Cricket: Template system

The dawn over Ahmedabad was quiet and pale gold. It carried none of the tension of match day.

Inside the Presidential Suite of the ITC Narmada, Siddanth Deva opened his eyes.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

He turned his head. Krithika was asleep beside him, the lines of stress from the past six weeks gone from her face. Her arm rested across his chest.

He eased out from under the duvet without waking her and walked barefoot into the living room. Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains.

On the mahogany coffee table sat the ICC Men’s Cricket World Cup trophy. The golden globe caught the first light. Beside it lay his winner’s medal, the Player of the Match trophy and the Player of the Tournament trophy.

Deva walked over and ran his fingers over the cool metal of the globe. The solid weight of it settled something in him.

“Good Morning, Nana.”

He turned.

Rishi stood in the doorway of the second bedroom, rubbing his eyes, hair messy, in cotton pajamas.

Deva smiled, walked over and lifted his son onto his hip, carrying him to the table.

“Good Morning, buddy,” he said quietly so as not to wake the others. “Woke up early.”

“Yeah.”

A loud yawn came from the bedroom, followed by the thud of small feet. Aadhya ran in, hair wild, clutching a stuffed elephant.

“Nana! You are awake!” she announced at a volume too high for the hour. She marched straight to the table and pointed at the trophy.

“I want a photo with the shiny cup,” she said firmly. “On my bed. Like next to me.”

Krithika came out of the bedroom, smiling as she heard it. She walked over and put her arms around Deva from behind.

“Good morning, World Champions,” she said, then laughed softly at Aadhya’s demand. “You sound exactly like your father. When he first won the World Cup in 2011, he took a photo with the trophy right beside the bed.”

Deva smiled, a little sheepish. “I was younger then.”

“You were impossible,” Krithika said. She looked at Aadhya. “All right. Photo first. Then the cup can stay near your bed for a while. Carefully.”

They set the trophy on the children’s bed. Aadhya climbed onto the mattress, curled up under the blanket, and drifted off to sleep while tightly hugging the cup like a favorite stuffed animal. Krithika took the picture.

“Rishi,” Krithika said, turning to her son. “Your turn. Same pose as your sister.”

Rishi considered it for a moment, then climbed up and sat the same way Aadhya had, hands on the base, expression calm. Krithika took the photo.

“Now both of you,” she said. “Cup in the middle.”

Aadhya and Rishi sat on either side of the trophy. Aadhya leaned in and grinned. Rishi placed one hand on the base and looked straight at the camera. Krithika took the last frame: the two of them with the World Cup between them.

“There,” she said. “Early morning photos done. The cup stays here for now. Breakfast next.”

Deva pulled both children into a brief hug. “The cup does not go to the dining room, monster. But it will be here when we get back.”

Aadhya nodded, already satisfied. Rishi gave the globe one more careful tap. The quiet morning held.

—

Security around the lawns of Raj Bhavan was tight. The Indian squad, in matching white and blue bandhgalas and kurtas, arrived with their families under the morning sun.

There were no press cameras or shouting journalists. It was a private breakfast hosted by the Prime Minister, Narendra Modi.

Tables were set with white linen and simple centrepieces of marigolds and roses. The air smelled of filter coffee, poha and jalebis.

Modi, in a kurta and jacket, moved among the tables. The formal air of office was replaced by the manner of a proud elder.

He came to the table where Rohit Sharma, Virat Kohli and Siddanth Deva sat with their wives.

The players stood. Modi smiled and motioned them to sit, resting a hand on Rohit’s shoulder.

“Sharma ji,” he said. “You gave the country a scare in the powerplay and then gave us the joy that followed. Those starts were the engine of this side.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rohit said. “We wanted to follow the plan.”

Modi turned to Kohli. “Virat. The anchor. To match and then go past Sachin ji’s record in this tournament… you have done something lasting. The country respects that dedication.”

Kohli pressed his hands together. “It is an honour to play for this country, sir.”

Then the Prime Minister looked at Deva.

“Siddanth,” he said. “Four consecutive Player of the Tournament awards. A double century and a hat-trick in the Final. You did not only win a trophy. You settled something for a lot of people. You led with clear purpose.”

“It was a group effort, sir,” Deva replied. “The boys were excellent. The families kept us steady.”

“Speaking of families,” Modi said, glancing down.

Aadhya had walked up to him. She wore a blue and gold lehenga and showed no sign of being overawed.

“Hello,” she said. “I told my Nana to win the shiny cup, and he did it. Did you see him hit the ball?”

The table laughed. Krithika covered her face. Deva only smiled.

Modi laughed and bent a little to her level. “I did see him, beti. And I think he listened to your instructions. You are a good coach.”

He looked at Rishi, who stood quietly beside his mother. “And you, young man? What did you think of the match?”

Rishi stood straight. “The way the spinners controlled the middle overs was efficient, sir. It kept the required rate high.”

Modi blinked, then looked at Deva with clear amusement. “He has your mind, Siddanth. We might need him in the cabinet one day.”

The breakfast continued easily. Modi joked with Shami about his seam, praised Bumrah’s accuracy and spoke quietly with Rahul Dravid. It was a calm morning of recognition.

—

While the team ate, the wider response to the win gathered pace.

By noon the news channels had set regular programming aside. Anchors read out the list of rewards coming in from across the country.

**The Board**

The BCCI announced a prize of ₹125 crore to be shared among the fifteen-man squad, the head coach and the support staff, in recognition of the 11–0 campaign.

**State honours**

– The Telangana government announced ₹10 crore each for Siddanth Deva and Mohammed Siraj, along with residential plots in Jubilee Hills.

– The Maharashtra government announced ₹5 crore each for Rohit Sharma, Suryakumar Yadav and Shreyas Iyer, plus a state felicitation.

– The Kerala government declared a local holiday in Thiruvananthapuram, a parade for Sanju Samson, a ₹5 crore reward and his appointment as brand ambassador for Kerala Sports.

—

– Anand Mahindra announced that every member of the fifteen-man squad would receive a custom Champions Edition SUV, with the player’s jersey number on the headrests.

– A major airline gifted the full squad, with spouses and children, unlimited first-class travel for life.

– The team’s watch sponsor presented each player with an engraved timepiece carrying a small World Cup motif, valued at more than ₹50 lakh each.

—

While the figures filled the news, a quieter meeting took place in a boardroom at the ITC Narmada.

BCCI Secretary Jay Shah and President Roger Binny sat across from Siddanth Deva and Virat Kohli.

“The ₹125 crore will be distributed by the usual tiers,” Jay Shah said, sliding a sheet across the table. “Players first, then Rahul Dravid and the core coaching staff, then the reserves and support staff.”

Deva did not look at the sheet. He leaned back and glanced at Kohli. Kohli gave a small nod. They had already decided.

“We appreciate the gesture, Jay,” Deva said. “It is a large prize. But Virat and I will not take our shares.”

Roger Binny leaned forward. “Siddanth, you are the captain and Player of the Tournament. Virat is among the leading run-scorers. Your shares are significant. Are you sure?”

“We have enough, Roger,” Kohli said. “The game has given us more than we need. We do not play for the match fees any more.”

Deva put his hands on the table.

“Take our shares,” he said. “All of it. Put it toward the support staff. The throwdown specialists who bowled for hours. The masseurs who stayed late. The video analysts who worked through the night. The bus drivers, the kit men, the security staff.”

He tapped the table once.

“They do not get the endorsements we do. They do not get the billboards. We do not win this without them. Make sure their families are looked after. That is what we want.”

Jay Shah and Roger Binny were quiet for a moment.

“It will be done, Captain,” Jay Shah said, closing the file.

—

Later that afternoon Deva asked for a private gathering in one of the hotel banquet halls. Only the support staff were invited — trainers, physiotherapists, logistics staff and throwdown specialists such as Raghu and Nuwan. No players.

They looked uncertain about why the captain had called them.

Deva walked in with a stack of envelopes. He did not give a long speech. He went to each man, shook his hand and handed him an envelope.

“Thank you for everything,” he said to Raghu, the throwdown specialist, and pulled him into a brief hug. “You helped build this.”

Raghu opened the envelope. Inside was a key fob and a letter.

He looked up, startled.

Deva smiled. “The board is handling the bonuses. From me, there is a new car waiting for each of you at a NEXUS dealership near home. Drive safely and take your families somewhere good.”

The room filled with emotion. Men who worked mostly out of sight hugged their captain. Deva had made sure the reward reached the full camp.

—

By four in the afternoon Ahmedabad had set ordinary life aside.

The state government had declared a half-day holiday. The roads from the hotel to the Sabarmati Riverfront were packed. People in blue jerseys, with flags and horns, lined the streets, stood on balconies and rooftops and climbed traffic signals.

The team boarded an open-top double-decker bus painted with a mural of the squad and the trophy.

As it rolled out of the hotel gates the noise hit them hard.

“This is unbelievable!” Kohli shouted over the din, leaning on the rail and waving his medal at the crowd below.

The late sun was strong, but no one minded. The tight focus of the tournament was gone.

Siraj and Ishan Kishan took up dhols and kept a steady beat. Rohit, in a backward cap and sunglasses, pulled Kuldeep into a rough bhangra. Bumrah, usually quiet, laughed and threw caps down to the fans.

Deva stood near the front in his India jersey, gold medal against his chest, holding the World Cup trophy.

He lifted it high with single arm like a sword holding one of the handle so the people could see it clearly.

The crowd pressed against the barricades, calling his name and chanting Vande Mataram. Confetti in the colours of the flag was fired from the street and fell over the bus.

Deva looked out over the sea of faces. The weight he had carried was gone. He held the trophy steady and let the noise wash over him.

—

The noise of the streets gave way to a formal evening next day.

The BCCI had arranged a black-tie gala at the Taj Mahal Palace in Mumbai. The team and their families were flown down by charter. The ballroom held chandeliers, white flowers and soft music.

Bollywood figures, business leaders and many of Indian cricket’s living greats were present.

The players wore tuxedos and bandhgalas. Krithika, Ritika, Anushka and the other wives were in embroidered sarees and evening gowns.

Speeches marked the campaign.

Rahul Dravid, usually reserved, took the stage and adjusted his glasses.

“I have spent my life in this sport,” he said. “I have seen strong teams and talented teams. I have not seen a group with the mental strength of these fifteen men.”

He looked toward the players’ table. His voice thickened.

“They were fearless,” he said, wiping an eye as the room applauded. “They played for each other. They trusted their captain. Siddanth, you built a culture where doubt had little room. I am honoured to have been part of that journey.”

A standing ovation followed.

Then the host called Deva to the stage.

He walked to the microphone in a black tuxedo and looked out over the room.

“Rahul bhai gives me too much credit,” he said. “A captain is only as good as the men who follow him. And these boys…” He gestured toward the squad. “…walked into pressure eleven times and came through it.”

His gaze softened as he found his own table.

“But the real strength of this side was not only on the field,” he continued. “It was in the hotel rooms and the VIP boxes. To our wives, parents and children: you took the stress, managed the difficult days after nets and gave us the base that let us play freely. This cup belongs to you as much as to us.”

Applause rose.

When the formal part of the speeches ended, a BCCI official stepped up to the microphone.

“Before we close the formal proceedings,” the official said, “we would like to invite three captains who have delivered World Cups for India to the stage. Kapil Dev. MS Dhoni. Siddanth Deva.”

The ballroom stirred.

Kapil Dev, who had led India to the 1983 title, came forward in a suit, smiling. From the other side of the room MS Dhoni, captain in 2011, walked up, calm and clearly pleased. Deva rose from his table and joined them.

Staff brought four pedestals and set out the trophies: the 1983 Prudential Cup, the 2011 ICC World Cup, the 2019 ICC World Cup and the 2023 ICC World Cup.

Kapil stood by the 1983 trophy. Dhoni stood by the 2011 trophy. Deva stood between the 2019 and 2023 trophies.

The three captains who had lifted the game’s biggest prize for India stood side by side, arms around one another, while cameras flashed.

It was a picture that would hang in academies, clubs and homes for a long time: the line of captains who had brought the World Cup home.

The ovation ran for several minutes.

When the formal part ended, the music shifted to heavier Bollywood and Punjabi tracks. Younger players filled the floor. Kohli pulled a laughing Sachin Tendulkar into the circle. Rohit produced deliberately bad dance moves that drew more laughter from the group.

Deva stood at the edge with a glass of sparkling water, watching.

A hand slipped into his.

Krithika stood beside him in a midnight-blue gown, the diamond necklace catching the light.

“It’s too loud in here,” she said close to his ear.

He smiled, tightened his grip and led her away from the floor, through the crowd to a set of glass doors and out onto a private balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea.

The cool salt air was a relief after the heat of the room. The music became a dull thump behind the glass.

Deva drew her in. There was no music on the balcony, only the sound of the waves. He began to sway slowly, holding her against him.

She put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

“It’s finally over,” she said into his jacket. “The four years of planning. The flights. The stress. It’s done, Sid.”

“It’s done,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair. “The work is finished.”

“What happens now?” she asked, looking up.

He smiled. “Now we disappear for a while.”

—

The next morning the media waited at Mumbai airport for the squad to fly home to their states.

The buses from the Taj did not go to the commercial terminals. They went to a private strip. A short NEXUS charter hop and a quiet transfer took the full squad, their wives and their children down the coast to Alibaug.

They did not go to a stadium or a city centre.

Deva had booked a secluded private estate on the Alibaug coast — a stretch of property set back from the main road, with gardens, a pool and a clear view of the Arabian Sea, cut off from the usual noise.

There was a clear rule: no media, no paparazzi, no BCCI officials, no cameras.

It was a 48-hour blackout for the fifteen players and their families.

At the gates the public roles dropped away. They wore shorts, t-shirts and sandals.

The staff had been told to step back. There were no waiters and no formal buffets. If they wanted to eat, they cooked.

As the sun set over the water, the tone of the place became simple and noisy in a good way.

A stone outdoor grill became the centre of activity.

Deva wore a white apron over a grey t-shirt and stood at the grill, turning lamb kebabs with tongs.

“Sid! The chicken is burning!” Kohli called from a picnic bench, holding a beer and offering no help.

“The chicken is fine, Cheeks. You stick to batting,” Deva answered without looking up. “If you want it underdone, eat a salad.”

“I am off salads for a month,” Kohli said, tossing a bottle cap at Bumrah, who dodged it. “I am going to eat whatever the captain is cooking.”

Rohit stood by a large copper pot with a wooden spoon, supposedly in charge of the biryani.

“Ro, are you actually cooking that, or just stirring so it looks useful?” KL Rahul asked, carrying plates past.

“I am giving it calm and good vibes, KL,” Rohit said. “The spices need a quiet environment.”

“You are a hazard,” Krithika said, taking the spoon and easing him aside. “Go sit. Ritika is looking for you. I will finish this before it turns to porridge.”

“Thank you. True MVP,” Rohit said, and headed for the cooler.

The lawns filled with easy movement.

The children — Aadhya, Rishi, Samaira, Vamika and Agastya — ran across the grass, chasing each other and playing a noisy game of tag with no fixed rules. There were no crowds and no cameras. They were simply free.

Siraj, Shami and Kuldeep sat on the edge of the wooden deck overlooking the sea, feet dangling, talking and laughing about things that had stayed inside the dressing room for weeks.

Deva finished the last of the kebabs, wiped his hands, took off the apron and carried a full platter to the long wooden table under the outdoor lights.

Everyone gathered. There was no formal seating. Wives shared raita and laughed at the cooking efforts.

Deva sat at one end. He did not stand for a speech.

He looked down the table: Kohli arguing lightly with Ishan over a piece of chicken; Rohit feeding Samaira a bite of biryani; Krithika talking with Anushka; Rishi and Aadhya side by side, faces marked with dessert.

The noise of the wider world was gone. The expectations had been met. The cup was theirs.

Deva picked up a skewer of the meat he had grilled, leaned back in his chair and took a bite. He watched the fifteen men who had gone through the campaign with him, and their families, at ease under the quiet Alibaug sky, the sound of the sea in the background.

He smiled, content. The work was complete, and the victory was finally theirs to enjoy in peace.