A/N: For the face claim of Siddanth Deva, why don't you guys upload a few pics here? They can also be AI-generated. I will choose the most liked pics and then make a poll on those pics.
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Date: September 25, 2013
Location: Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh
The preparations for a family trip were usually a chaotic affair, filled with last-minute packing and arguments over departure times. But when the destination was the sacred hills of Tirumala, the mood in the Deva household shifted into a quiet, organized reverence.
Rahul, Siddanth's trusted assistant, had handled every single detail with flawless precision. He stood in the hallway of the Shamshabad farmhouse, handing a neat leather folder to Siddanth.
"Everything is set, sir," Rahul reported quietly. "The flight to Renigunta Airport departs at 4:00 PM. I have secured a premium suite for your parents at a quiet hotel at the base of the hills in Tirupati town so they can rest tonight. The vehicle permits for Tirumala are approved, and the special darshan tickets for tomorrow evening are confirmed."
"Thank you, Rahul. Perfect as always," Siddanth smiled, taking the folder. "You've briefed the driver waiting for us at the airport?"
"Yes, sir. He will be on standby throughout your stay," Rahul nodded.
An hour later, Vikram and Sesikala emerged from their rooms, carrying small travel bags. They were dressed comfortably for the journey, the anticipation of the pilgrimage evident in their warm smiles.
The short flight from Hyderabad to Tirupati was smooth and uneventful. Upon landing, a private SUV whisked them away from the small airport to a luxurious, incredibly peaceful hotel situated at the foothills of the Seshachalam range.
They had an early, simple vegetarian dinner in their suite.
"Get some sleep, Amma, Nanna," Siddanth advised as he stood near the door of their room. "We start the climb at dawn. It's going to be a long walk."
"We have Lord Venkateswara's name on our lips, Siddu. We won't feel the fatigue," Sesikala smiled warmly, patting his cheek. "Go rest."
The next morning, long before the sun had risen, the sky was painted in deep, bruised hues of purple and dark blue. The air in Tirupati was crisp and carried the faint, pervasive scent of sandalwood and jasmine from the countless small shrines dotting the temple town.
Siddanth wore a simple, loose-fitting white cotton kurta and comfortable drawstring trousers. Vikram and Sesikala were dressed similarly in light, breathable traditional clothes.
The SUV dropped them off near the Alipiri Padala Mandapam—the monumental starting point of the ancient, sacred pedestrian pathway that led up the seven hills to Tirumala.
As they stepped out of the vehicle, Siddanth opened the rear door and placed his running shoes inside. Vikram and Sesikala had already left their footwear at the hotel. Climbing the 3,550 stone steps barefoot was a traditional act of devotion, a physical sacrifice offered before presenting oneself to the deity.
"Ready?" Siddanth asked, looking at his parents.
"Govinda, Govinda," Vikram chanted softly, bowing his head toward the towering gateway before taking his first step onto the cool, rough stone.
The initial stretch of the Alipiri path was relatively flat, covered by a concrete roof to protect pilgrims from the elements. The atmosphere was incredibly powerful. Thousands of devotees, from the very young to the very old, walked alongside them. The rhythmic, echoing chants of "Om Namo Venkatesaya" reverberated through the stone corridors, creating a deeply spiritual, unifying energy.
Siddanth walked a half-step behind his parents, keeping a watchful, protective eye on them. The rough texture of the stone steps against his bare feet was a grounding sensation, stripping away the luxury of his everyday life and reducing him to simply another pilgrim on the mountain.
As the sun began to rise, bathing the lush green forests of the Seshachalam hills in a brilliant golden light, the incline of the steps grew drastically steeper.
They reached the Galigopuram, the massive temple tower situated at one of the highest peaks of the pedestrian route. The climb here was notoriously taxing, forcing many pilgrims to stop and catch their breath.
As Siddanth guided his mother toward a flat resting area near the tower, a small commotion broke out near the railings.
A two-person camera crew from a local Telugu news channel, who had been stationed near the Galigopuram to capture general footage of the festival season crowds, suddenly spotted the towering, unmistakable figure in the white kurta.
The reporter's eyes went wide. He hastily grabbed his microphone, gesturing frantically for his cameraman to follow, and rushed over.
"Sir! Siddanth sir!" the reporter called out, slightly breathless from his own climb, holding the microphone out. "It is an absolute surprise to see you here on the Alipiri steps! The entire state is celebrating your recent achievements. How does it feel to be walking amongst the public today?"
Siddanth gently helped his mother sit down on a low stone bench before turning to face the camera. He didn't look annoyed by the intrusion. He offered a polite smile.
"It feels very peaceful," Siddanth answered in fluent Telugu, his voice calm and respectful. "Tirumala is a very special place for our family. We try to come here whenever we have the time to seek the Lord's blessings."
"You are climbing all the 3,550 steps barefoot, sir. That is a great display of devotion," the reporter praised eagerly. "What are you praying for today?"
"I am just here as a son accompanying his parents," Siddanth replied smoothly, keeping the focus entirely away from his professional life. "I am just praying for my family's good health and happiness. That is all that matters."
The reporter opened his mouth, clearly ready to pivot the interview toward the recent controversies in the sports world and the explosive growth of NEXUS.
Before the man could formulate the question, Siddanth gently but firmly raised a hand.
"Brother," Siddanth said, his tone incredibly polite but carrying an absolute, undeniable boundary. "I have answered your questions because I respect the work you do. But today, I am not a public figure. I am just a pilgrim on a spiritual journey with my mother and father. I would sincerely appreciate it if you could leave us in peace now. You are more than welcome to shoot footage from a distance if you need it for your channel, but please, no more questions or interviews."
The reporter looked into Siddanth's eyes. There was no arrogance there, just a quiet, immovable request for privacy. The reporter immediately lowered his microphone and offered a respectful nod.
"Of course, sir. We completely understand. Have a wonderful darshan. Govinda," the reporter smiled, backing away and signaling his cameraman to give the family a wide berth.
"Thank you. Govinda," Siddanth replied, turning back to his parents.
Vikram patted the empty space on the stone bench next to him. "Handled perfectly, Siddu. Sit down for a minute."
As they rested, the physical toll of the steep climb became evident. Sesikala was breathing a bit heavily, massaging her calves. The humidity of the morning was rising.
"Are you okay, Amma?" Siddanth asked, kneeling in front of her to check on her.
"I am fine, just a little winded," Sesikala smiled, waving him off. "These old knees aren't what they used to be. Just give me two minutes."
"There's no rush. We have all day," Siddanth assured her. He stood up and walked over to one of the small, vibrant vendor stalls lining the edge of the pathway. The stall was selling fresh fruits and bottled water.
Siddanth bought three large bottles of cold water and a few plates of freshly cut, raw mango slices sprinkled with salt and chili powder.
As he turned around to hand a plate to his mother, a sudden, bold flash of brown fur swooped down from the low-hanging branches of a nearby banyan tree. A notoriously fearless Tirumala macaque landed squarely on the stone wall next to him, eyeing the mango slices with intense, greedy focus.
Siddanth blinked, momentarily startled. The apex predator of the cricket pitch found himself in a complete standoff with a ten-pound monkey. The macaque bared its teeth slightly, reaching a tiny hand out.
Siddanth let out a rich laugh, immediately raising his hands in absolute surrender. "Alright, alright, it's all yours, mate," he chuckled, gently tossing two large slices of mango onto the wall. The monkey snatched them up instantly and scrambled back up the tree to enjoy its prize.
As Siddanth turned back to his parents, chuckling at the daylight robbery, he felt a light, hesitant tug on the fabric of his kurta.
Standing near his knee was a young boy, no older than ten, wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. The boy was holding a small, crumpled school notebook and a blue ballpoint pen, looking up at Siddanth with eyes as wide as saucers.
"Excuse me, anna," the little boy squeaked, his voice barely audible over the chanting of the passing crowds. "Are you... are you Siddanth Deva?"
Siddanth's heart melted instantly. He offered the boy a massive, brilliant smile and dropped down onto one knee so they were eye-to-level.
"I am," Siddanth whispered conspiratorially, placing a finger over his lips. "But keep it a secret, okay?"
The little boy's face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. He practically shoved the notebook and pen into Siddanth's hands. "Can I please have your autograph? I watch all your matches! I try to bowl fast like you in my street!"
"Is that right? Well, you have to make sure you keep your wrist straight when you bowl," Siddanth advised warmly, taking the pen. He signed his name with a flourish across the lined paper, adding a quick 'Bowl fast!' above his signature.
He handed the notebook back to the beaming child, gently ruffling his hair. "What's your name?"
"Srikanth, anna!"
"Train hard, Srikanth."
The interaction had not gone unnoticed. As Siddanth stood back up, holding the water bottles, he realized that a small crowd of pilgrims—perhaps twenty or thirty people—had paused their climb and gathered around the stall. They had recognized him from the news crew's earlier interaction.
Instead of mobbing him or shouting, the crowd maintained a deeply respectful distance, entirely conscious of the sacred environment they were standing in.
A middle-aged man stepped forward hesitantly, holding up his smartphone. "Sir... sorry to disturb your rest. Could we just take one photo?"
"Of course," Siddanth smiled effortlessly.
For the next ten minutes, while Sesikala rested on the bench, Siddanth stood near the vendor stall. He took photos with families, shook hands with elderly pilgrims, and smiled for countless selfies. He didn't rush anyone, radiating a patient, grounded warmth that left the fans completely mesmerized.
"Alright, everyone, thank you so much," Siddanth finally said, folding his hands in a polite namaste. "I need to get back to my parents so we can continue our climb. Have a very safe and blessed darshan."
The crowd immediately parted, offering respectful murmurs of "Govinda, Govinda," allowing him to walk freely back to the stone bench.
"You have a lot of patience, Siddu," Vikram noted proudly as Siddanth handed him a water bottle.
"They are just good people, Nanna," Siddanth smiled, handing the remaining sliced mangoes to his mother. "They respected our space."
And they truly did.
Over the next three hours, the climb resumed. The steps wound through the dense, beautiful Seshachalam forests. At one point, the pathway opened up near a sprawling, fenced natural enclosure.
"Siddu, look," Sesikala smiled, leaning against the stone railing.
A small herd of spotted deer was grazing peacefully in the clearing just beyond the path. A few fawns bounded playfully through the tall grass, completely undisturbed by the passing pilgrims.
Siddanth stood next to his parents, resting his forearms on the railing, enjoying the serene, grounding beauty of the wildlife. For a few quiet minutes, watching the deer amble through the trees, the crushing noise of the city and the stadiums felt like they belonged to a completely different planet.
Finally, after five grueling hours, the steep, enclosed stone corridors gave way to open air.
They took the final few steps and crossed the massive archway. They had reached Tirumala. The top of the hill.
Sesikala let out a long, exhausted, but triumphant exhale, touching the ground with her hands and bringing her fingers to her eyes in a gesture of immense gratitude. Vikram smiled, his breathing heavy, putting an arm around his wife's shoulder.
Siddanth's feet were slightly sore from the relentless friction of the stone, but a deep, anchoring sense of peace had settled over him.
Waiting exactly where Rahul had promised, parked near the designated pilgrim arrival zone, was a clean, comfortable white Innova. The driver stepped out instantly, opening the doors for the weary family.
They climbed into the air-conditioned cabin, the cool air providing instant relief to their sweat-drenched clothes. The car drove them smoothly through the bustling, incredibly clean streets of Tirumala, pulling into the fortified gates of a highly exclusive, serene guest house reserved for VIP dignitaries.
"You both did amazing," Siddanth praised his parents as they walked into their spacious, beautifully appointed suite. "Take a hot shower. Sleep for a few hours. Our darshan slot isn't until the evening."
"My legs are trembling, but my heart is full," Sesikala smiled tiredly, walking toward the bedroom.
Siddanth retreated to his own adjoining room. He took a long, hot shower, the steaming water washing away the dust and fatigue of the mountain. Wearing comfortable track pants and a t-shirt, he stepped out onto the private balcony of his suite, looking out over the misty, green hills of Tirumala.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Krithika's number.
"Did you survive the climb, or did your mom have to carry you?" Krithika's cheerful voice answered immediately.
Siddanth laughed softly, leaning against the balcony railing. "I survived, Shorty. But I will admit, walking up a mountain barefoot hits different than training in cushioned running shoes. My calves are definitely complaining."
"Good. Builds character," Krithika teased warmly. "I hope you didn't forget my prasad. If you come back to Hyderabad without a massive Tirupati laddu, I am not going to forgive you."
"I've got it covered. I'll get you the biggest one they have," Siddanth promised, his voice dropping into a warm, quiet register. "It's beautiful up here, Krithi. Very peaceful."
"I'm glad you're getting some rest, Siddu. Go take a nap before your darshan. I have to get back to my assignments."
"Will do. See you soon."
He hung up the phone, a contented smile on his face. He walked back inside, collapsed onto the soft mattress, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Four hours later, the quiet of the guest house was replaced by a bustling, reverent preparation.
It was time for the temple.
In his room, Siddanth was struggling. He was trying to dress in the traditional Pattu Vastra—a pristine, pure white silk dhoti with a thick, shimmering gold border. However, tying the heavy silk without a belt, and ensuring the traditional panchakacham pleats fell perfectly, was a frustrating puzzle for a man used to pulling on elastic track pants and cricket pads.
After wrapping it around his waist for the third time, only for the slippery silk to immediately unravel and drop to the floor, Siddanth let out an exasperated sigh.
"Nanna!" Siddanth called out toward the living room.
Vikram Deva walked in a moment later, already flawlessly dressed in his own identical white and gold silk dhoti. He took one look at his towering, world-famous son standing helplessly amidst a pile of unraveling silk, and burst into a booming, wholehearted laugh.
"I can memorize the field placements of every international cricket team, but this piece of cloth defies all logic," Siddanth complained dryly, holding the ends of the fabric.
"It's an art, Siddu. Not a science," Vikram chuckled, stepping forward. "Here, hold this end. Let me do it."
With practiced, effortless movements, Vikram gathered the silk, folded the perfect, crisp pleats, and secured the dhoti tightly around his son's waist, tucking it securely at the back.
"There. Now you won't trip over yourself in front of the Lord," Vikram patted his shoulder proudly.
"Thanks, Nanna," Siddanth smiled, grabbing the matching silk kanduva and draping it neatly over his broad bare shoulders. He wore no shirt, as was the strict tradition for men entering the inner sanctum of the Tirumala temple.
He walked into the living room of the suite with his father.
Sesikala stood there, and she truly commanded the room. She wore a breathtaking, rich, deep red Kanjeevaram pattu saree adorned with intricate gold zari work. She had fresh jasmine flowers woven into her hair, and a bright red bindi on her forehead.
"Amma, you look beautiful," Siddanth said softly, a warm smile on his face.
"And you look like a proper Telugu boy for once," Sesikala beamed, reaching up to adjust the drape of his kanduva. "Come. The liaison officer is waiting."
An official from the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD) board, dressed in traditional whites, escorted the family out of the guest house. They were driven the short distance to the massive, imposing gates of the Sri Venkateswara Temple.
The atmosphere around the temple was indescribable. Tens of thousands of pilgrims waited patiently in massive, winding queue complexes, their chants of "Govinda!" creating a continuous, oceanic roar. The sheer scale of devotion was staggering.
Because of Siddanth's status and the meticulous arrangements made by his office, the family was guided through the Vaikuntam Queue Complex using the special VIP break darshan route.
They walked barefoot across the cool stone courtyard, approaching the majestic, gold-plated Ananda Nilayam—the towering dome that rested directly above the main deity. The scent of camphor, pure cow ghee from the burning lamps, and thousands of lotus flowers was intoxicating.
As they approached the massive silver doors of the inner sanctum—the Garbha Griha—the chanting grew deafening. The spiritual atmosphere of the space invited absolute humility.
They stepped over the sacred threshold.
Inside the dark, incredibly intimate sanctum, illuminated entirely by the flickering, warm golden light of massive oil lamps, stood the awe-inspiring, majestic black stone idol of Lord Venkateswara. Adorned in blinding, priceless diamond crowns, heavy gold armor, and cascading garlands of fresh flowers, the deity's presence was overwhelming.
For a moment, the relentless pressure of Siddanth's daily routine completely silenced itself. The billions of dollars and the global fame ceased to exist. He closed his eyes, folding his hands tightly against his chest, allowing himself to simply feel the grounding peace of the sanctum.
Vikram stood beside him, his eyes shining with unshed tears of absolute devotion, his hands trembling slightly in prayer.
Sesikala stepped forward as the head priest approached them holding a silver tray of sacred tulsi leaves and camphor.
"Gotra and names, Amma," the priest requested softly over the noise of the chants.
Sesikala provided their ancestral gotra. "For my husband, Vikram. For my son, Siddanth. For his health, his safety, and the absolute well-being and unity of our family."
The priest nodded, turning toward the massive idol and chanting a powerful, resonant Archana (special prayer), reciting their names in the ancient Sanskrit verses, offering the tulsi leaves directly to the lotus feet of the Lord.
After a few brief, incredibly intense minutes of darshan, they were respectfully ushered out of the sanctum through the side exit to make way for the endless ocean of waiting devotees.
They walked out into the cool evening air of the temple courtyard, profoundly moved by the experience.
As they collected the sacred Theertham (holy water) and the blessed Satari, the TTD official escorted them to the temple offices where they were presented with the legendary Tirupati Laddus—massive, incredibly rich, ghee-soaked spheres of prasad that were famous worldwide.
They didn't rush back to the hotel.
Siddanth led his parents to a quiet, open stone corridor near the sacred pushkarini (temple tank). They sat down together on the cool stone floor, entirely unbothered by the passing crowds.
Vikram broke off a small piece of the rich laddu and handed it to Sesikala, before giving a piece to Siddanth.
Siddanth ate the prasad, leaning his back against the intricately carved stone pillar. He watched his parents quietly discussing the beauty of the deity's decorations. The tension that usually permanently resided in his broad shoulders was entirely gone.
They sat there for nearly an hour, simply absorbing the spiritual vibrations, the cool breeze, and the rhythmic chanting of the temple town, finding absolute comfort in the shared silence.
Eventually, they walked back to their waiting car and returned to the quiet luxury of the guest house.
The pilgrimage, however, was not entirely over.
For the next two days, the Deva family completely disconnected from the outside world.
They spent the time touring the sacred vicinities surrounding Tirupati.
They visited the beautiful Sri Padmavathi Ammavari Temple in Tiruchanur, offering their prayers to the goddess.
They took a short drive to the Kapila Theertham, standing in awe at the base of the massive waterfall cascading down the green hills directly into the temple pond.
On their final day, they visited the ancient, spiritually intense Sri Kalahasti temple, famous for its Vayu Linga.
There was no rushing. There were no flashing cameras. It was simply a son spending uninterrupted, quality time with the two people who had built his foundation.
On the evening of the third day, they packed their bags and were driven down the winding, scenic ghat roads back to the Renigunta airport.
As they sat in the quiet luxury of their chartered flight, watching the landscape of Andhra Pradesh blur beneath the clouds as they headed back to Hyderabad, Sesikala reached across the aisle and gently squeezed Siddanth's hand.
"Thank you, Siddu," Sesikala said softly, her eyes reflecting deep, maternal contentment. "It was a beautiful darshan. The most peaceful trip we have ever taken."
"We will do it again, Amma," Siddanth promised, returning the warm smile.
Vikram, sitting by the window, folded his newspaper and looked at his son. "You carry yourself well, Siddu. The way you treated those people on the steps... you haven't forgotten where you come from. Never lose that."
"I won't, Nanna."
Siddanth leaned his head back against the plush leather seat of the aircraft, closing his eyes as the plane soared toward the setting sun.
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Meanwhile , despite his polite request to the news crew on the steps of Alipiri, smartphones were ubiquitous. Over the three days of the pilgrimage, dozens of candid, low-resolution photographs taken by passing devotees had inevitably found their way onto Twitter and Vibe.
The initial wave of photos showed Siddanth in his simple white kurta, helping his mother up the steep steps, politely sharing mangoes with the monkey, and smiling brightly while signing the notebook for young Karthik.
The cricketing community and traditional fans had overwhelmingly praised the grounded nature of the images:
@CricketFanatic99:The Vice-Captain of India walking 3,550 steps barefoot carrying his parents' bags. No PR team, no VIP battery car. Just pure respect and devotion. Massive respect, Skip. 🙏🏽🇮🇳
@Local_Uncle_Hyd:It is very good to see our modern youth retaining their traditional values and respecting their parents. God bless the Deva family.
But then, the second wave of photos dropped.
A devotee outside the main temple complex had managed to snap a clear, unobstructed photograph of Siddanth Deva right after he had exited the Vaikuntam Queue Complex.
In the photo, Siddanth was wearing the pristine white and gold Pattu Vastra dhoti, the silk kanduva draped casually over one shoulder. And, as per strict temple tradition, he was completely bare-chested.
The image vividly highlighted the results of his grueling, elite fast-bowling regimen and his hyper-optimized metabolic processing. His broad, muscular shoulders, sharply defined chest, and a flawless, deeply sculpted six-pack were on full display under the temple lights. Coupled with his sharp, rugged beard and the red tilak on his forehead, he looked less like a modern cricketer and more like a mythological warrior stepping out of an ancient epic.
The internet collectively lost its mind.
The female demographic on Twitter and Vibe launched into an unabashed, hysterical meltdown. The hashtag #PattuVastraDeva was trending number one across India within two hours.
@Priya_VK:I am respectfully looking... respectfully looking... respectfully hyperventilating. Someone call an ambulance. 🥵🔥
@Tollywood_Updates:Forget the cricket pitch, why hasn't Rajamouli cast him in a movie yet?! The Vice-Captain is looking like a Warior in that Pattu Vastra. The internet is broken today.
@DelhiBilli:I am no longer looking respectfully. The 6-pack abs in traditional silk? The beard? Lord save me. I suddenly have a very strong, spiritual urge to visit Tirupati. 🫠🛐
@Sneha_Reddy:HOW IS HE REAL?! He crushes the English bowling attack one day, runs a tech empire the next, and now he looks like a literal deity walking out of a temple. I am weeping.
@SarcasticIndian:All the gym bros in Jubilee Hills are crying right now because Deva's elite physique is strictly powered by his mom's mutton biryani and pure genetics. It's over for us, boys.
@Kavya_S:That Pattu Vastra look... my heart actually stopped. We officially have the hottest Player in world cricket and I will fight anyone who disagrees.
@Vibe_Updates:We can confirm that searches for 'Siddanth Deva Temple' have crashed our image rendering servers twice today. Please calm down, ladies.
Siddanth remained entirely oblivious to the digital inferno. He simply adjusted his seat on the aircraft, drifting into a peaceful sleep, ready to face whatever the world—or the internet—decided to throw at him next.