The absolute chaos of Pinky Bua's desperate, highly dramatic exit left the studio audience in stitches. Siddanth was still wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, leaning back against the comfortable backrest of the famous couch.
Kapil Sharma took a moment to adjust his blazer, waiting for the laughter to subside before shifting the format of the show. He turned away from the guest and looked directly out into the tiered seating of the studio auditorium.
"Chaliye, bua ki bakwaas khatam hui," (Alright, the aunt's nonsense is over,) Kapil announced, picking up a fresh microphone. "Deviyon aur sajjano, ab waqt hai aapka. Hamare darshakon ka. Aaj stage par woh insaan baitha hai jiske liye pura desh TV ke aage jam jata hai. Toh aaj, aap log direct sawaal pooch sakte hain." (Ladies and gentlemen, now it is your time. The time of our audience. Today, the man for whom the entire country freezes in front of their TVs is sitting on this stage. So today, you guys can ask him questions directly.)
The audience immediately erupted into excited cheers, dozens of hands shooting straight up into the air. Kapil pointed to a young man in his early twenties sitting in the second row, wearing an oversized pair of glasses and a massive grin. A crew member quickly rushed over to hand him a microphone.
"Sir, mera naam Rohan hai. Mera ek bohot bada doubt hai," (Sir, my name is Rohan. I have a very big doubt,) the fan started, literally shaking with excitement. "Sir, jab aap ground pe six maarte ho… toh kya woh pehle se decide hota hai ki is ball pe chhakka maarna hai, ya bas achanak se mood aa jaata hai?" (Sir, when you hit a six on the ground... is it decided beforehand that you are going to hit a six on this specific ball, or does the mood just strike you suddenly?)
Siddanth picked up his microphone, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Nahi Rohan, pehle se kuch decide nahi hota," (No Rohan, nothing is decided beforehand,) Siddanth answered simply. "Agar aap pehle se soch loge ki mujhe chhakka hi maarna hai, toh aap bowler ko dekhna band kar doge. Main bas wait karta hoon. Jab tak ball bowler ke haath se chhoot nahi jaati, main koi decision nahi leta. Ball ka length aur line decide karta hai ki woh kahan jayegi, mera mood nahi." (If you decide beforehand that you absolutely have to hit a six, you will stop watching the bowler. I just wait. Until the ball leaves the bowler's hand, I do not make any decision. The length and line of the ball decide where it will go, not my mood.)
"Wah! Kya technical jawaab diya hai!" (Wow! What a technical answer he has given!) Kapil praised, before immediately turning it into a joke. "Lekin hum gully cricket wale toh pehle se bat ghuma ke khade rehte hain! Ball chahe wide ho ya bouncer, hamara bat wahi ghoomta hai!" (But us gully cricket players stand there swinging the bat beforehand! Whether the ball is a wide or a bouncer, our bat swings in the exact same spot!)
The crowd laughed loudly at the relatable comparison.
Kapil pointed to a middle-aged man in the front row. "Haan ji, aap poocho." (Yes, you ask.)
"Sir, kya aapka koi pre-match ritual ya totka hai? Jaise left pad pehle pehnna, ya koi lucky shirt?" (Sir, do you have any pre-match ritual or superstition? Like wearing the left pad first, or a lucky shirt?) the man asked.
"No," Siddanth replied instantly, shaking his head. "Main in sab cheezon mein believe nahi karta. Superstitions aapko mentally weak banate hain. Agar kisi din aapka 'lucky' bat toot gaya, toh kya aap us din run nahi banaoge? Main bas practice pe focus karta hoon." (I don't believe in all these things. Superstitions make you mentally weak. If your 'lucky' bat breaks one day, will you not score runs that day? I just focus on my practice.)
"Sahi baat hai," (That is absolutely correct,) Kapil agreed, before pointing to a teenage girl jumping up and down near the aisle.
"Siddanth! I love you!" the girl screamed into the mic before composing herself, her face completely flushed. "Sir, aapki app 'Vibe' pe aapke millions of followers hain. Toh kya aap apne DMs (Direct Messages) personally check karte ho?" (Sir, you have millions of followers on your app 'Vibe'. So do you check your DMs personally?)
Siddanth chuckled softly, a dimple appearing on his cheek. "Nahi, main bilkul check nahi karta. Agar maine apna inbox khola, toh shayad mera phone hi crash ho jayega." (No, I absolutely do not check them. If I open my inbox, my phone will probably crash.)
Another young boy stood up. "Sir, aap duniya ke sabse ameer aur famous logon mein se ek hain. Toh kya ghar mein mummy abhi bhi daantti hain?" (Sir, you are one of the richest and most famous people in the world. So does your mother still scold you at home?)
"Daantti?!" (Scolds?!) Siddanth's eyes widened playfully. "Bhai, daant toh choti baat hai. Mujhe abhi bhi maar padti hai agar main apna wet towel bed par chhod doon. TV pe main chahe kitna bhi bada player hoon, ghar pe agar mummy ne bola ki dhaniya (coriander) lana hai, toh dhaniya lana padta hai. Unke aage meri koi net worth kaam nahi aati." (Brother, scolding is a small thing. I still get beatings if I leave my wet towel on the bed. No matter how big of a captain I am on TV, at home if my mother says I have to fetch coriander, then I have to fetch coriander. My net worth is entirely useless in front of her.)
The studio completely melted at the wildly relatable, middle-class Indian boy response, breaking into a loud round of applause.
Kapil laughed, pointing to a middle aged man.
"Sir, aapko duniya ki har team ke against khelne ka mauka mila hai. Kaunsi team ke against khelna sabse zyada exciting lagta hai?" (Sir, you have had the opportunity to play against every team in the world. Playing against which team feels the most exciting?)
Siddanth didn't even need a second to process the answer.
"Pakistan," Siddanth stated simply.
The entire studio went absolutely ballistic. The cheering, whistling, and clapping were deafening. Every single fan in the auditorium knew his track record. They knew about the 263 not out in the 2011 World Cup semi-final, and they knew about the 152 not out in Adelaide. He had never, ever lost a match to Pakistan in his entire career.
"Kya baat hai!" (What a statement!) Sidhu roared from his chair, thumping his desk. "Inke samne aate hi unke pasine chhoot jaate hain!" (The moment he comes in front of them, they start sweating!)
A brave young fan near the front row stood up next. "Sir, aap humesha itne shant dikhte hain. Par jab aap angry ho toh kaise react karte ho? Pichle saal IPL final mein humne thoda sa dekha tha..." (Sir, you always look so calm. But when you are angry, how do you react? We saw a little bit of it in last year's IPL final...)
A ripple of hushed laughter and excited murmurs went through the crowd as the fan referenced the infamous, explosive altercation with Shakib Al Hasan and Gautam Gambhir at the Chinnaswamy Stadium.
Siddanth rubbed the back of his neck, a highly amused smirk crossing his face.
"Well," Siddanth drawled smoothly, locking eyes with the fan. "You saw what happened in the IPL final, right? I don't think I need to explain what happens when I get angry. The scoreboard usually does the talking for me."
The studio audience completely lost their minds, howling at the icy, arrogant, yet entirely factual flex.
"Uske baad se kisi bowler ne inko aankh dikhane ki himmat nahi ki hai!" (Since then, no bowler has dared to even look him in the eye!) Kapil laughed, wiping his eyes. "Ek aur sawaal lete hain." (Let's take one more question.)
A teenager in a black hoodie stood up, looking nervous but excited. "Sir, everyone knows you like anime. Aapka favorite anime aur character kaunsa hai?" (Sir, everyone knows you like anime. Which is your favorite anime and character?)
Siddanth's eyes lit up, genuinely enjoying the shift away from cricket. "Favorite anime is definitely One Piece. The world-building is just unmatched. But my favorite character isn't from there. It's Urahara Kisuke from Bleach. He acts like a complete idiot, but he's actually the smartest, most dangerous guy in the room."
The teenager grinned widely, giving a thumbs-up, while Kapil looked completely lost.
"Yeh One Piece aur Bleach kya hai? Naye detergent ke brand hain?" (What are this One Piece and Bleach? Are they new detergent brands?) Kapil joked, looking at Sidhu, getting a huge laugh from the older audience members who were equally clueless.
A woman in the third row took the mic next. "Sir, aapki life ka sabse happiest moment kaunsa tha? Kya woh aapka pehla century tha, ya World Cup jeetna?" (Sir, what was the happiest moment of your life? Was it your first century, or winning the World Cup?)
Siddanth's demeanor shifted instantly. The swagger faded, replaced by a earnestness.
"World Cup trophy uthana bohot bada moment tha," (Lifting the World Cup trophy was a very big moment,) Siddanth answered, his voice softening, remembering the magical night at the Wankhede Stadium. "Lekin sabse happiest moment... trophy uthane se theek bees minute pehle tha. Jab main aur Mahi bhai pitch par the, aur humein jeetne ke liye sirf kuch runs chahiye the. Us waqt, poore Wankhede stadium ne ek sath, bina kisi music ke, 'Vande Mataram' gana shuru kiya tha." (But the happiest moment... was exactly twenty minutes before lifting the trophy. When Mahi bhai and I were on the pitch, and we needed just few runs to win. At that moment, the entire Wankhede stadium, all together started singing 'Vande Mataram'.)
Siddanth looked out into the quieted, captivated studio audience.
"Pichle mahine SCG mein bhi jab mujhe chot lagi thi, toh crowd ne wahi gaana gaya tha," (Last month at the SCG as well, when I got injured, the crowd sang the exact same song,) Siddanth continued softly. "Us awaaz mein jo taqat hai... jab ek lakh log aapke liye, apne desh ke liye gaate hain... us moment se bada, us khushi se bada meri life mein kuch nahi ho sakta. Woh ek aisa pal tha jisne mujhe hamesha ke liye badal diya." (The power in that sound... when a hundred thousand people sing for you, for their country... there can be nothing bigger, no greater happiness in my life than that moment. That was a moment that changed me forever.)
A pin-drop silence held the studio for two seconds before it was broken by a thunderous, deeply emotional round of applause. Several people in the audience had visible goosebumps. Sidhu was sitting with his eyes closed, nodding solemnly in pure respect.
"Kamaal," (Amazing,) Kapil whispered into his mic, genuinely moved. "Bohot khoobsurat baat kahi aapne." (You have said a very beautiful thing.)
They took a few more lighthearted questions from the audience, most of which would be trimmed down during the final editing process to fit the broadcast schedule.
Just as Kapil was about to wrap up the segment, a man sitting near the front aisle stood up. He was an older gentleman, his hair completely grey, standing with a disciplined, ramrod-straight posture that instantly commanded respect. He wasn't holding a phone to record; he was holding a small, polished wooden box.
"Kapil ji," the man said, his voice firm and clear. "Mera naam Colonel R.S. Rathore hai. Main Indian Army se retired hoon. Main koi sawaal nahi poochna chahta. Main bas Siddanth ko kuch dena chahta hoon." (Kapil ji. My name is Colonel R.S. Rathore. I am retired from the Indian Army. I do not want to ask any questions. I just want to give something to Siddanth.)
Kapil's eyes widened respectfully. "Arre sir! Please, please aap stage par aayiye. Apni patni ko bhi saath le aayiye." (Oh sir! Please, please come onto the stage. Bring your wife along as well.)
Siddanth didn't wait for them to climb the stairs. He immediately stood up from the couch and walked to the edge of the stage, offering his hand to help the Colonel's wife up the steps, before standing tall before the retired officer.
Without a single moment of hesitation, Siddanth bent down and touched the feet of both the Colonel and his wife, seeking their blessings.
"Jeete raho, beta. Jeete raho," (Live long, son. Live long,) the Colonel said, his voice thick with emotion, placing a firm, proud hand on Siddanth's shoulder as he stood back up.
"Sir, yeh hamare liye bohot bada samman hai ki aap yahan aaye," (Sir, it is a massive honor for us that you came here,) Siddanth said, his voice ringing with absolute, unfiltered reverence.
"Siddanth, main aur meri unit tumhari batting dekhte the. Tumne desh ka naam bohot ooncha kiya hai," (Siddanth, my unit and I used to watch your batting. You have elevated the name of the country very high,) the Colonel smiled, opening the small wooden box. Inside resting on a velvet cushion was a beautifully polished, authentic Regimental crest.
"Yeh meri regiment ka crest hai," (This is my regiment's crest,) the Colonel said, handing the box to Siddanth. "Fauj mein hum maante hain ki jo dushman ke aage kabhi peeche nahi hat ta, wahi asli yodha hota hai. Tumne maidan par wahi kiya hai. Yeh hamari taraf se tumhare liye ek chota sa tohfa hai." (In the army, we believe that the one who never backs down in front of the enemy is the true warrior. You have done exactly that on the pitch. This is a small gift for you from our side.)
Siddanth took the box with both hands. For a man who owned a multi-billion dollar tech empire and a massive trophy cabinet, the small wooden box suddenly felt like the most valuable possession he owned.
"Sir," Siddanth said, addressing not just the Colonel, but the entire studio. "Main cricket khelta hoon. Hum sab ek game khelte hain. Hum entertainment dete hain. Lekin aap log... Indian Army, Navy, aur Air Force... aap log asli heroes hain. Agar aaj hum is stage par shanti se baithe hain, toh woh isliye kyunki aap sarhad par khade hain. Is tohfe ke aage meri saari trophies choti hain. Main isko apni life ki sabse badi achievement manunga." (Sir, I play cricket. We all play a game. We provide entertainment. But you guys... the Indian Army, Navy, and Air Force... you guys are the real heroes. If we are sitting peacefully on this stage today, it is only because you are standing at the borders. In front of this gift, all my trophies are small. I will consider this the biggest achievement of my life.)
Siddanth stepped back and offered a crisp, perfect salute to the Colonel.
The entire studio audience, Kapil, and Navjot Singh Sidhu rose to their feet, delivering a standing ovation for the retired officer. The Colonel's eyes shined with unshed tears as he returned the salute, before walking off the stage with his wife, leaving a deeply poignant atmosphere in his wake.
Siddanth carefully handed the wooden box to a crew member for safe keeping and took his seat back on the couch, the entire studio still buzzing from the raw, patriotic moment.
Kapil cleared his throat, steering the show back toward lighter waters. "Wah. Aise moments ki wajah se hi yeh show itna special hai. Chaliye, audience mein se koi aur?" (Wow. It is because of moments like this that this show is so special. Alright, anyone else from the audience?)
A young woman in the middle rows eagerly grabbed the mic.
"Siddanth sir! Main aapki bohot badi fan hoon!" (Siddanth sir! I am a very big fan of yours!) she shrieked excitedly. "Sir, 2010 mein Sahara Awards mein ek video viral hua tha jahan aapne gaana gaya tha Aishwarya Rai ji ke liye! Aapki aawaz bohot achi hai! Kya aap aaj hamare liye kuch gaa sakte hain?" (Sir, in 2010 at the Sahara Awards, a video went viral where you sang a song for Aishwarya Rai! Your voice is very good! Can you please sing something for us today?)
Siddanth immediately shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. "Nahi, nahi. Woh bohot saal pehle ki baat hai. Mera gala kharab hai aaj, sach mein." (No, no. That was many years ago. My throat is actually bad today, genuinely.)
Kapil's eyes lit up with predatory, comedic delight. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slide.
"Arre aise kaise! Yahan aakar toh sabko gaana padta hai!" (Hey, how is that possible! Everyone who comes here has to sing!) Kapil declared loudly, instantly waving to his live band. "Dada! Ek mic dijiye inko!" (Dada! Give him a mic!)
"Kapil, main besura gaunga, show ki TRP gir jayegi," (Kapil, I will sing out of tune, the show's TRP will crash,) Siddanth tried to protest, but a crew member had already dashed forward and shoved a sleek, silver microphone directly into his hands.
"Gaana padega! Gaana padega!" (He has to sing! He has to sing!) the studio audience immediately started chanting, clapping their hands in unison, completely cornering the world's most terrifying batsman.
Siddanth sighed, realizing he was entirely trapped.
The studio went pin-drop silent. The lights dimmed slightly, bathing the stage in a soft, warm glow.
Siddanth brought the microphone to his lips. He closed his eyes for a brief second. He didn't think about the cameras or the massive television audience. He thought of Krithika, thousands of miles away, who was probably going to ruthlessly mock him for this later.
He took a slow breath, and his voice, incredibly deep, smooth, and surprisingly soulful, filled the auditorium. He chose a pure, beautiful romantic classic, starting completely a cappella before the live band effortlessly picked up his melody and joined in with a soft acoustic strum.
"Kehte hain khuda ne iss jahan mein sabhi ke liye...
Kisi na kisi ko hai banaya har kisi ke liye..."
(They say God has created, for everyone in this world...
Someone for each and every one...)
The studio audience was completely, utterly mesmerized. The sheer, unexpected quality of his voice—raw, emotive, and perfectly in tune—was staggering. Women in the audience were visibly swooning, while Kapil and Sidhu sat staring at him in genuine, unadulterated awe.
Siddanth leaned slightly forward, losing himself in the lyrics, his deep baritone carrying the romance effortlessly.
"Tera milna hai uss rab ka ishaara maanu...
Mujhko banaya tere jaise hi kisi ke liye...
Kuch toh hai tujhse raabta...
Kuch toh hai tujhse raabta..."
(Meeting you, I consider a sign from God...
That I was made for someone exactly like you...
There is some connection with you...
There is some connection with you...)
As he let the final, lingering note fade away smoothly, he lowered the microphone.
For two seconds, nobody moved.
And then, the studio erupted into a massive, deafening crescendo of cheers, whistles, and applause. The band gave him a standing ovation.
"Kamaal! Kya aawaz hai!" (Amazing! What a voice!) Kapil yelled over the noise, genuinely blown away. "Bhai, aap batting chhod do, aap aake hamare show pe gaaya karo! Sonu Nigam ki chhutti kar di aapne!" (Brother, you leave batting, you come and sing on our show! You have put Sonu Nigam out of a job!)
Siddanth laughed, looking slightly embarrassed, handing the silver mic back to the crew member. "Bas ek hi gaana aata tha, ga diya." (I only knew one song, I sang it.)
"Nahi nahi, itna romantic gaana, itni feeling ke saath," (No, no, such a romantic song, sung with so much feeling,) Kapil probed, his comedic radar twitching. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sach sach batayiye... yeh gaana kiske liye tha? Kaun hai woh 'someone special'?" (Tell me the absolute truth... who was this song for? Who is that 'someone special'?)
The crowd immediately went "Oooooooo," leaning forward in their seats, desperate for a sliver of celebrity gossip.
Siddanth looked at Kapil. He looked at the crowd. He stroked his chin, striking an exaggerated, highly dramatic pose of deep contemplation, as if he was about to reveal the greatest secret in the universe.
"Pata hai Kapil," (You know, Kapil,) Siddanth said slowly, leaning into his mic. "Maine yeh gaana specifically ek hi insaan ke liye gaya tha. Woh hain sabse khoobsurat aurat..." (I sang this song specifically for one person. For the most beautiful woman...)
The audience held their collective breath.
"Madhuri Dixit," Siddanth stated completely deadpan.
The tension instantly shattered into laughter. Kapil fell back into his armchair, clutching his stomach, completely destroyed by the flawless deflection.
"Madhuri Dixit?!" Kapil wheezed, hitting his desk. "Bhai, Dr. Sriram Nene tumhara heart bypass bina anesthesia ke kar denge!" (Madhuri Dixit?! Brother, Dr. Sriram Nene will do your heart bypass without anesthesia!)
"Risk toh lena padta hai ishq mein," (One has to take risks in love,) Siddanth quipped back flawlessly, settling back onto the couch as the laughter slowly subsided.
They had barely caught their breath when a loud, frantic commotion erupted from the back of the set.
"HATO! HATO SAB MERE RAASTE SE!" (MOVE! EVERYONE MOVE OUT OF MY WAY!)
The heavy wooden doors of the set burst open.
Dadi—played with absolute, iconic brilliance by Ali Asgar—came sprinting onto the stage. She was wearing her trademark oversized suit, thick glasses, and had her grey hair tied up in a messy bun.
She didn't just walk onto the stage. She sprinted.
She ran two entire laps around the central coffee table, her arms flailing wildly, completely ignoring Kapil, her eyes locked entirely onto Siddanth like a predator spotting its prey.
"Dadi! Dadi, aaraam se! Heart attack aa jayega!" (Dadi! Dadi, take it easy! You will get a heart attack!) Kapil yelled, jumping up from his chair.
Dadi ignored him. She finally collapsed onto the couch right next to Siddanth, practically squishing him into the armrest. She pulled a medical asthma inhaler out of her pocket and aggressively pumped it into her mouth three times, panting heavily.
Siddanth, completely terrified and highly amused, pressed himself against the corner of the couch, offering a nervous smile. "Namaste, Dadi."
Dadi slowly turned to look at him. She threw the inhaler over her shoulder, her eyes widening in dramatic disbelief. She reached out and aggressively grabbed both of his cheeks, squishing his face together.
"Haye mera bacha! Mera Siddanth!" (Oh my child! My Siddanth!) Dadi cried out theatrically, pulling his face left and right, inspecting him closely. "Ittu sa tha tu jab maine tujhe TV pe dekha tha! Aur ab dekh... kitna bada ho gaya hai! Kitna strong ho gaya hai!" (You were this small when I saw you on TV! And look now... you have grown so big! You have become so strong!)
"Dadi, chhod usko! Uska jabda (jaw) nikal aayega tere haath mein!" (Dadi, leave him! His jaw will come out in your hands!) Kapil scolded, swatting her hands away.
Dadi glared at Kapil, adjusting her glasses indignantly. "Kutte! Tu beech mein mat bol! Dekh aaj mera sapna poora ho gaya! Main isse shadi karungi!" (Dog! You don't speak in the middle! Look, today my dream has come true! I will marry him!)
"Dadi, iski umar aapke hangover se bhi choti hai!" (Dadi, his age is younger than your hangovers!) Kapil roasted her flawlessly, pointing at the fake alcohol bottle poking out of her pocket. "Sharam kar! Yeh desh ka Test Captain hai, aur tu desh ki sabse badi bewdi (drunkard) hai!" (Have some shame! He is the Test Captain of the country, and you are the biggest drunkard of the country!)
The audience roared. Siddanth had to cover his mouth with both hands, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter at the brutal insult.
"Tu jal raha hai meri kismat se!" (You are burning with jealousy over my luck!) Dadi snapped back, entirely unbothered. She turned back to Siddanth, batting her eyelashes aggressively and stroking his arm. "Siddanth beta, tu iski mat sun. Hum dono ki jodi bilkul rab ne bana di jodi hogi! Tu mujhe pasand hai! Main tere liye roz karele ki sabzi banaungi aur apne haathon se khilaungi!" (Siddanth son, don't listen to him. Our pairing will be perfectly made in heaven! I like you! I will make bitter gourd curry for you every day and feed it to you with my own hands!)
"Dadi, mujhe karela bilkul pasand nahi hai," (Dadi, I absolutely do not like bitter gourd,) Siddanth politely declined, playing along perfectly, leaning away slightly.
"Haye! Toh main karela chhod dungi! Tere liye main apni daaru bhi chhod dungi!" (Gasp! Then I will leave bitter gourd! For you, I will even leave my alcohol!) Dadi declared, clutching her chest as if she had just made the ultimate, heartbreaking sacrifice.
"Dadi, tu daaru chhod degi toh theke wale aatmahatya kar lenge!" (Dadi, if you leave alcohol, the liquor store owners will commit suicide!) Kapil fired back, rubbing his temples.
Dadi completely ignored Kapil, turning back to Siddanth with a very shy, exaggeratedly coy expression. She reached deep into the pocket of her oversized suit.
"Siddanth, main tere liye ek tohfa layi hoon," (Siddanth, I brought a special gift for you,) Dadi whispered loudly. She dramatically pulled out a completely shriveled, dead, brown rose. "Yeh gulaab maine pichle pachas saal se apni jawani ki tarah sambhal ke rakha hai. Sirf tere liye." (I have preserved this rose for the last fifty years, exactly like my youth. Just for you.)
The audience erupted into laughter at the sight of the dead weed.
"Dadi, teri jawani aur yeh gulaab, dono mein ab sirf mitti ki boo aati hai!" (Dadi, both your youth and this rose just smell like dirt now!) Kapil roasted her, swatting at the dead flower.
"Kutte! Jal mat!" (Dog! Don't be jealous!) Dadi yelled at Kapil before turning back to Siddanth, batting her eyelashes. "Beta, humari shadi se pehle, mujhe dekhna hai tu kitna romantic hai. Chal, ek romantic scene karte hain. Tu Shahrukh Khan, aur main teri Kajol." (Son, before our wedding, I want to see how romantic you are. Let's do a romantic scene. You are Shahrukh Khan, and I am your Kajol.)
Siddanth laughed, rubbing his chin. "Dadi, main batsman hoon, actor nahi." (Dadi, I am a batsman, not an actor.)
"Arre thoda sa try kar le! Mere paas aao, meri aakhon mein dekho..." (Oh, just try a little bit! Come to me, look into my eyes...) Dadi insisted, pulling him by the collar.
"Uski aakhon mein dekhega toh use motiyabind (cataracts) ho jayega!" (If he looks into your eyes, he'll get cataracts!) Kapil interrupted loudly.
Dadi ignored him completely. She suddenly pulled a massive, bright red dupatta (scarf) from nowhere and dramatically threw it completely over her own head and Siddanth's head, trapping them both underneath it.
The crowd shrieked with laughter as Siddanth disappeared under the red cloth with the elderly, chaotic character.
"Dadi, chhod usey! Uska dum ghut jayega sharab ki boo se!" (Dadi, leave him! He will suffocate from the smell of alcohol!) Kapil yelled, physically rushing forward and aggressively ripping the dupatta off their heads.
Siddanth emerged, completely red in the face, laughing so hard he couldn't speak, desperately trying to fix his hair.
"Main jaaungi! Main ghar chhod ke jaa rahi hoon!" (I will go! I am leaving this house!) Dadi declared, standing up and crossing her arms stubbornly, glaring at the host. "Lekin ek shart pe. Siddanth ko mere saath dance karna padega!" (But on one condition. Siddanth has to dance with me!)
Before Siddanth could even process the demand or look to Kapil for help, Dadi grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him up from the couch with surprising, elderly strength. She dragged him to the center of the stage.
"Dada! Music!" Dadi yelled toward the live band.
The opening beats of the massive 2014 Bollywood hit, "Tune Maari Entriyaan" from the movie Gunday, blasted through the studio speakers.
Dadi immediately launched into a highly chaotic, wildly energetic, entirely out-of-rhythm dance routine. She was doing the iconic pelvic thrusts, spinning around, and aggressively pointing at Siddanth.
Siddanth, who had flawless dancing capabilities thanks to system skills, didn't hold back. Instead of doing a professional, cool routine, he brilliantly decided to completely mirror Dadi's ridiculous, chaotic steps.
As the chorus hit, Siddanth and Dadi were perfectly synchronized in their chaotic comedy.
"Tune maari entriyaan re
Dil mein baji ghantiyaan re
Tang tang tang..."
(You made an entry
Bells rang in my heart
Tang tang tang...)
Siddanth was doing the exaggerated pelvic thrusts, spinning Dadi around, and dropping to his knees, matching her energy frame-for-frame. The studio audience was entirely on its feet, clapping to the beat, whistling, and howling with laughter at the sight of the ruthless Devil of Cricket performing a comedy routine with an elderly woman.
As the music faded out, Dadi was panting heavily, leaning against Siddanth's shoulder.
"Wah! Kya dance kiya hai mere sher ne!" (Wow! What a dance my tiger has done!) Dadi wheezed, looking up at him lovingly.
Then, her eyes narrowed. The ultimate, iconic moment of her character had arrived.
Dadi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, puckered her lips, and lunged forward for the legendary "Shagun ki Pappi" (auspicious kiss).
Siddanth, having watched the show, knew exactly what was coming. He swiftly leaned backward, trying to duck away, raising his hands defensively.
"Dadi, nahi! Dadi please!" Siddanth laughed, actively trying to escape her clutches.
"Arre shagun ki pappi hai, beta! Mana nahi karna!" (Oh, it's an auspicious kiss, son! You must not refuse!) Dadi yelled, grabbing him tightly by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down. "Aur aaj toh tu bilkul chikna hoke aaya hai! Beard bhi nahi chubhegi!" (And today you have come completely clean-shaven! The beard won't even prickle!)
The crowd shrieked with laughter at the clean-shaven reference.
Siddanth tried to backpedal, but Dadi was entirely too fast. She pounced like a literal tiger, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, pulling his face down, and planting a massive, loud, wet kiss directly onto his cheek, leaving a huge, highly visible smudge of bright red lipstick behind.
"Haaayeee!" Dadi sighed dramatically, completely satisfied, refusing to let go of his neck.
"Dadi, chhod usey! Woh saans nahi le paa raha hai!" (Dadi, let him go! He can't breathe!) Kapil yelled, rushing forward.
Kapil had to physically wrap his arms around Dadi's waist and drag her backward, forcefully peeling her away from the helpless Indian vice-captain.
"Main aaungi, Siddanth! Main phir aaungi!" (I will come back, Siddanth! I will come back again!) Dadi screamed theatrically as Kapil dragged her off the stage toward the exit doors.
Siddanth collapsed back onto the couch, completely out of breath, his face bright red, wiping the massive lipstick stain off his cheek while laughing uncontrollably.
The shooting was descending into absolute, brilliant chaos, and the Devil of Cricket was enjoying every single second of it.