Date: January 14, 2014
Location: SkyCity Grand Hotel / Waikato Motorsport Park, Auckland, New Zealand
The transition from the dusty, familiar pitches of the subcontinent to the windy, lush green expanses of New Zealand was always a jarring adjustment for touring teams.
Out on the practice pitches of Eden Park in Auckland, the Indian Cricket Team had just wrapped up a grueling three-hour evening training session under the fading summer sun.
With the five-match ODI series against Brendon McCullum's side rapidly approaching, MS Dhoni and Duncan Fletcher were pushing the squad hard to acclimatize to the seam movement and the stiff coastal crosswinds.
As the clock struck 5:30 PM local time, the head coach finally blew his whistle, concluding the drills. The players, exhausted and feeling the lingering effects of the massive time-zone shift, packed their kitbags and boarded the team bus back to the SkyCity Grand Hotel in downtown Auckland.
Siddanth Deva walked into his high-rise hotel suite, dropping his heavy kitbag by the door. His muscles ached with a familiar, satisfying fatigue. He walked straight into the bathroom, stripping off his practice gear, and stood under a hot shower to flush the tension from his shoulders.
Ten minutes later, he stepped back into the bedroom, feeling refreshed. He dressed comfortably in a pair of loose black track pants and a plain white t-shirt. He grabbed a towel, drying his hair as he walked over to the nightstand and picked up his phone.
It was exactly 6:30 PM in Auckland.
Which meant it was roughly 11:00 AM back home in India.
Today was Makara Sankranthi, one of the biggest, most vibrant harvest festivals in the South. While his entire state was currently celebrating with kites, massive feasts, and chaotic family gatherings, Siddanth was sitting alone in a quiet hotel room over seven thousand miles away.
He unlocked his phone and dialed his parents' phone in Shamshabad.
"Hello?" His mother's voice answered on the second ring, loud and bustling with background noise.
"Happy Sankranthi, Amma," Siddanth smiled, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.
"What happy, Siddu?" Sesikala Deva complained immediately, "My only son is sitting in some random hotel room in New Zealand eating boiled potatoes and bland vegetables on festival day! If you were here, I made pulihora, bobbatlu, and mutton curry. But no, you have to be running around in the wind playing cricket. Did you at least go to a temple this morning?"
Siddanth laughed. "Amma, there aren't exactly a lot of temples next to the stadium in Auckland. I said a prayer in my room before practice. And I didn't eat boiled potatoes; I had a proper meal. Is Nanna around?"
"He is outside on the porch fighting with the estate workers over the kite flying," Sesikala sighed affectionately.
"Put Nanna on the line."
A few seconds of rustling followed before his father's calm, steady voice came through the receiver.
"Happy Sankranthi, Siddu," Vikram greeted warmly.
"Happy Sankranthi, Nanna. Amma said you're fighting over kites?"
"I am not fighting, I am winning," Vikram corrected dryly. "I just cut Ramesh's kite string using a special glass-coated manja I bought specifically for today. The score is 3-0 to us."
"Don't cut your fingers," Siddanth grinned, thoroughly enjoying the grounded, domestic conversation.
"I know what I'm doing, my boy. Enjoy your day," Vikram said. "I am handing the phone back to your mother before she starts glaring at me."
Sesikala came back on the line, delivering a rapid-fire list of instructions to sleep on time, wear a sweater so he didn't catch a cold in the New Zealand wind, and not dive too hard on his shoulders during practice, before finally letting him hang up.
Siddanth tossed the towel onto a chair. He scrolled down his contacts and dialed the next number.
"I am officially hiding on the roof," Krithika's voice whispered through the speaker as she picked up.
"Happy Sankranthi, Shorty," Siddanth chuckled, walking over to the window to look out at the Auckland skyline and the iconic Sky Tower. "Why are you hiding?"
"Because my house is currently invaded by four different sets of relatives," Krithika groaned, the sound of distant, loud family chatter echoing through the phone. "If one more aunt asks me what my 'future plans' are after my MBA, I am going to jump off this terrace. And Happy Sankranthi, Mama's Boy. I miss you."
"I miss you too, Headache," Siddanth said. "You should have just told your aunts you plan on Cab driving professionally. I hear you're getting quite good at not hitting goats."
"I will literally block your number," Krithika threatened playfully. "Are you free today, or is Dhoni making you run laps around the ground?"
"We are done for the day. Just relaxing in the hotel," Siddanth replied. "What are you wearing? Did your mother force you into a saree?"
"A half-saree. Green and gold. And yes, she forced me," Krithika sighed. "It is heavy, it is uncomfortable, and Ronny has already tried to chew the border of it twice."
"Send me a picture," Siddanth demanded smoothly.
"Absolutely not. I look like a traditional curtain."
"Send me a picture, Krithi, or I'm calling Anjali and telling her to take a candid of you eating a laddu."
"You are so annoying," Krithika huffed. "Fine. But you owe me a proper festival gift when you get back."
"Deal," Siddanth smiled. "Go survive your relatives."
They hung up. Ten seconds later, a photo popped up on his screen. Krithika was standing on her sunlit terrace, wearing a stunning traditional green half-saree, her hair braided with jasmine flowers, sticking her tongue out at the camera. Siddanth stared at the photo for a long moment, a quiet smile on his face.
Instead of just saving it, he quickly typed out a reply: You look exactly like Genelia from Bommarillu. Try not to run into any pillars today.
He hit send. Less than five seconds later, his phone started ringing loudly.
He answered it, already laughing.
"You ruined it!" Krithika yelled through the phone, completely abandoning her whispers. "I send you a nice, elegant, traditional photo, and you compare me to a clumsy rom-com character?! You have absolutely zero romance in your soul, Siddanth Deva!"
"Hasini is a very popular character," Siddanth pointed out, highly amused.
"I am hanging up and deleting the photo!" she grumbled, though she was laughing too. "Bye!"
Siddanth smiled, locking the phone. He made one final call, opening a conference line with Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz.
"Orey! The big man remembers us!" Sameer yelled into the phone instantly.
"Happy Sankranthi, you idiots," Siddanth laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you guys at the farmhouse?"
Before Siddanth could even ask another question, Sameer put the phone directly next to his mouth. A loud, aggressive crunch of fried mutton echoed through the speaker, followed by a deeply exaggerated, theatrical groan of absolute culinary satisfaction.
"The gravy is so thick today, Sid," Feroz added ruthlessly. "It is an absolute tragedy that you are stuck eating boiled Kiwi food right now while we are destroying mutton curry."
"You guys are the worst friends on the planet," Siddanth chuckled, shaking his head at their zero-respect audio torture.
"Everything is stable at the office, Sid," Arjun chimed in. "But seriously, when are you back? The city feels boring without you dragging us out to random street food stalls at midnight."
"Just over a month," Siddanth promised. "Don't eat all the sweets. Leave some for me. I'll catch up with you boys later."
Having successfully completed the traditional festival phone calls, Siddanth slipped his phone into his pocket and headed downstairs to the private dining hall reserved for the Indian team.
The dining room was loud and boisterous. Without the pressure of a match day, the players were entirely relaxed. Virat Kohli, Ravindra Jadeja, Shikhar Dhawan, and Rohit Sharma were sitting around a large circular table, plates piled high with whatever vaguely Indian-tasting curries the hotel chef had managed to prepare. MS Dhoni sat quietly at the head of the table, sipping a bowl of soup.
"There he is!" Dhawan cheered as Siddanth pulled up a chair. "The man who spent the entire evening bowling bouncers at my head in the nets. Have some chicken, Siddu."
Siddanth grabbed a plate, loading it up with a generous portion of protein. "If you moved your feet, Shikhar, the bouncers wouldn't be a problem."
Kohli burst into laughter, pointing a fork at Dhawan. "He's got you there, Gabbar."
They ate comfortably, trading stories and bantering. As the plates were cleared and the waiters brought out cups of hot coffee and tea, Siddanth checked his watch. It was only 7:30 PM. They had the entire evening free.
Siddanth wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaning back in his chair. He looked around the table.
"So," Siddanth started, a casual glint in his eye. "We have the rest of the night off. Sitting in this hotel room is going to drive me crazy. Does anyone want to go for a drive?"
Rohit Sharma, who was heavily slouched in his chair looking ready for a nap, raised an eyebrow. "A drive? Sid, we are in Auckland. If we step outside, we are just going to freeze. No thanks. I am going to sleep."
"Not on the streets, Ro," Siddanth corrected smoothly. He pulled his phone out. "I made a few calls this morning. There is a private motorsport park down in the Waikato region, about an hour south of the city. A closed, world-class asphalt circuit. They have a fleet of high-performance supercars. We have the track entirely to ourselves for the next four hours."
Virat Kohli, a notorious car enthusiast who owned several sports cars himself, instantly slammed his coffee cup down on the table. His eyes lit up.
"Are you serious?" Kohli asked. "A private track? What kind of cars?"
"Porsches, a couple of Nissan GT-Rs, maybe a Ferrari," Siddanth grinned. "You in?"
"I am one hundred percent in. Let's go right now," Kohli declared, standing up instantly.
"I'll come," Ravindra Jadeja added, always ready for an adrenaline rush. "I haven't driven anything fast since I bought my Hayabusa."
Siddanth looked over at his captain. "Mahi bhai? You want to come burn some rubber?"
MS Dhoni smiled, shaking his head. "I prefer two wheels, Sid. And honestly, my back is sore from the long flight and keeping wickets all evening. You boys go have fun. But be careful."
"We'll be careful, skip," Siddanth promised, standing up.
Forty-five minutes later, a heavily tinted, discreet hotel SUV pulled off the State Highway 1 and approached the gated entrance of a sprawling private motorsport facility nestled in the rolling green hills of the Waikato region.
The manager of the facility, expecting them, immediately waved the vehicle through the gates and directed them toward the pit lane.
As Siddanth, Virat, and Jadeja stepped out of the SUV, the distinct smell of high-octane fuel and burning rubber hit their senses.
Parked in a neat line under the pit lane canopy were three magnificent machines. A bright red Ferrari 458 Italia, a sleek gunmetal grey Nissan GT-R, and a white Porsche 911 GT3 RS.
"Oh, this is beautiful," Kohli breathed, walking straight toward the Ferrari. "I call dibs on the Italian."
"Take it," Siddanth smiled. "Jaddu, you want the GT-R?"
"Absolutely," Jadeja grinned, grabbing the keys from the track instructor.
Siddanth walked over to the white Porsche 911 GT3 RS. It was a stripped-down, track-focused car built purely for handling.
"Alright, boys," Siddanth called out as they slipped into their respective driver's seats. "Three warm-up laps to get a feel for the track, then we open them up. Don't be a hero on the hairpin turns."
"Speak for yourself, Sid!" Kohli yelled over the roaring ignition of the Ferrari's V8 engine. "I'll see you in the rearview mirror!"
The three cars rumbled out of the pit lane, rolling onto the smooth black asphalt of the circuit.
For the first few laps, they drove respectfully, warming up the tires and memorizing the braking zones. The track was a technical layout—a long straightaway leading into a sharp braking zone, followed by a series of sweeping S-curves and a tight hairpin bend.
On the fourth lap, coming off the final corner onto the main straight, Siddanth smiled.
He gripped the Alcantara steering wheel, his foot smoothly sliding off the brake and pinning the accelerator.
The Porsche's engine roared, pinning Siddanth back into his seat as the car rocketed down the straightaway. He checked his mirrors. Kohli was right on his tail in the Ferrari, trying to use the slipstream to close the gap, while Jadeja was slightly behind in the heavier GT-R.
As the heavy braking zone for turn one approached, Kohli slammed on his brakes early, the brake lights of the Ferrari flaring bright red.
Siddanth didn't brake right away.
He waited until the last moment, trusting his reflexes. He hit the brakes hard, his left foot executing a heel-toe downshift, matching the engine revs smoothly.
The Porsche slowed rapidly. Siddanth turned the wheel sharply, hitting the apex of the corner. As he exited, he fed the power back in. The rear tires broke loose just a fraction, the car sliding into a controlled, high-speed drift before snapping back into a straight line.
"Whoa!" Kohli yelled over the radio comms they had linked through their headsets. "Did you just drift that corner?! Sid, you are insane!"
"It's all about the exit speed, Cheeku!" Siddanth laughed over the comms, upshifting as the Porsche accelerated away.
For the next hour, Siddanth drove with smooth, practiced control. He knew where the car's limits were, carrying speed through the sweeping S-curves with steady inputs on the steering wheel.
Jadeja, trying to keep up in the heavy Nissan GT-R, missed his braking point on the hairpin turn. The car understeered, skidding off the asphalt and spinning out onto the safety grass run-off area, sending a cloud of green turf and dirt into the air.
Siddanth slowed the Porsche down, pulling over near the edge of the grass. Kohli pulled the Ferrari up next to him.
"You alive in there, Jaddu?" Siddanth called out over the radio, holding back a laugh.
"I'm good! I'm good!" Jadeja's breathless voice came back as he slowly reversed the GT-R back onto the track. "This car is too heavy for the corners! I felt like I was driving a tank!"
"Pull into the pits, Jaddu," Siddanth instructed. "Let the brakes cool down. Cheeku, jump in with me for a couple of laps."
"You're going to make me throw up my dinner, aren't you?" Kohli muttered, parking the Ferrari and jogging over to the white Porsche.
Kohli opened the passenger door and dropped into the low, stiff racing bucket seat, strapping himself in with the five-point racing harness.
"Ready?" Siddanth asked, offering a casual smile.
"Just don't kill us," Kohli gripped the door handle tightly. "Mahi bhai will murder our ghosts."
Siddanth laughed, dropping the car into gear.
He pulled out of the pit lane and pinned the throttle. The acceleration pushed Kohli's head back against the headrest.
As the first corner approached, Siddanth held his speed.
"Brake! Brake, Sid!" Kohli yelled, his foot instinctively stomping on an imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side floorboard.
Siddanth hit the brakes, downshifting aggressively. He steered the car into the corner. He deliberately broke traction on the rear wheels, kicking the tail of the Porsche out into a smoky drift through the sweeping curve. The smell of burnt rubber filled the cabin.
Virat Kohli, the aggressive, swaggering superstar of Delhi cricket, completely lost his cool.
"Ben Stokes!" Kohli screamed, the classic Delhi expletive muffled by sheer terror. He was desperately and violently stomping his left foot into the passenger-side floorboard, trying to crush an imaginary brake pedal through the chassis of the car.
Siddanth remained relaxed, steering smoothly through the apex of the drift. He kept his eyes focused on the exit of the corner, reading the car's balance effortlessly.
"How are you so calm?!" Kohli yelled over the roaring engine as they straightened out and accelerated down the next straight, pulling his foot back from the floorboard. "We were completely sideways!"
"It's just momentum, Cheeku," Siddanth smirked, shifting up a gear. "You just have to trust the balance. If you panic, you crash."
For three more fast laps, Siddanth threw the Porsche around the circuit. By the time he finally hit the brakes and smoothly rolled the car back into the pit lane, Kohli looked like he had run a marathon.
Kohli unbuckled his harness, his hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush, and stumbled out of the car. He leaned against the roof, taking a deep breath of the cool evening air.
"I am never getting in a car with you again," Kohli declared, though a thrilled grin was plastered across his face. "You are an absolute menace behind the wheel, Sid."
Jadeja walked over, sipping a bottle of water. "I saw that drift on turn three. Where did you even learn how to drive like that?"
"Growing up, I spent a lot of time watching videos of rally drivers," Siddanth lied smoothly, easily covering up the driving skills he inherently possessed. He patted the hood of the Porsche. "It's all about weight transfer. You boys want to go again?"
"No chance," Kohli laughed, holding his hands up. "My stomach is doing somersaults. Let's head back to the hotel before I actually throw up."
They thanked the track instructors, handed back the keys, and piled back into the tinted hotel SUV.
The drive back into the heart of Auckland was slow, but the mood inside the SUV was fantastic. The high-speed adrenaline dump had cleared their minds, erasing the stress of the training session and the jet lag.
As they pulled up to the SkyCity Grand Hotel, the city was illuminated in bright neon lights.
Siddanth walked into the hotel lobby alongside Virat and Jadeja.
"That was epic, Sid. Thanks for setting that up," Virat said, clapping him on the shoulder as they headed toward the elevators. "But seriously, I'm driving if we ever go on a road trip."
"Deal," Siddanth smiled.
He walked into his suite and collapsed onto the soft mattress of his bed. The day had been perfect. He had spoken to his family, teased Krithika, fielded audio torture from his friends, and burned rubber on a private race track while thoroughly terrifying his teammate.
The festival of Sankranthi had brought exactly what he needed—a grounding, hilarious, high-octane evening of peace before the series against New Zealand officially began.