Part I: The Selfless Offering
Three weeks after Uri's phenomenal success, Ronnie Screwvala called a private meeting with Anant at his production office in Mumbai. Aditya Dhar was also present, and both men had been cryptic about the agenda, only insisting that it was important and time-sensitive.
Anant arrived punctually, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white shirt, his height and bearing making even casual clothes look elegant. He'd flown in from Delhi specifically for this meeting, squeezing it between final exam preparations.
"Thank you for coming, Anant," Ronnie greeted him warmly, gesturing to a comfortable chair in his spacious office. The walls were lined with posters from his most successful productions, awards and accolades tastefully displayed. "I know your schedule is insane right now."
"It's fine, sir," Anant replied with his characteristic humility. "You both made Uri possible. Whatever you need, I'm here."
Aditya and Ronnie exchanged glances. Even after massive success, the young man remained deferential, respectful, seemingly untouched by the ego that fame typically inflated.
"Actually," Ronnie began, settling behind his desk, "we wanted to discuss your technology – the custom filters and compression algorithms you developed for Uri. Anant, you created professional-grade software that post-production houses would pay significant money to license. The compression technology alone could revolutionize how the industry handles digital files."
"Oh," Anant said, looking slightly uncomfortable with the praise. "I'm glad it was useful for the film. That's what I intended."
"Useful is an understatement," Aditya interjected. "Anant, I've worked with some of the best cinematographers and editors in the industry. What you created – the visual signature, the efficient workflow, the quality preservation despite compression – it's genuinely groundbreaking. We want to discuss commercializing it."
Anant was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a folder containing printed documents and a USB drive.
"I was actually planning to give you these today," he said, sliding them across the desk to Ronnie. "Complete source code for both the color grading filters and the compression algorithm. Full documentation, implementation notes, everything you'd need to use or modify the technology. It's yours."
Ronnie stared at the folder without touching it. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The technology," Anant repeated calmly. "I'm giving it to you. To your production company. Consider it a tribute, a thank you for believing in me when I was nobody. You took a massive risk casting an unknown student in a major film. This is my way of saying thank you."
"Anant," Ronnie said slowly, his voice strained with disbelief, "do you understand what you're giving away? This software could be licensed to every production house in India, possibly internationally. We're talking about potentially crores in licensing fees annually. And you want to just... give it away?"
"To you, yes," Anant confirmed. "You invested in me. You saw potential when others would have dismissed me as inexperienced. The least I can do is share the tools I developed while working on your project. It wouldn't exist without Uri, and Uri wouldn't exist without you. So it's rightfully yours."
Aditya leaned forward, his expression intense. "Anant, I want to make sure you understand the financial implications here. If you own this technology, license it properly, establish yourself as the inventor – you could be financially independent for life. Tech companies would pay enormous sums for algorithms this efficient."
"I understand," Anant said simply. "But I don't need enormous sums. My needs are modest, and I'll earn enough from acting if I continue choosing projects wisely. This technology was born from a desire to make Uri the best it could be. It feels right that it stays with the film, with you both."
Ronnie sat back in his chair, literally speechless. In thirty years of producing films, working with hundreds of actors, directors, and technicians, he'd never encountered this level of selflessness. Even established stars negotiated every possible revenue stream, fought for percentages and backend deals. Yet here was Anant, casually giving away technology worth potentially tens of crores, asking for nothing in return.
"How are you real?" Ronnie finally asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Anant, people in this industry don't operate this way. Everyone takes, everyone maximizes, everyone protects their intellectual property jealously. But you're just... giving?"
"Is it giving if I created it for you in the first place?" Anant asked genuinely. "I made this technology to help Uri succeed. It did. Mission accomplished. What would I even do with it otherwise? I'm an actor now, not a software developer. Better it goes to people who'll actually use it, improve it, maybe help other filmmakers create better films."
Aditya looked at Ronnie with an expression that said I told you he was different. They'd discussed Anant's unusual character before, but this exceeded even their elevated expectations.
"Okay," Ronnie said, making a decision. "I'm not comfortable just taking this from you. You're right that we helped launch your career, but you more than repaid that by delivering a performance that made Uri a phenomenon. So here's what we're going to do."
He leaned forward, his businessman mind engaging even as his heart was touched by Anant's generosity. "We establish a VFX and post-production technology company. Dedicated entirely to developing, refining, and implementing the software you've created. You retain intellectual property rights and a majority ownership stake. Aditya and I will manage the business side – I have the industry connections, Aditya has the creative vision. You improve the technology in your free time, when you're not acting. Any profits get split three ways."
Anant started to protest, but Ronnie held up a hand. "This isn't negotiable. I'm a man of honor, Anant. I don't take gifts this valuable without giving something back. Either we do it this way, or I don't touch your technology at all."
"He's serious," Aditya confirmed with a slight smile. "I know that expression. Ronnie in full stubborn mode is immovable."
Anant considered this, processing the proposal. "If we do this, I have one condition."
"Name it," Ronnie said immediately.
"Aditya has to be actively involved. Equal partner, equal say. I trust both of you, but Aditya understands the creative application of technology in filmmaking better than anyone I've worked with. His artistic vision combined with your business acumen – that's the foundation this company needs."
Aditya blinked in surprise. "Anant, I'm a director. I don't know anything about running a tech company—"
"You don't need to know about running it," Anant interrupted gently. "That's Ronnie sir's expertise. But you know what filmmakers need, what problems they face, what tools would actually help versus what's just gimmicky. Your creative input is essential. Plus," he added with uncharacteristic directness, "you both believed in me. You both took risks on an unknown student. This is my way of tying our futures together. Your success helps my technology succeed. My technology helps your films succeed. Everyone wins."
Ronnie and Aditya exchanged another long look, communicating in the wordless way of people who'd worked closely together.
"Alright," Aditya finally said. "But I'm genuinely amateur at the business side. I'll need a lot of guidance."
"That's what partners are for," Ronnie replied with a warm smile. Then, looking at Anant with something approaching paternal affection, "You're aware that you're giving away the leverage most actors would kill for? You could have negotiated this into backend deals on future films, massive signing bonuses, anything. Instead, you're voluntarily creating a partnership where you do most of the technical work while we manage the business?"
"I enjoy the technical work," Anant said with a shrug. "It's meditative, creative problem-solving. And honestly, I'm an amateur in the film industry. I don't know the politics, the business practices, the negotiation strategies. I'd make terrible decisions if I tried to handle this myself. Better to partner with people I trust who have decades of experience."
"While you collect royalties and improve technology in your free time," Aditya added, starting to grin.
"Exactly," Anant confirmed, his own smile emerging. "I focus on what I'm good at – acting and coding. You both focus on what you're good at – producing and directing. Seems efficient."
Ronnie stood and walked around his desk. Without warning, he pulled Anant into a fierce embrace. The young man, surprised but touched, returned the hug.
"You're going to be huge, kid," Ronnie whispered. "Not just famous – influential. Important. And if Aditya and I can help protect what makes you special through this partnership, then we're honored to do so."
When they broke apart, Aditya also stood and, in a gesture both playful and affectionate, ruffled Anant's hair like one might do to a younger brother. "You're too good for this industry, you know that? Too pure, too selfless, too idealistic."
"Is that bad?" Anant asked, smoothing his hair back down with an embarrassed laugh.
"It's dangerous," Aditya said seriously. "This industry eats pure souls. It chews them up, spits them out cynical and broken. But maybe – just maybe – if enough people protect you, if your father's legacy keeps you grounded, if you stay connected to who you are... maybe you'll be the one who changes the industry instead of letting it change you."
"I'll try," Anant promised softly.
"We know you will," Ronnie assured him. "And we'll do our part to ensure you have the space to stay true to yourself."
They spent the next hour discussing logistics – legal structure for the new technology company, development timelines, potential applications beyond just color grading and compression. Anant's mind, brilliant and quick, suggested possibilities neither Ronnie nor Aditya had considered.
"What if we develop real-time rendering for background replacement?" Anant mused. "Actors could perform against green screens and see the actual environment they're supposed to be in, not just green. Would improve performance, help directors visualize shots better."
"Is that even possible?" Aditya asked, intrigued.
"With current processing power? Not really. But in three to five years, as hardware improves? Absolutely. If we start developing the software architecture now, we'll be ready when the hardware catches up."
"See?" Ronnie said to Aditya. "This is why he needs to be involved. He thinks five years ahead while we're focused on next quarter."
As the meeting wound down and Anant prepared to leave, both older men felt a strange mixture of pride, protectiveness, and something approaching awe. This young man, barely twenty-one, had achieved what most actors struggled for decades to attain, yet remained humble. Had created technology worth crores, yet gave it away freely. Had every reason to become arrogant, yet stayed grounded.
After Anant left, Ronnie and Aditya sat in contemplative silence for several minutes.
"He's dangerous," Ronnie finally said.
"Dangerous?" Aditya questioned.
"To the status quo. To the way this industry operates. Anant represents something fundamentally different – talent without ego, success without arrogance, power without exploitation. If he maintains that as he rises, if he doesn't get corrupted..." Ronnie trailed off, staring at where Anant had sat. "He could change everything."
"Or the industry could destroy him," Aditya countered quietly. "We've both seen it happen. Pure souls getting chewed up by the machinery of fame and commerce, just take the example of me, big production houses taken or literally steal my stories and make movies while I don't able to do anything except you who supported me to give me confidence. So we have to save him from big Vultures who literally do anything to get him, throw money, girls, and power towards him to make him corrupt."
"Then we protect him," Ronnie said firmly. "As much as we can, however we can. That boy just gave us technology worth crores and asked for nothing. The least we can do is ensure he survives his own generosity."
"His father's legacy will help," Aditya observed. "Rajesh Sharma ji sacrificed his career for family. Anant grew up seeing that integrity matters more than fame. Those roots go deep."
"Let's hope they're deep enough," Ronnie murmured. "Because the film industry is about to try very hard to uproot them."
They sat in silence again, both men aware they'd just witnessed something rare: a genuinely selfless act in an industry built on self-interest. And both silently vowed to honor that selflessness by protecting the young man who'd demonstrated it.
Part II: The Unexpected Call
Ronnie was still processing the morning's meeting, reviewing the documents Anant had left, when his phone rang. The caller ID showed "Fox Star Studios" – one of the biggest production and distribution houses in India, backed by 21st Century Fox.
"Ronnie Screwvala," he answered professionally.
"Ronnie! It's Vijay Oberoi from Fox Star. How are you? Congratulations on Uri's massive success!"
"Thank you, Vijay. It's been an incredible ride. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I'm calling about a potential collaboration. Have you got a moment?"
"Of course." Ronnie leaned back in his chair, intrigued. Fox Star didn't call for small projects.
"We've been approached by Arun Pandey – he's a close friend and manager of MS Dhoni. You know Dhoni, obviously. Cricket legend, captain of the Indian team."
"Everyone knows Dhoni," Ronnie confirmed. "What's this about?"
"Arun wants to produce a biopic on Dhoni's life. The man's story is incredible – small-town ticket collector who became one of cricket's greatest captains. World Cup winner, IPL legend, the works. But here's the interesting part..."
Vijay paused for dramatic effect, and Ronnie could hear the smile in his voice.
"Dhoni himself suggested who should play him."
"Did he now?" Ronnie said, his own smile forming as he anticipated where this was going.
"Apparently, Dhoni watched Uri. Was completely blown away by Anant Sharma's performance. Told Arun, quote, 'That young man has the potential to portray me. He has the discipline, the focus, the transformation ability.' When Arun asked if he was serious, Dhoni said, 'Cast him. If he says yes, we have our film.'"
Ronnie sat up straight, his mind already racing through implications. "MS Dhoni specifically requested Anant Sharma for his biopic?"
"Specifically, emphatically, and repeatedly, according to Arun. And get this – Neeraj Pandey is interested in directing. You know his work: A Wednesday, Special 26, Baby. He's perfect for biopics, especially ones requiring authenticity and depth. But he wants to meet Anant first, ensure there's chemistry, ensure the young man can handle the responsibility of portraying a living legend."
Ronnie's mind worked at lightning speed. MS Dhoni: The Untold Story. Massive built-in audience. Cricket-crazy nation. Inspiring real-life story. Neeraj Pandey's solid directorial hand. And Anant, fresh off Uri's success, in a role specifically requested by the subject himself.
"This could be enormous," Ronnie said aloud.
"Bigger than enormous," Vijay corrected. "If done right, this could be the biggest sports biopic in Indian cinema history. The combination of Dhoni's story, Neeraj's direction, and Anant's proven ability to disappear into military roles – it's commercial and critical gold."
"What do you need from me?"
"Fox Star is backing the production. Arun is producing through Inspired Entertainment. We want you as a co-producer – your expertise with authentic storytelling, your relationship with Anant, your success with Uri. And more importantly, we need you to convince Anant to say yes."
"You think he'll hesitate?" Ronnie asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"The boy refused payment for his debut film," Vijay said with amused disbelief. "He's clearly not motivated by normal factors. But Ronnie, you know him. You have rapport and you are literally his Godfather in Bollywood. If you vouch for this project, if you explain why it matters, we think he'll say yes."
Ronnie smiled, genuinely delighted by the irony. "Vijay, let me save you some anxiety. Anant is a massive cricket fan. Huge. And Dhoni is one of his heroes. I've heard him talk about Dhoni's captaincy, his calmness under pressure, his ability to make the right decision in impossible situations. If you're offering him a chance to play MS Dhoni, he'll say yes before you finish the pitch."
"Really?" Vijay sounded relieved and excited. "That's... that's fantastic! Can we set up a meeting? Arun, Neeraj, you, and Anant? This week if possible?"
"Let me call Anant. He's in Delhi finishing final exams, but for this, he'll make time. I'll get back to you within the hour with confirmed availability."
After disconnecting with Vijay, Ronnie sat for a moment, marveling at the timing. Just this morning, Anant had demonstrated selfless generosity that defied industry norms. And now, the universe was offering him an opportunity that could cement his status as not just a star, but a superstar.
He dialed Aditya, who was still in the building.
"Come back to my office. You're not going to believe this."
When Aditya returned, Ronnie explained the entire conversation. The young director's eyes widened progressively as the story unfolded.
"Dhoni specifically requested Anant?" Aditya repeated, needing confirmation. "The MS Dhoni? Cricket legend Dhoni?"
"The very same. Watched Uri, was impressed, told his manager to cast Anant."
"And Neeraj Pandey wants to direct?" Aditya's voice carried a mix of excitement and professional respect. Neeraj was a director's director, known for meticulous craft and authentic storytelling.
"It gets better," Ronnie continued, pulling out his phone to show Aditya the preliminary details Vijay had emailed. "Fox Star is backing it. Major budget, national release, full studio support. This isn't some small biopic hoping for niche audience. They're positioning this as a tentpole release."
Aditya whistled low. "From unknown student to starring in what could be one of the biggest biopics ever made, all in the span of six months. Anant's trajectory is insane."
"And deserved," Ronnie added. "The boy has talent, discipline, humility – everything necessary for sustained success. This Dhoni biopic could be the role that takes him from 'promising newcomer' to 'established superstar.'"
"Should we call him now?" Aditya asked.
Ronnie checked his watch. "He's probably in class or studying. Let's give him until evening, let him finish his academic commitments for the day. Then we'll call with the news."
But before Ronnie could even set down his phone, it rang again. Anant's name appeared on the screen.
"Speak of the devil," Ronnie murmured, answering. "Anant! We were just talking about you."
"Sir, I hope I'm not disturbing you." Anant's voice carried a slightly breathless quality, like he'd been hurrying. "I just got the strangest message. Someone claiming to be from Fox Star Studios, asking if I'd be interested in discussing a biopic project. Is this legitimate or should I ignore it?"
Ronnie laughed, delighted. "It's very legitimate. And before they could even approach you directly, we were planning to call you about it. Anant, how much do you know about MS Dhoni?"
There was a brief pause, then Anant's voice came back considerably more intense. "MS Dhoni? What does he have to do with anything?"
"Everything," Ronnie replied with a grin. "How would you feel about playing him in his biographical film?"
The silence on the other end stretched for several seconds. Ronnie could almost hear Anant's mind processing, rejecting the possibility as too improbable, then reconsidering.
"Sir," Anant finally said, his voice carefully controlled, "I need you to be completely serious with me right now. Is this actually real, or are you joking?"
"Completely real. Dhoni's manager Arun Pandey is producing. Fox Star is backing it. Neeraj Pandey wants to direct. And Dhoni himself specifically said he wants you to play him. Watched Uri, was impressed, told Arun you had the discipline and transformation ability to portray him authentically."
Another long silence. Then, in a voice thick with emotion: "MS Dhoni wants me to play him in his biopic?"
"Yes."
"Neeraj Pandey wants to direct?"
"Yes."
"And you're asking if I'm interested?"
"Yes."
"Sir, with all due respect..." Anant's voice cracked slightly, revealing genuine emotion, "that's the stupidest question I've ever heard. Of course I'm interested! Dhoni is... he's one of my heroes! The way he captained India, the calmness under pressure, the strategic brilliance, the humility despite massive success – I've studied him, admired him, tried to learn from his leadership style. Playing him in a film would be... I don't even have words for what it would be."
Ronnie and Aditya exchanged satisfied smiles. They'd predicted this reaction almost exactly.
"Then say yes," Ronnie encouraged. "We'll set up a meeting with Arun, Neeraj, and the Fox Star team. They want to ensure you understand the magnitude of the responsibility, that you're committed to doing justice to Dhoni's story."
"I'll do whatever preparation is necessary," Anant said immediately, his academic focus clearly shifting to this new challenge. "I'll study every match he played, every interview he gave, every documentary about him. I'll learn cricket at professional level if needed. Sir, I won't let Dhoni down. Or you. Or anyone involved in this project."
"I know you won't, kid," Ronnie said warmly. "That's why we didn't hesitate to tell them you'd say yes."
"Wait," Anant said, catching up to the timeline. "You told them I'd say yes before even asking me?"
"Of course," Ronnie replied, completely unbothered. "Because I know you, Anant. I know what motivates you, what excites you, what you value. And I knew that a chance to honor a living legend like Dhoni, to tell his story authentically, to take on a role this challenging – you'd jump at it regardless of commercial considerations."
"You know me too well, sir," Anant admitted with a soft laugh.
"That's what good producers do – we know our actors. Now, when can you fly to Mumbai for the meeting? They want to move quickly on this."
"My final exam is tomorrow afternoon. I can fly to Mumbai tomorrow evening, be available all day Friday and Saturday."
"Perfect. I'll coordinate with Vijay and set something up. Anant?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Congratulations. You're about to play one of the most beloved figures in Indian cricket. No pressure."
Anant laughed, genuine and unforced. "No pressure at all, sir. Just the weight of a billion cricket fans' expectations and the responsibility of authentically portraying a living legend who specifically requested me. Totally manageable."
The fact that Anant could joke about it while clearly taking it seriously was exactly why Ronnie had faith he could handle it.
After disconnecting, Ronnie immediately called Vijay back.
"He said yes. Enthusiastically. Can we set up a meeting for this Friday in Mumbai?"
"I'll make it happen," Vijay confirmed, sounding thrilled. "Ronnie, I think we've got something special here. Anant's earnestness, combined with Dhoni's story, Neeraj's direction – this could be magical."
"It better be," Ronnie said seriously. "Because we're about to put an immense amount of pressure on a twenty-one-year-old who's still finishing his college degree. If we don't support him properly, if we don't protect him from the inevitable scrutiny and criticism – we could crush him."
"We won't let that happen," Vijay promised. "Fox Star has resources. We'll ensure Anant has the best preparation, the best support system, everything he needs to succeed."
Part III: The Protectors' Pact
After all the calls concluded and confirmations were sent, Ronnie and Aditya sat together in the now-quiet office, both processing the day's events.
"This morning, he gave us technology worth crores," Aditya said wonderingly. "This afternoon, he gets offered the role of a lifetime. The universe has a sense of irony."
"Or justice," Ronnie suggested. "Maybe selflessness gets rewarded. Maybe good things happen to genuinely good people."
"This industry doesn't usually work that way," Aditya countered, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "We both know how dark it can get. Politics, jealousy, sabotage, exploitation. Anant's purity, his selflessness, his genuine goodness – those are liabilities as much as assets."
"Which is why we protect him," Ronnie said firmly. "Both of us. As partners in this new technology venture, as producers who've worked with him, as people who care about him as a person, not just as talent. We protect what makes him special."
"How?" Aditya asked pragmatically. "We can't shield him from criticism, from competitive actors who'll resent his success, from media that will eventually try to tear him down just because he's risen so high. Those forces are inevitable."
"We can't shield him from everything," Ronnie agreed. "But we can ensure he has support systems. His family – clearly his foundation. His father especially, with that NSD legacy providing both understanding and grounding. We encourage those connections, never ask him to choose between family and career."
"We manage expectations," Aditya added, warming to the strategic planning. "Make sure projects he takes on are right for his development, not just commercially lucrative. No exploitative contracts, no compromising roles, nothing that would require him to violate his principles."
"We build a team around him," Ronnie continued. "Manager who has his best interests at heart, not just maximum commission. Publicist who protects his privacy while managing his image. Legal counsel who ensures he's never taken advantage of."
"And we stay connected," Aditya said. "Not just as business partners through the tech company, but as mentors. People he can call when the industry gets overwhelming, when offers come that seem too good but might be traps, when he needs perspective from people who've navigated this terrain."
Ronnie nodded slowly, a plan forming. "His father's legacy helps. Rajesh Sharma knows what it means to sacrifice for integrity, to choose principle over expedience. Those lessons run deep in Anant. As long as he stays connected to his family, to Chandni Chowk, to the restaurant and the values it represents – he'll have an anchor."
"But the industry will try to cut that anchor," Aditya warned. "We've seen it before. Young stars told that going home is 'wasting time,' that family obligations are 'career killers,' that they need to choose between roots and wings."
"Then we make sure Anant knows that's bullshit," Ronnie said bluntly. "That the roots ARE what allow him to fly safely. That his family, his background, his father's hidden legacy – those aren't anchors holding him down. They're foundations holding him up."
They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, both feeling the weight of the responsibility they were voluntarily assuming. Anant had given them a gift this morning – not just technology, but trust. The least they could do was honor that trust by protecting the young man who'd extended it so freely.
"You know what strikes me most about Anant?" Aditya said thoughtfully. "He's operating at the highest levels – IIT gold medal, massive film success, creating revolutionary technology – but he still sees himself as a student. Still thinks he needs guidance, protection, mentorship. That humility, that self-awareness, is so rare."
"Especially among the successful," Ronnie agreed. "Most people at his level of achievement would be posturing, pretending they know everything, jealously guarding their status. But Anant? He literally said, 'I'm an amateur in the film industry, you both manage it while I focus on improving.' That's not false modesty. That's genuine recognition of his own limitations combined with smart delegation to people with expertise."
"His father taught him that," Aditya observed. "Rajesh Sharma ran a restaurant for thirty years without ego, without resentment about his lost theatrical career. Just quiet dignity, hard work, and focus on family. Anant absorbed those values at a cellular level. They're who he is, not just what he does."
"Then our job is to ensure the industry doesn't strip those values away," Ronnie declared. "Because if Anant loses what makes him Anant – the humility, the generosity, the purity of intention – then we've failed. Not as businesspeople, but as human beings who had the privilege of guiding someone special."
"Agreed," Aditya said solemnly. "We protect Anant's authenticity as fiercely as we'd protect our own children."
"Speaking of which," Ronnie added with a slight smile, "we should probably tell him he needs actual security now. After Uri's success and this Dhoni biopic announcement, his public profile is about to explode exponentially. He can't keep walking around IIT Delhi campus without protection."
"He'll hate that," Aditya predicted accurately.
"Probably. But it's necessary. And we'll explain it in terms he understands – not about his importance, but about preventing disruptions that would interfere with his studies, his work, other people's lives. Frame it as consideration for others rather than self-protection."
"You're learning to speak Anant," Aditya observed with amusement.
"Someone has to," Ronnie replied. "The boy thinks in terms of service, duty, and collective benefit. So we present necessary protections in that framework. Not 'you need security because you're a star' but 'you need security to prevent your presence from disrupting campus life for other students.'"
"Clever," Aditya acknowledged. "And true. Have you seen the videos online? Crowds of hundreds gathering just hoping to glimpse him. It's disruptive."
Ronnie pulled out his phone and began making notes. "I'll contact the best security firm in the business. Discreet, professional, trained to blend in. And I'll emphasize to them that their job is protecting Anant's normalcy as much as his safety. He needs to still feel like he can walk to class, grab coffee, exist without being in a bubble."
"Good luck with that once Dhoni announcement goes public," Aditya said wryly. "Cricket + Bollywood + already massive star = absolute frenzy."
"Which is why we build the support structure now," Ronnie insisted. "Before the frenzy, before the pressure becomes unbearable, before Anant realizes just how intense this is about to get. We prepare the safety net before he needs to fall into it."
They spent the next hour strategizing, calling contacts, building the invisible infrastructure that would allow Anant to pursue his career while maintaining his essential humanity. Manager recommendations were reviewed. Legal firms were contacted. Security protocols were established. Publicity strategies were debated and refined.
"We're investing a lot of resources in someone who isn't even contractually obligated to work with us beyond the tech company partnership," Aditya observed at one point.
"Best investment we'll ever make," Ronnie countered immediately. "Not for financial return, though that will come. But for knowing we helped preserve something rare and valuable. There aren't many Anant Sharmas in the world. If we can help ensure he survives and thrives without losing what makes him special – that's worth infinitely more than money."
"You're getting sentimental in your old age," Aditya teased gently.
"Maybe," Ronnie acknowledged with a smile. "Or maybe I've just been in this industry long enough to recognize authenticity when I see it. And long enough to know how rarely it survives contact with success. If Aditya Dhar and Ronnie Screwvala can't protect one genuinely good young man from the machinery of fame – what's the point of all our experience and influence?"
"Put that way," Aditya agreed, "you're absolutely right. We protect Anant. Not just his career, but his character. Not just his success, but his soul."
"Dramatic," Ronnie observed.
"True," Aditya countered.
They shook hands on it, both knowing they'd just committed to something that went far beyond typical producer-talent relationships. They'd appointed themselves guardians, mentors, protectors of a young man who'd touched their lives not through manipulation or calculation, but through simple, genuine decency.
Part IV: The Father's Wisdom
That evening, Anant called his father from his hostel room in Delhi. He'd finished his final exam – Computer Networks, the last test of his IIT Delhi career – and felt simultaneously liberated and overwhelmed.
"Papa, I have news."
"Good news, I hope?" Rajesh's voice carried the warmth of unconditional support.
"MS Dhoni wants me to play him in his biopic."
Silence. Then, carefully: "The MS Dhoni? Cricket legend MS Dhoni?"
"Yes, Papa. He watched Uri, was impressed, specifically requested me for the role. Neeraj Pandey is directing. Fox Star is producing. It's... it's enormous."
"Beta, that's extraordinary! Congratulations!" Genuine joy filled Rajesh's voice. "You must be thrilled."
"I am," Anant confirmed. "But also terrified. Papa, Dhoni is a living legend. People don't just respect him – they revere him. And I'm supposed to... what? Pretend to be him? Capture his essence? Do justice to his story? How is that even possible?"
"The same way you did justice to Major Vihaan," Rajesh said calmly. "Through research, preparation, dedication, and respect for the subject. Beta, you've proven you can transform into a character completely. Dhoni saw that. That's why he chose you."
"But Vihaan was fictional, based on real soldiers but not a specific person," Anant protested. "Dhoni is real, alive, watching. What if I disappoint him? What if I fail to capture what makes him special?"
"Then you'll have failed while trying your absolute hardest," Rajesh replied with unexpected firmness. "Anant, listen to me. Fear of failure is natural, especially with high stakes. But let me share something I learned during my NSD days."
Anant settled in, recognizing the tone his father used when imparting important wisdom.
"When you're playing a real person, especially one still living, you have two choices," Rajesh continued. "You can try to mimic them – copy their mannerisms, their voice, their external characteristics. Or you can try to understand them – get inside their psychology, their motivations, their soul. The first approach creates an impression. The second creates a performance."
"How do I do the second?" Anant asked, genuinely seeking guidance.
"You do what you did for Vihaan. You research obsessively. You watch every available footage. You read every interview. You talk to people who know him. But more importantly, you ask yourself: what does it FEEL like to be MS Dhoni? What drives him? What scares him? What makes him who he is beneath the public persona?"
Rajesh's voice grew more passionate, the teacher emerging. "Dhoni is known for calmness under pressure. But where does that calmness come from? Is it natural temperament, or learned discipline? Is it confidence, or is it profound acceptance of outcomes beyond control? When he makes a controversial decision in a match, what's the internal process? When he fails, what does he tell himself?"
"Those questions don't have public answers," Anant observed.
"Exactly! So you make educated guesses based on research and empathy. You construct an internal life for the character that's consistent with external facts. And then, beta, you trust that internal life to guide the performance. The external mannerisms will follow naturally if the internal understanding is correct."
Anant was quiet, absorbing this. His father's insights were exactly what he'd found in those NSD journals – sophisticated understanding of character development, performance psychology, the actor's craft at its highest level.
"Papa, have you been reading your old journals?" Anant asked with a slight smile.
"Maybe," Rajesh admitted. "Revisiting them after giving them to you. Remembering techniques I'd forgotten. And realizing that what I learned thirty years ago is still relevant, still valuable. Acting fundamentals don't change, beta. Human psychology doesn't change. What worked for me will work for you."
"With adaptations for film versus stage," Anant added.
"Of course. Stage requires projection, bigger choices, sustaining energy over two hours without cuts. Film requires subtlety, trust in the camera, understanding that close-ups capture what stage audiences could never see. But the foundational work – understanding character, accessing emotion, finding truth – that's identical."
"I'm lucky to have you, Papa," Anant said quietly. "Most actors have to figure this out through trial and error, or expensive coaches. I have a gold medalist from NSD as my personal mentor."
"And I have a son who's achieving what I couldn't," Rajesh replied, his voice thick. "Not because he's fulfilling my dream, but because he has his own dream and the courage to pursue it completely. Beta, I'm so proud of you I can barely articulate it."
"I couldn't do this without you," Anant insisted. "Your legacy, your values, your knowledge – it's all part of what makes me capable."
"Then use it wisely," Rajesh advised. "You're being given opportunities that most actors would kill for. First Uri, now Dhoni's biopic. These aren't just commercial projects – they're culturally significant films. Uri honored soldiers. The Dhoni film will honor a sports icon. See the pattern? You're being chosen for stories that matter, that serve something larger than entertainment."
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Anant admitted.
"Start thinking of it that way," Rajesh urged. "Your career is developing a theme: authenticity, service, honoring real heroes. That's powerful, beta. That's a legacy worth building. Not just 'successful actor' but 'actor who tells important stories with integrity.' That's what I dreamed of being. That's what you're becoming."
"No pressure," Anant joked weakly.
"Enormous pressure," Rajesh corrected with gentle humor. "But pressure you can handle. Because you have preparation, support, and most importantly, the right values. Money won't tempt you to take bad roles. Fame won't inflate your ego. Criticism won't crush your confidence. Why? Because you know who you are beneath all of it."
"Do I?" Anant asked, genuinely wondering.
"Yes," Rajesh said with absolute certainty. "You're Anant Sharma from Chandni Chowk. Son of Rajesh and Meera. Brother to Anjali. IIT Delhi gold medalist. Someone who makes fusion paneer tikka on weekends. Someone who refused payment for his first film because money wasn't the point. Someone who gave away valuable technology as thanks for being believed in. That's who you are, beta. The rest is just what you do."
Anant felt tears building. "Thank you, Papa."
"Always, beta. Now, practical question: when's this Dhoni meeting?"
"Friday in Mumbai. They want to discuss the project, ensure I understand the responsibility, probably assess whether I can actually play cricket convincingly."
"Can you?"
"I played cricket in school. Was decent. But professional level, international cricketer level? That's going to require serious training."
"Then you'll train seriously," Rajesh said simply. "Same way you trained for the military role. Dedicate yourself completely, learn from the best, transform your body and mind to meet the role's demands. You know how to do this, Anant. Trust the process."
They talked for another hour, discussing preparation strategies, potential challenges, ways to balance the upcoming film work with Anant's stated desire to complete his IIT Delhi graduation properly. By the time they said goodnight, Anant felt centered again – the fear transformed into focused determination.
After disconnecting, Rajesh sat in the quiet restaurant, looking at his own reflection in the darkened window. His son was about to play MS Dhoni, one of India's most beloved figures. The responsibility was enormous. The scrutiny would be intense. The potential for failure – and very public failure – was real.
But Rajesh wasn't worried. He'd watched Anant prepare for Uri with monastic dedication. He'd seen him transform from student to soldier through sheer commitment. And he knew that same intensity would be brought to Dhoni's portrayal.
"He'll be magnificent," Rajesh whispered to his reflection. "Not because he's my son, not because of my legacy, but because he's himself. And himself is extraordinary."
Upstairs, Meera found her husband sitting in the dark, smiling.
"Good conversation with Anant?" she asked, sitting beside him.
"The best," Rajesh confirmed. "He's scared, which means he respects the responsibility. He's questioning himself, which means he won't be arrogant. And he's seeking guidance, which means he's humble enough to learn. All good signs."
"You're not worried?"
"Terrified," Rajesh admitted honestly. "But also thrilled. Our son is about to play MS Dhoni. That's... that's beyond anything I could have imagined for him."
"You imagined pretty big things," Meera observed gently.
"I imagined success. I didn't imagine THIS. Uri making 450 crores. Technology companies being built around his innovations. Living legends specifically requesting him for their biopics. It's exponentially beyond my own achievements."
"Does that bother you?" Meera asked carefully.
"Not even a little," Rajesh said immediately. "I'm not competitive with my son, Meera. I'm in awe of him. Proud beyond measure, yes, but also genuinely impressed as an artist watching another artist work. What Anant is achieving – it's not my dream reborn. It's his dream being lived at a level I never reached. And that's exactly how it should be. Each generation should surpass the previous. That's progress."
"You're a good man, Rajesh Sharma," Meera said, kissing his cheek.
"I'm a lucky man," Rajesh corrected. "Lucky in my wife, lucky in my children, lucky that my sacrifices resulted in something beautiful rather than resentment."
They sat together in comfortable silence, both contemplating the extraordinary journey their family was on. From a small restaurant in Chandni Chowk to the biggest stages in Indian entertainment. From hidden legacy to public phenomenon. From quiet dignity to celebrated success.
The dream hadn't died thirty years ago when Rajesh put away his gold medal.
It had just been waiting for the right person to carry it further than one man alone ever could.
And Anant, brilliant and humble and dedicated, was proving to be exactly that person.
Chapter End