The transition from the sunny, open skies of South Africa to the grey, brooding skyline of London was jarring. The Indian team bus navigated the narrow streets towards the St. James' Court Hotel, the tires hissing on damp tarmac.
It was June 2009. The T20 World Cup.
Siddanth Deva sat near the window, watching the red double-decker buses and black cabs. He felt a different kind of vibration here. The IPL was a carnival; this was a crusade. India were the Defending Champions. The target on their back was the size of the London Eye.
The team manager stood up as the bus idled.
"Room assignments," he barked. "Siddanth, you're with Ravindra Jadeja."
Siddanth looked across the aisle. Ravindra Jadeja, the 20-year-old "Rockstar" from Saurashtra, grinned, flashing a pair of oversized aviators that looked ridiculous in the overcast weather.
"Ready to rock, Sid?" Jadeja asked, doing a little finger-gun gesture.
Siddanth smiled. "Ready, Jaddu."
They hauled their bags into the room. It was classic London luxury—heavy drapes, thick carpets, and a window that looked out onto a rainy courtyard.
Jadeja didn't unpack. He immediately opened his kit bag and pulled out three different pairs of sunglasses and a large bottle of hair gel.
"England is all about style, Sid," Jadeja announced, looking in the mirror and adjusting his hair. "If you look good, you play good. Warne told me that."
"Warne also told you to spin the ball," Siddanth laughed, unpacking his neatly folded India training kit. "Focus on that first."
"Spin is natural," Jadeja said, dismissing the concept of hard work with a wave of his hand. "Style... that takes effort."
It was going to be an entertaining tour.
---
The Nets: The Duke Ball and the Secret Pain
The next morning, the team arrived at the Lord's Nursery Ground. The air was crisp, hovering around 12 degrees.
Gary Kirsten gathered them in a huddle.
"Right. We're using Duke balls. They swing more than the Kookaburra. They stay hard longer. Batsmen, play late. Bowlers, pitch it up. Don't waste the new ball."
Siddanth took a Duke ball from the bucket. It felt different—smaller, harder, with a more pronounced seam.
He stood at the top of his mark. He was bowling to Virender Sehwag and Gautam Gambhir.
Sehwag looked... stiff.
He was leaning on his bat, stretching his shoulder with a grimace he tried to hide the moment anyone looked at him.
Siddanth noticed it instantly. He remembered the reports from his original timeline. Sehwag had carried a shoulder injury through the IPL.
Siddanth ran in. He didn't use the 150kph thunderbolt. He used the conditions.
He bowled a 135kph outswinger.
The Duke ball hoop-ed. It started on leg and ended on off.
Sehwag tried to slash. He missed. He winced, his hand going to his right shoulder.
"You okay, Viru-pa?" Siddanth asked, walking down the pitch.
"Fine, fine," Sehwag grunted, rotating his arm. "Just the cold. Bowl."
Siddanth went back. He bowled again.
Sehwag played a defensive shot, but his bottom hand came off the handle. The power wasn't there.
Gambhir walked over to his partner. They whispered. Sehwag shook his head vigorously, pushing Gambhir away.
The practice continued.
The "Engine Room"—Yuvraj Singh, Suresh Raina, and Rohit Sharma—were in the next net, having a six-hitting competition against Harbhajan Singh.
"Oye! Bhajji!" Yuvraj yelled after smashing him over long-on. "That's into the Thames!"
"Wind assisted!" Harbhajan shouted back. "Do it again!"
But in the main net, the mood was darkening.
Siddanth was bowling to Sehwag again. He decided to test the reflex.
He bowled a sharp bouncer. 145kph.
Sehwag went for the hook. It was his instinct.
He swiveled.
But as his arm reached the extension point, his face contorted in agony. He didn't complete the shot. The bat fell from his hands.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his shoulder, a guttural groan escaping his lips.
"VIRU-PA!" Siddanth shouted, running to him.
The entire session stopped. Silence descended over Lord's.
Dhoni and Gary Kirsten sprinted from the boundary. The physio, Nitin Patel, was already running with his bag.
Siddanth felt a cold knot in his stomach. He knew this was coming, but seeing the pain of a legend up close was different.
"It's gone," Sehwag whispered through clenched teeth as the physio rotated his arm. "It's stuck."
"Don't move it," Nitin Patel ordered. "Gary, we need to get him to the hospital. MRI. Now."
Sehwag was helped up. He looked pale. He looked at Dhoni. "I can play, MS. Just give me a painkiller."
Dhoni shook his head, his face unreadable but his eyes sad. "No, Viru. We're not risking your career for a tournament. Go with Nitin."
As Sehwag was led away, the team stood in a circle, the energy sucked out of the morning. Their most destructive weapon was gone.
Dhoni broke the silence.
"Injuries happen," he said, his voice calm, steadying the ship. "We hope Viru is okay. But we have a job to do. Rohit, you're opening with Gauti. Sid, get ready to bat higher. Yusuf, you might have to float. Back to work."
It was a masterclass in leadership. Acknowledging the loss, but refusing to let it paralyze the team.
Siddanth went back to his mark. He gripped the Duke ball tighter. The team needed him even more now.
---
That evening, the mood in the hotel was somber. To lift spirits, Yuvraj Singh—the team's emotional barometer—decided on an outing.
"Nando's," Yuvraj announced in the lobby. "We're going to Nando's. Extra Hot. Everyone comes. No excuses."
They took three taxis to a Nando's in Central London.
The restaurant was loud, smelling of peri-peri and grilled chicken. It was exactly what they needed.
They pushed tables together.
Yuvraj sat at the head. Zaheer, Bhajji, and Dhoni were nearby. The "kids"—Jadeja, Siddanth, Rohit, Raina—sat at the other end.
"Right," Yuvraj said, holding up the menu. "Initiation for the World Cup rookies. Sid, Jaddu, Ojha."
He pointed to the spice meter on the menu.
"Extra Hot. Whole chicken. You finish it, you're in the team. You cry, you buy dinner."
Jadeja looked nervous. "Is it... hotter than majestic Kathiawari chili?"
"Much hotter," Harbhajan lied, grinning.
The food arrived. The chickens were coated in a dark, angry red sauce.
"Go," Yuvraj commanded.
Jadeja dove in. He took a huge bite. He chewed confidently.
Then, his face turned a shade of red that matched the sauce. His eyes watered. He reached for his water, but Zaheer snatched it away.
"No water! Finish the chicken!"
Siddanth looked at his plate. He had eaten spicy food all his life, but Nando's Extra Hot was a specific kind of chemical burn.
He cut a piece. He ate it.
It burned. It stung. But he kept his face impassive.
He looked at Jadeja. Jaddu was crying. Silent tears were streaming down his face behind his sunglasses (which he was still wearing indoors).
"It's... good," Jadeja choked out. "Very... flavorful."
"Look at Sid!" Raina shouted. "He's not even sweating! Is he a robot?"
Siddanth smiled, taking another bite. "It's just chili, guys. Mind over matter."
(In reality, he was using a breathing technique he'd learned to control his heart rate while bowling, trying desperately not to cough).
By the end of the meal, Jadeja had finished his chicken but had consumed three liters of Coke. Ojah had given up halfway. Siddanth had finished, his plate clean.
"Respect," Yuvraj said, nodding at Siddanth. "You have an iron stomach. You'll need it for the British food."
The laughter was back. The tension of Sehwag's injury had dissipated, replaced by the bond of shared suffering (and indigestion).
---
Two days before the first match against Bangladesh.
The press conference room at Trent Bridge was packed. Journalists from India, England, Australia, and Pakistan were jostling for position.
MS Dhoni walked in, wearing the team blazer. He sat down, adjusting the microphone. He looked relaxed, almost bored.
Journalist (Times of India): "MS, the big news is Sehwag. We heard that Sehwg is injured. How big of a blow is that to your title defense?"
Dhoni: "Well, Viru is a match-winner. You can't replace a player like him. But injuries are part of the sport. We have a squad of 15. We have Rohit, we have Gambhir. It's an opportunity for someone else to step up."
Journalist (BBC): "MS, you're the defending champions. Last time, you were the underdogs. Now you're the favorites. Does that change the pressure?"
Dhoni: "We don't think about 'favorites' or 'underdogs'. We think about the first ball against Bangladesh. If we think about the final now, we'll lose the first game. The pressure is always there playing for India. We enjoy it."
Journalist (The Hindu): "You have a new weapon in the arsenal. Siddanth Deva. He had a phenomenal IPL. How does he fit into the team balance?"
Dhoni leaned forward slightly. "Siddanth gives us balance. He bowls 145 plus, he bats in the top order, he finishes games. Having an all-rounder like him... it allows us to play an extra batsman or an extra bowler depending on the pitch. He's young, but he's got a good head. He's ready."
Siddanth was watching the press conference on the TV in the team room. Hearing Dhoni say "He's ready" sent a shiver through him. It was the ultimate validation.
Journalist (Pakistani Reporter): "Dhoni, the conditions here are swinging. Your team is known for spin. Do you have the pace attack to trouble teams in England?"
Dhoni smiled, a small, dry smile. "We have Zaheer. We have RP. We have Ishant. And we have Siddanth. I think... I think you'll be surprised by how much pace we have. We'll be fine."
He stood up. "Thanks, guys."
Simple. Calm. Unflappable.
Siddanth watched him walk off the screen. That, he thought, is how you lead.
---
June 5, 2009.
The team was in Nottingham. Tomorrow, they played Bangladesh.
The same Bangladesh that had knocked them out of the 2007 ODI World Cup. It was a grudge match.
Siddanth was in his room. Jadeja was asleep (wearing an eye mask).
Siddanth couldn't sleep. He picked up his bat.
He stood in front of the mirror. He practiced his stance.
He thought about the Duke ball. He thought about the overcast sky forecast for tomorrow.
He closed his eyes and checked his System.
[SYSTEM HOST STATUS]
[Condition:] Peak.
[Templates:]
Brett Lee: 80%
AB de Villiers: 80%
Jacques Kallis: 20%
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The IPL was great. The U-19 World Cup was history.
But this... the T20 World Cup... this was the world stage.
Tomorrow, the Hurricane would make landfall in England.
Match Day Morning.
The bus ride to Trent Bridge was silent.
Headphones on. Focus absolute.
Siddanth looked out at the grey, English sky.
It was perfect bowling weather.
They arrived at the ground. The stands were filling up with the tricolor. The noise of dhols was already starting.
Dhoni walked to the pitch for the toss.
Ashraful, the Bangladesh captain, looked nervous.
Dhoni flipped the coin.
"Heads."
It was Heads.
"We'll bowl," Dhoni said. "Overcast conditions. Moisture in the pitch. We'll let our seamers have a go."