The humidity of Colombo on August 8, 2008, was a tangible, heavy blanket that smelled of salt, exhaust, and tropical greenery. It was distinct from Hyderabad, distinct from Mumbai. It was the scent of foreign soil, the scent of an away tour.
For Siddanth Deva and Virat Kohli, stepping out of the Bandaranaike International Airport, it was the scent of destiny.
They were the "Colts." The U-19 World Cup winners. The IPL sensations. And now, officially, they were the India ODI Squad Members.
A black van with tinted windows waited for them at the VIP exit. A liaison officer from Sri Lanka Cricket, a polite man with a clipboard, ushered them in.
"Welcome to Sri Lanka, gentlemen. The team is at the Taj Samudra."
They climbed in, tossing their kit bags into the back.
As the van pulled out into the chaotic Colombo traffic, the air conditioning humming a low, artificial breeze, Virat turned to Siddanth. His leg was bouncing, a nervous, electric tic. His eyes, usually so full of brash confidence, were wide with the enormity of the moment.
"This is it, Sid," Virat whispered, staring at the BCCI logo on his travel polo. "The real deal. No more 'Under-19'. No more franchises. India. The Senior Team."
Siddanth leaned back. He looked at his friend, his rival, his partner.
"We made the pact, remember?" Siddanth said calmly. "NCA. Under the stars. We said we'd be here."
"Yeah," Virat grinned, the familiar fire returning. "But saying it and sitting in this van... it feels different. I feel... heavy. Good heavy. But heavy."
The drive was a blur of coastal roads and palm trees. When the Taj Samudra rose into view, a sprawling, luxurious complex facing the Indian Ocean, the reality set in. This wasn't just a hotel; it was the fortress of the Men in Blue.
They were checked in with efficient speed.
"Room 402," the receptionist said, handing two key cards. "You are sharing."
They took the elevator up, the silence between them comfortable but charged. They walked down the plush corridor, past rooms that housed men whose posters had adorned their walls for a decade.
Room 404: Y. Singh, H. Singh.
Room 406: M.S. Dhoni, M. Patel.
Virat stopped in front of 406, just for a second. He took a deep breath, then walked to 402.
"Neighbors with the skipper," Virat murmured as they entered their room. "No loud music, Sid."
The room was spacious, with a balcony overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting, painting the water in hues of violet and gold.
They unpacked in silence. It was a ritual. Placing the pads, the helmets, and the bats in the designated corner.
When Virat pulled out his India ODI jersey—the number 18 on the back—he just held it for a moment. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Siddanth pulled out his own. Number 6.
"We did it," Siddanth said softly.
"Step one," Virat corrected him, hanging the jersey carefully in the wardrobe. "Getting here is step one. Staying here... that's the war."
They freshened up, the travel grime washing away. It was already 8:30 PM.
"Dinner?" Siddanth asked. "Room service? I don't think we should crash the team dinner tonight. We're late, and... well, let's start fresh tomorrow."
"Agreed," Virat said, collapsing onto his bed and grabbing the menu. "I'm starving. And I'm not eating salad tonight, Sid. I want chicken."
They ordered a feast—Grilled Chicken and a fruit platter for Siddanth. They ate sitting on the floor, watching a replay of the Olympics on TV, talking about everything except cricket. They talked about cars, about movies, about songs. It was a necessary decompression.
But as they turned off the lights, the weight of tomorrow hung in the air.
---
The next morning, August 9th, the alarm went off at 6:30 AM.
By 7:30 AM, they were dressed in their official practice kits—the dark blue training shorts, the light grey t-shirts with the India crest. They looked sharp. They looked ready.
They took the elevator down to the lobby.
The doors slid open.
The lobby of the Taj Samudra was buzzing. But the faces were different from the Test squad. Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, VVS Laxman, and Sourav Ganguly had flown back to India. Their job was done (sadly, a series loss).
Now, it was the ODI unit. The "Young India." The MS Dhoni era.
Standing near the coffee station were giants.
Mahendra Singh Dhoni, with his long hair (though slightly trimmed now), looking utterly relaxed.
Yuvraj Singh, laughing loudly at something Harbhajan Singh had said.
Zaheer Khan, looking sleepy but imposing.
Rohit Sharma, their U-19 senior and IPL colleague, looking comfortable.
Suresh Raina, bouncing with energy.
Siddanth and Virat walked out of the elevator.
The conversation stopped. Heads turned.
It was the classic "first day at school" moment, but the school was the Indian National Cricket Team.
"Arey! Look who it is!" Yuvraj Singh's voice boomed across the lobby. "The kindergarten bus has arrived!"
The room erupted in laughter.
Harbhajan walked over, a mischievous grin on his face. "Chiku! Sid! Welcome, welcome. Did you bring your parents' permission slips?"
Virat, usually brash, was blushing slightly, but he managed a grin. "Good morning, Bhajji-pa. Good morning, Yuvi-pa."
Siddanth nodded respectfully. "Good morning, everyone."
Rohit Sharma walked over, playing the bridge. "Ignore them. They're just jealous because you guys have more hair than they do."
He hugged them both. "Good to have you here. About time."
MS Dhoni walked over.
"Welcome," Dhoni said, his voice soft but carrying effortlessly. He shook Virat's hand. "Relax. Just play your game."
Then he turned to Siddanth. His grip was firm.
"Siddanth," Dhoni nodded. "I told you in Chennai. We need death bowlers. You're here. Now show me."
"I will, Mahi-bhai," Siddanth said.
"Right!" Gary Kirsten, the coach, clapped his hands. "Bus leaves in five. Let's move!"
The bus ride to the Sinhalese Sports Club (SSC) ground was a revelation.
In the U-19s, it was noisy chaos. In the IPL, it was cliques.
Here, it was a mix. The seniors sat at the back—Dhoni, Yuvraj, Zaheer—playing a loud, aggressive card game. The middle was the "engine room"—Raina, Rohit, Munaf Patel.
Siddanth and Virat took seats near the front, the traditional rookie spots.
But the atmosphere wasn't exclusionary.
"Oye, Sid!" Yuvraj yelled from the back. "I saw that slower ball you bowled to me in the semi-final. The one that got me out. If you bowl that in the nets today, I will hit it to the hotel, understood?"
Siddanth turned around, grinning. "I'll try to keep it in the stadium, Yuvi-pa."
"Cheeky!" Harbhajan laughed. "I like him."
They arrived at the SSC. The ground was steeped in history, the grass lush, the nets freshly rolled.
They piled out into the heat. It was 9:00 AM and already sweltering.
"Warm-ups!" Paddy Upton, the mental conditioning coach and fitness trainer, yelled.
They went through the drills. Football. Sprints. Stretching.
Siddanth's Stamina and Agility were immediately apparent. He moved with a fluid grace that matched Suresh Raina and Rohit Sharma. He didn't look like a rookie trying to keep up; he looked like one of the fittest men in the squad.
Virat, fueled by pure competitive drive, was matching him step for step.
Then, the nets.
"Bowlers, loosen up!" Eric Simons, the bowling consultant, ordered. "Batsmen, pad up."
The team management—Kirsten, Dhoni, Simons—knew the stats. But the stats were paper. They wanted to see the engine.
"Deva," Dhoni called out, tossing a ball to Siddanth. "Net 1. You're bowling to Viru... ah, wait, Viru's gone. You're bowling to Gautam and me."
Gautam Gambhir, the one senior opener remaining for the ODIs, was padding up. Dhoni was next.
Siddanth took the ball. He walked to his mark.
The entire team paused to watch. They had seen him on TV. They wanted to see the "Hurricane" in person.
Siddanth decided not to hold back.
He marked his full, 17-step run-up.
He activated Predator's Focus (Lv. 3).
He activated "The Javelin" (Lv. 4).
He activated "The Leap" (Lv. 2).
He ran in. The approach was smooth, rhythmic, accelerating like a fighter jet. He hit the crease with that explosive, bounding leap.
His arm whipped over.
CRACK.
The ball hit the pitch, back of a length, and exploded off the surface.
Gambhir, a master of playing spin but sometimes susceptible to raw pace, was hurried. He tried to leave it, but the ball was too fast. It hit the splice of his bat with a jarring sound and looped harmlessly to the side netting.
"Whoa," Gambhir muttered, shaking his hand. "That's... brisk."
The speed gun wasn't set up, but Zaheer Khan, watching from the side, raised an eyebrow. "That's 145 plus. Easy."
Siddanth walked back.
Ball 2: Full. Swinging in. 148kph.
Gambhir jammed it out.
Ball 3: Siddanth rolled his fingers. The 110kph slower ball.
Gambhir was through his drive early. He missed. The ball thudded into the stumps.
"Well bowled," Gambhir nodded, stepping out of the net. "Good deception."
Then, MS Dhoni walked in.
The Captain.
He didn't wear a helmet. Just a cap. He tapped the bat, looking at Siddanth.
"Come on," Dhoni said. "Hit me."
Siddanth felt a surge of Brett Lee aggression.
You want to be hit? Okay.
He ran in. He put everything into it.
152kph.
A bouncer. Aimed at the chest.
Dhoni didn't flinch. He swivelled, his forearms bulging, and pulled.
CRACK.
The sound was violent. Dhoni had connected. The ball smashed into the side netting so hard it nearly tore the mesh.
"Good pace," Dhoni said, not smiling. "But too short. On this pitch, that sits up. Bowl fuller."
It was a lesson. Siddanth nodded.
He adjusted. He bowled the "Heavy Ball"—the 145kph length ball that nipped back.
Dhoni tried to drive. The ball jagged in, beat the inside edge, and hit him on the thigh pad.
Dhoni winced. "Better," he grunted. "That's the one. That's the wicket-taker."
For the next thirty minutes, Siddanth bowled. He bowled to Yuvraj (who tried to smash him and missed), to Raina (who struggled with the short ball), and to Rohit (who played him beautifully).
He showed them the pace. He showed them the yorker. He showed them the control.
By the time he finished, he was sweating, but his shoulder felt perfect.
Simons walked over. "Impressive control, Siddanth. You keep your wrist position very upright. That's why you get that late movement. Keep doing that."
Then, it was time to bat.
"Padding up, Deva!" Kirsten shouted.
Siddanth went to the kit bag. He pulled on his helmet. He grabbed his bat—a new SS Ton, specially weighted for his Power Hitting style.
He walked into Net 2.
He was facing Zaheer Khan and Harbhajan Singh.
This was the deep end. Zaheer was the master of swing. Harbhajan was a wizard of drift and bounce.
Zaheer ran in. He was bowling with the old ball, practising reverse swing.
Ball 1: It started outside leg and curled in towards off. A banana swing.
Siddanth saw it. He didn't plant his front foot. He kept it flexible.
He waited for the swing to finish, then leaned into a classical on-drive.
He presented the full face of the bat.
Thud.
The ball rolled back past Zaheer.
"Solid," Zaheer grunted.
Ball 2: Harbhajan. He bowled the doosra.
Siddanth picked it from the hand. He saw the back of the hand.
He didn't prod. He stepped out. He met the ball on the full and lofted it, inside-out, over extra cover.
It was the VVS Laxman shot, but played with power.
It hit the back net with a resounding smack.
The team stopped.
Yuvraj, who was chatting with Raina, turned around. "Oye! Who hit that?"
"The kid," Harbhajan said, looking annoyed but impressed. "He picked the doosra."
Harbhajan next bowled it flatter, faster.
Siddanth went down on one knee.
He swept it. But not a normal sweep. A hard, flat, paddle-sweep behind the square.
Four.
He faced Munaf Patel. Munaf bowled a heavy ball.
Siddanth didn't move his feet. He just trusted his hand-eye coordination. He punched a back-of-a-length ball through point. The sound off the bat was crisp, violent.
Gary Kirsten was standing behind the net, arms crossed, watching intently.
He watched Siddanth leave the good balls. He watched him rotate the strike in the net (playing a shot and running out). He watched him punish the loose balls.
"He's compact," Kirsten murmured to Dhoni. "He's got the flair, but he defends like Dravid."
Dhoni nodded, watching Siddanth play a perfect forward defense to Zaheer. "He's ready, Gary. He's not a slogger. He's a batsman."
Siddanth finished his session with a flourish. A net bowler tried to bowl a yorker. Siddanth stepped across and played the scoop.
It sailed over the imaginary fine-leg.
"Okay, okay, enough showing off!" Yuvraj yelled, laughing. "Get out of there! My turn!"
Siddanth walked out of the net, unstrapping his helmet. He was drenched in sweat, his hair matted, his muscles aching in that good, satisfying way.
He grabbed a water bottle and sat on the grass next to Virat, who had just finished his own intense batting session.
"They know," Virat whispered, nudging him. "Look at them."
Siddanth looked. Zaheer was talking to Simons, gesturing to his wrist. Dhoni was talking to Kirsten, nodding towards Siddanth.
"They know we're not just IPL kids," Siddanth said quietly. "We showed them."
"You bowled fast, Sid," Virat said, taking a swig of water. "Faster than in the IPL. You looked... scary."
"Just the humidity," Siddanth lied smoothly. "Lubricates the joints."
The session wound down. The team gathered for a cool-down stretch. The atmosphere had shifted.
At the start of the day, there had been banter. There had been "kindergarten" jokes.
Now, there was a different vibe.
Zaheer Khan walked past Siddanth and tapped him on the shoulder. "Good wrists, kid. We can work on that reverse swing. I'll show you the grip."
It was an invitation into the inner circle of the bowling cartel.
Harbhajan Singh threw a towel at him. "Next time, don't hit my doosra, okay? Show some respect to your elders." But he was grinning.
As they boarded the bus back to the Taj Samudra, the seating arrangement remained the same, but the dynamic had changed.
Siddanth and Virat weren't just passengers anymore. They were engines.
Dhoni walked past their seat on his way to the back. He stopped.
"Rest up," the Captain said. "Tomorrow, we talk tactics. You're both in the mix for the 1st ODI."
He walked on.
Siddanth looked at Virat. Virat looked at Siddanth.
"In the mix," Virat repeated, his eyes shining.
"In the mix," Siddanth agreed.
The bus rolled out of the SSC, back into the chaotic Colombo traffic. The sun was high, the ocean was blue, and Siddanth leaned back in his seat.
He had passed the audition.
The show was about to begin.