The morning sun was just beginning to warm the sprawling grounds of the Shamshabad farmhouse, but inside the main living room, the atmosphere was already a chaotic blend of scattered toys, half-packed suitcases, and the smell of fresh filter coffee.
Deva sat on the edge of the large sofa, a mug of coffee in one hand, watching Krithika expertly fold a stack of miniature cotton shirts.
"We need to take them soon," Sesikala announced, walking into the room from the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit. She set the plate down on the coffee table and looked directly at Deva. "The twins. It's been over a year. It is time for their first hair removal."
Deva took a sip of his coffee, lowering the mug. He didn't argue; it was a conversation he knew was coming. "Okay. Where are we doing it?"
"Tirupati," Vikram said, walking into the room behind his wife, adjusting his spectacles. "It is our family's tradition, Siddanth. We took you there for your first hair removal when you were a baby. We want to do the same for Rishi and Aadhya."
Deva nodded slowly, processing the suggestion.
"Tirupati," Deva echoed softly. He looked at Krithika, who meet his eyes. "The last time I was in Tirupati... it was before the wedding."
"More than two years ago," Krithika smiled faintly, recognizing the same shift in time that he was feeling.
"Tirupati is perfect," Deva said, looking back at his parents. "We'll go."
---
Getting the twins ready for a trip was a different challenge than preparing for a cricket tour.
Across the room, Krithika was attempting to zip up a duffel bag, while Sesikala stood nearby, listing off items to ensure nothing had been forgotten. "Did you pack the extra baby lotion? The weather there will be dry. What about their soft towels? Don't use the hotel towels on their heads after the ceremony."
"Athamma, I packed three different types of lotion and five towels," Krithika laughed, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.
Near the hallway, Rishi and Aadhya were ignoring the packing process. Rishi was busy pushing a plastic truck against the wooden skirting board, while Aadhya was attempting to climb onto the lower shelf of the TV stand.
Deva set his coffee down and moved to intercept his daughter. "Aadhya, no climbing," he said, reaching out to scoop her up.
The moment his hands touched her waist, Aadhya let out a squeal of defiance, wriggled like a captured fish, and darted under the dining table.
"Traitor," Deva muttered, crouching down to look under the heavy oak table. Aadhya was sitting right in the center, out of arm's reach, grinning at him.
Krithika looked up from the luggage, laughing softly at the sight of the Indian captain being thoroughly outmaneuvered by a one-year-old. Deva sighed, crawling halfway under the table to finally drag a giggling Aadhya back out into the open.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He stood up, shifting Aadhya to his hip, and answered it.
"Sir," Rahul's voice came through the speaker, crisp and efficient. "Everything is green-lit. The Nexus jet is fueled and prepped on the private tarmac. The convoy is waiting in Tirupati. The hotel has cleared an entire wing for the family to ensure privacy, and local security has coordinated our route to Alipiri."
Deva listened, nodding even though Rahul couldn't see him. "Thanks, Rahul. We're just finishing up here."
Vikram, who was sitting in the armchair reading a newspaper, chuckled quietly. "Your boy treats a simple family temple visit like a G20 summit, Siddanth. We are just going to shave some hair, not sign a peace treaty."
Rahul, who had clearly heard the remark through the phone, didn't miss a beat. "With all due respect, uncle, after the World Cup, Siddanth going anywhere in public requires the logistics of a peace treaty. I'll see you all at the airport."
An hour later, the entire family was seated in the wide, comfortable leather seats of the Nexus private aircraft.
As the jet smoothly ascended, leaving the morning traffic of Hyderabad far below, the cabin settled into a quiet hum. Krithika's parents, Subba Rao and Suma, who diectly came to airport, were sitting across from Deva's parents, quietly discussing the schedule for the day. Anjali was stretched out in a window seat, headphones over her ears, already half asleep.
The twins, however, had different agendas.
Aadhya, exhausted by her morning rebellion under the dining table, had fallen asleep the moment the aircraft's wheels left the runway. She was currently bundled in a soft blanket on Krithika's lap.
Rishi was wide awake.
He refused to sit in his assigned seat, refused the small stuffed toys Krithika offered him, and seemed determined to touch every single button on the aircraft's side panels.
After five minutes of watching Krithika try to wrangle him with one hand while holding a sleeping Aadhya in the other, Deva stood up.
"Come here, monster," Deva murmured, gently picking Rishi up.
Deva began a slow, steady walk up and down the wide center aisle of the cabin, bouncing Rishi lightly against his shoulder. Rishi babbled happily, pulling at the collar of Deva's t-shirt.
From their seats, Sesikala and Vikram watched their son.
"You never would have seen him this patient two years ago," Sesikala noted softly to her husband, a fond smile on her face.
Deva caught the look and walked over, stopping by their row. "I heard that. And for the record, facing a fast bowler bowling 150 kilometers an hour is significantly easier than negotiating with this one when he wants to press the emergency exit button."
Vikram laughed, reaching out to tap his grandson lightly on the nose.
Deva carried Rishi over to the large oval window near the back of the cabin. He shifted the boy in his arms, pointing a finger out at the thick, white carpet of clouds passing below them. Rishi didn't understand the physics of flight, but he pressed his small hands against the reinforced glass, fascinated by the brightness of the sky. Deva stood there in silence, resting his chin on top of Rishi's soft hair, simply letting the quiet moment stretch out.
The flight was short. By late morning, the jet touched down smoothly at the Renigunta airport.
The transition from the runway to the waiting convoy of SUVs was seamless, thanks to Rahul's obsessive planning. As the vehicles left the airport and merged onto the roads leading toward Tirupati, the landscape outside the tinted windows began to change. The dense, urban sprawl gave way to the sight of the Seven Hills rising majestically in the distance.
Deva sat in the back of the lead SUV, looking out the window as they passed familiar intersections and local shops selling brass idols and bright orange marigold garlands.
When the convoy finally reached the base of the hills, they didn't drive toward the heavily paved vehicle toll gate. Instead, the SUVs pulled into a designated clearing near the towering entrance of the Alipiri walkway.
It was a strict tradition for the Deva family. Whenever they visited Tirumala, they did not drive up the hill. They walked the 3,550 stone steps.
As the family stepped out of the air-conditioned vehicles into the warm, humid air of the foothills, the scale of Rahul's security arrangements became apparent. A detail of over twenty private security personnel, dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes rather than uniform, seamlessly formed a wide, moving perimeter around the family. They weren't aggressive, and they didn't block the pathway, but they ensured a solid buffer zone existed between Deva and the thousands of other pilgrims making the climb.
"Alright," Deva said, stretching his shoulders. He reached into the backseat of the SUV and carefully lifted Rishi into his arms. Krithika took Aadhya.
Anjali tied her hair back into a tight ponytail, looking up at the massive, covered stone staircase stretching up into the forested hills.
With a collective breath, the family began the climb.
The first few hundred steps were always deceptive. The incline was gradual, and the heavy concrete roof above the pathway provided deep, cool shade. The air was filled with the continuous, echoing chants of "Govinda, Govinda" from the thousands of people walking alongside them.
Deva walked at a steady, measured pace, keeping Rishi balanced comfortably on his hip. Beside him, Krithika was managing well with Aadhya, while their parents walked just a few steps behind, engaged in casual conversation.
However, as the incline grew steeper and the midday heat began to penetrate the shaded walkway, the reality of the climb set in.
"Pass her here," Deva said, noticing Krithika subtly shifting her weight.
Krithika didn't argue. She carefully handed a sleepy Aadhya over. Deva adjusted his grip, settling Rishi on his right hip and Aadhya on his left.
A few hundred steps later, Sesikala walked up beside him. She tapped his arm firmly.
"Give Rishi to your father," she instructed. "You are carrying both of them. It's too steep here."
"I'm fine, Amma," Deva replied, his breathing perfectly controlled despite the sweat. "They're settled. If we move them now, they'll wake up and get cranky."
"You are not proving anything to anyone by carrying both," Sesikala scolded lightly, completely immune to his stamina. "Vikram, take the boy."
Vikram stepped forward, chuckling as he smoothly lifted Rishi out of Deva's right arm. Deva rolled his freed shoulder, silently admitting to himself.
As they continued to climb, moving higher into the hills, the inevitable finally happened.
A young man walking down the steps, returning from the temple, stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the tall, broad-shouldered man carrying a toddler, surrounded by a subtle ring of security. His eyes went wide.
"Deva?" the man gasped loudly.
The name echoed slightly in the enclosed stone pathway. Heads snapped around. Within seconds, the collective realization rippled through the immediate vicinity of the steps. The people walking near them suddenly stopped. Pilgrims sitting on the stone benches along the sides stood up.
The World Cup-winning captain of India was walking among them.
The security perimeter immediately tightened, the guards raising their hands in calm, polite gestures, asking the gathering crowd to maintain their distance and keep the pathway clear.
Deva didn't ignore them. He slowed his pace slightly. He couldn't stop for everyone, but he made sure to acknowledge the people around him.
A young boy, perhaps ten years old, managed to slip through a small gap in the crowd, holding a cheap, plastic cricket bat he had likely bought from a stall at the base of the hill. A security guard moved to intercept him, but Deva shook his head, gesturing for the guard to let the kid through.
The boy held the bat up, his hands shaking slightly. Deva shifted Aadhya to his other arm, took a pen that Rahul instantly materialized from his pocket, and signed the plastic wood.
"Keep practicing," Deva smiled warmly at the boy.
A few steps later, an elderly woman leaning heavily on a wooden cane stepped to the edge of the pathway. She didn't have a phone out; she wasn't asking for a selfie. She simply looked at Deva, and then looked at the sleeping child in his arms.
She raised a wrinkled hand, murmuring a blessing for health and long life.
Deva stopped. He bowed his head slightly in respect, thanking her quietly before moving on.
A family of four tentatively asked for a photo. Deva paused, stepping close enough for the father to snap a quick selfie with his phone, before the security detail politely ushered the family along to prevent a bottleneck.
The crowd was never dangerous, but the volume of people wanting to catch a glimpse of him made the process of climbing incredibly slow. Every step forward required the security team to gently part the sea of devotees. Rahul walked just ahead of Deva, constantly scanning the crowd and quietly directing the guards via a discreet earpiece.
Through it all, the family remained mostly unbothered. They were already used to this.
Further up the hill, as they passed a small shrine, a middle-aged woman carrying a basket of offerings noticed the twins. She didn't look at Deva with the starstruck awe of a cricket fan; she looked at him with the knowing smile of a parent.
"Taking them for their first hair removal?" she asked warmly in Telugu.
"Yes," Deva nodded, smiling back.
"These must be the little ones everyone talks about," the woman smiled, reaching into her basket. She didn't touch the children, but she gently tossed a few vibrant yellow marigold petals over Deva's shoulder, blessing the twins. "May Venkateswara keep them safe."
"Thank you, Amma," Krithika said from beside him, her voice filled with gratitude.
Halfway up the mountain, the family finally pulled off the main pathway into one of the designated resting areas. The stone pavilion offered a sweeping, breathtaking view of the valley below.
The security detail immediately formed a loose, relaxed perimeter around the stone benches, giving the family a pocket of privacy.
Subba Rao let out a long sigh, sinking onto the cool stone. "I think the steps get steeper every year."
"You say that every time we come here, Nanna," Krithika teased, unscrewing the cap of a water bottle and handing it to him.
Deva sat down, placing a now-awake Aadhya on his lap. Sesikala began distributing small packets of biscuits and sliced apples that she had carried in her bag.
"Drink water," Vikram instructed Deva, pointing at a bottle. "You are sweating through your shirt."
Deva dutifully took the bottle. He looked around the resting area. Anjali was massaging her calves, looking unimpressed with the concept of physical exercise. Krithika was wiping Aadhya's face with a damp cloth. Despite the twenty guards standing in a circle around them, and the hundreds of people staring from the pathway, inside this little bubble, they were just a family taking a break on a hike.
Nearly three hours after they had started, the heavy, ornate architecture of the Tirumala temple complex finally came into view at the top of the stairs.
They stepped off the final stone step, merging onto the paved roads of the hill town. The air here was cooler, carrying the faint, ever-present scent of sandalwood and camphor.
Deva stopped, letting out a long breath, and looked at his parents.
"We made it," Deva smiled.
A pair of electric carts, pre-arranged by Rahul, were waiting for them at the top of the stairs. The family climbed in, grateful to finally be off their feet. The short ride to the hotel was quiet, the twins lulled back to sleep by the gentle humming of the electric motors.
When they arrived at the hotel suite, the extent of Rahul's preparation was on full display.
The large living area of the suite was perfectly organized. There was a designated changing station set up for the twins, stacks of specific baby food Krithika had requested, bottles of mineral water lined up on the counter, and two travel cots already assembled in the bedroom.
The family took an hour to rest, shower, and eat a light meal before preparing for the main purpose of their trip.
The Kalyanakatta—the massive, multi-story building dedicated to the traditional hair-removal ceremony—was bustling with thousands of pilgrims. Rahul had secured a private, cordoned-off section for the family, ensuring they wouldn't be mobbed while the children were undergoing the ritual.
The emotional weight of the moment settled over the family as they walked into the designated room.
Deva sat on a low wooden stool, holding Rishi securely on his lap. Krithika sat on an identical stool beside him, holding Aadhya. The traditional barbers, dressed in white, approached with quiet respect, holding small bowls of water and their razors.
"Hold him gently, but keep his head still," Sesikala advised, standing right behind Deva, her hands resting nervously on his shoulders.
The barber applied a small amount of water to Rishi's thick, dark hair. The moment the cold water touched his scalp, Rishi frowned. As the razor made its first, careful scrape, removing a long lock of hair, Rishi decided he did not like this experience. He let out a loud, indignant wail, trying to turn his face into Deva's chest.
"I know, I know, buddy," Deva murmured, his voice soft. He held Rishi's head gently, restricting his movement without squeezing too hard. "It's okay. Almost done."
Beside them, the process with Aadhya was different. She didn't cry. She sat still on Krithika's lap, her large eyes watching the barber with intense, silent suspicion.
Krithika hummed a soft lullaby, keeping Aadhya calm.
Vikram and Subba Rao watched with bright eyes, silently recording the moment on their phones. It was a milestone, a shedding of the past and a blessing for the future. When the barbers finished, they gently washed the twins' newly bare heads with warm water and applied a soothing paste of sandalwood to the skin to prevent any irritation.
Deva looked down at Rishi, who was now sniffling quietly, his head bald and covered in yellow sandalwood paste.
Deva reached out, gently running a thumb over his son's smooth scalp. A sense of tenderness tightened in his chest.
"They suddenly look much older," Suma observed softly, wiping away a small, happy tear with the edge of her saree.
"They look like tiny monks," Anjali whispered from the back of the room, earning a soft, reprimanding glare from Krithika.
Back at the hotel room, the twins finally had a chance to realize what had happened to them.
Deva was sitting on the floor with them, holding up a small hand mirror. Rishi stared at his reflection, his brow furrowed in confusion. He reached up, his small hand patting his bald head, clearly wondering where all his hair had gone. Aadhya looked at the mirror, looked at Rishi, and then reached out to smack her brother's bald head with an open palm.
Deva and Krithika burst out laughing, quickly separating the two tiny monks before a fight could break out.
The late afternoon was spent preparing for the temple darshan. The atmosphere in the suite shifted as everyone changed into strict, traditional temple attire.
Deva stood in the center of the room, wearing a pristine white silk veshti and a matching kanduva draped over his bare shoulders. He was currently engaged in a wrestling match with Rishi, trying to force the toddler into a miniature silk kurta.
"Just put your arm in the sleeve," Deva pleaded, holding the tiny garment open.
Rishi responded by going boneless, sliding out of Deva's grip and army-crawling across the carpet.
Krithika walked out of the bedroom, looking breathtaking in a heavy, forest-green Kanjeevaram silk saree, her hair tied back in a traditional braid adorned with jasmine flowers. She watched Deva holding an empty toddler shirt while Rishi escaped toward the television stand.
"You know," Krithika smiled, leaning against the doorframe, "you are much better with a cricket bat."
"A cricket bat doesn't actively resist me," Deva grumbled, standing up to go retrieve his son.
By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the Seven Hills, the family was walking toward the massive main entrance of the Tirumala temple.
The security detail was tighter here, managing the heavy crowds that naturally congregated near the temple gates. But once the family was ushered through the special VIP entrance, bypassing the massive queue complexes, the noise of the outside world began to fade.
Inside the ancient stone walls of the temple, the atmosphere was heavy with centuries of devotion. The scent of camphor was overpowering, and the continuous chanting of the priests echoed through the long, dimly lit corridors.
Deva walked barefoot on the cool stone, carrying a now-calm Rishi. Krithika walked right beside him, carrying Aadhya. Their parents followed closely, their hands folded in prayer.
As they approached the Garbhagriha, the inner sanctum, Deva grew quiet.
The moment they stepped in front of the massive, dark stone idol of Lord Venkateswara, illuminated by the flickering light of massive oil lamps, the chaotic energy of Deva's life vanished. He didn't ask for a World Cup. He didn't ask for hundreds of centuries or a booming tech empire.
He closed his eyes, holding his son tightly against his chest, and prayed for the quiet, simple health and happiness of the people standing around him.
They were gently ushered out a few moments later.
As the family collected their prasadam and walked out into the massive, open courtyard of the temple complex, Deva and Krithika naturally slowed their pace, letting their parents walk a few steps ahead.
The night sky above the temple was clear, the towering golden gopuram shining brightly under the floodlights.
Krithika shifted Aadhya in her arms, looking up at the gold architecture. "It feels different this time."
"It does," Deva agreed softly, looking down at Rishi, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder, exhausted by the day's events.
Deva smiled, reaching out to gently trace the edge of the sandalwood paste on Aadhya's sleeping head. "And the next time we come here, they'll probably be running up those steps by themselves."
Krithika laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder for a brief moment as they walked under the stone archways.
Later that evening, the entire family gathered around a large table in the private dining room of the hotel.
The exhaustion of the day was evident in everyone's posture, but the mood was light and happy. The conversation flowed easily over plates of hot, simple vegetarian South Indian food.
"I still say Anjali complained the most during the climb," Subba Rao announced, pointing a piece of dosa at his younger daughter.
"I did not!" Anjali protested through a mouthful of food. "I just reasonably pointed out that we invented helicopters for a reason."
"It's a pilgrimage, Anjali, not a commando drop," Vikram laughed heartily.
Hours later, the hotel suite was dark, save for the soft glow of a small nightlight near the travel cots.
Deva and Krithika stood by the cots, looking down at the two small, bald heads resting on the mattresses. The sandalwood paste had been washed off, leaving their skin smooth and clean. They were sleeping deeply oblivious to the world.
Deva reached down, gently pulling a soft blanket up over Rishi's shoulders.
Krithika stepped up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist.
"Tired?" she whispered into the quiet room.
Deva let out a slow breath. "A little."
She rested her head against his arm, looking at the children. "Worth it?"
Deva wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"Definitely."
---
The next morning, the chaotic, familiar rhythm returned.
Breakfast was a rushed affair of coffee and unfinished toast. Luggage was zipped up and hauled out into the corridors. Rahul materialized with military precision, coordinating the departure of the convoy and the preparation of the aircraft.
Before they walked out of the hotel doors, the family gathered in the lobby.
"Wait, wait," Anjali said, pulling her phone out. "One photo. Nobody move."
They all squeezed together. Deva stood in the center, holding a still-sleepy Rishi, while Krithika held Aadhya. The grandparents flanked them, smiling brightly.
Anjali snapped a quick selfie, capturing the messy, exhausted, incredibly happy reality of their trip.
Deva looked at the photo on the screen for a second, smiled, and then turned toward the doors.