chair. "Siddanth."
He introduced himself to the other young, nervous faces, and the tension at the table broke.
For the next fifteen minutes, he just chatted, talking about the U-19 tour, asking the other uncapped guys about their Ranji seasons.
At 4:00 PM exactly, the lights in the room dimmed.
A figure walked onto the small stage at the front, holding a microphone.
VVS Laxman.
He looked out over the room, his eyes calm and intelligent, scanning every face, from Adam Gilchrist to Halhadar Das. The room fell into a profound, respectful silence.
Laxman smiled, that gentle, wristy smile.
"Welcome to the Deccan Chargers."