Vishwas Kaka could tell something was off with Sid even before he had a chance to sit down.
“Why the long face?
Everything alright?”
Sid halted mid-step, one shoe dangling awkwardly.
“Is it really that obvious?”
“Absolutely.” Kaka shifted the small dholki resting against his hip.
“Did you forget yesterday’s Powada verses?”
“No.”
“Then what’s with the sad expression?”
Sid kicked off his shoes and settled cross-legged on the cool stone across from him.
For nearly two weeks, this hidden Lalbaug courtyard had become his morning sanctuary.
“I need to tell you something, Kaka.”
The old man squinted, eyeing him with suspicion.
“You got married?”
“What?
No way!”
“Young folks always look serious before dropping a bombshell.”
“I’m not married,” Sid replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his gloom.
“My film shoot kicks off in a few days.”
The irritation melted away from Kaka’s weathered face.
“Oh.”
“Which means…
I won’t be around for a while.”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
Kaka glanced down, fiddling with the leather straps of his drum to mask the droop in his shoulders.
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure.
Workshops, shooting schedules, then pre-release promotions.”
Kaka nodded slowly.
“Film people.”
“Film people,” Sid echoed softly.
“You came here because of the movie?”
“Initially, yes.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“A lot.”
“Then why the guilty look?”
“Because I want to keep coming back.
Even after the shoot wraps.”
A slow, wry smile crept onto Kaka’s moustache.
“Then just come.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m here,” Kaka waved his hand around the courtyard.
“Where else would I go?
Unless I kick the bucket, I’ll be here every day.”
Sid shook his head, chuckling softly.
“Come when you can.
One month, six months,” Kaka pointed a calloused finger at him.
“Just don’t show up in two years saying your Punjabi has swallowed your Marathi.”
“I won’t.” Sid leaned in and touched the old man’s feet, a gesture that felt so instinctive that, for just a moment, Bunty’s old memories seemed to blend with Sid’s own.
Kaka’s hand rested softly on his head.
“Work properly,” Kaka said in a low voice.
“Don’t let arrogance creep in.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Kaka gave his head a gentle pat and then pulled back.
“And make sure you eat something.
You’re looking a bit too thin.”
“I’m just trying to look tired for the role.”
“Actors can be foolish,” Kaka muttered as he picked up his drum.
“When the film is out, make sure to bring a ticket.”
“First-day ticket,” Sid promised, standing up.
“For everyone in the courtyard.”
Kaka frowned immediately.
“Don’t waste money.
Just one ticket.”
Sid flashed a grin, turned, and made his way toward the alley.
Behind him, the sharp, familiar crack of Kaka’s drum bounced off the brick walls.
He paused for a moment to listen before stepping out into the street, determined to keep that promise.
Sid knew because he counted every single one.
Her coffee remained untouched.
Her eyes roamed from his messy hair down to his scruffy beard and back up again.
“Oh my God,” she finally exclaimed.
Sid let out a sigh.
“Hello to you too.”
“I knew they wanted you to grow a beard for the role,” she leaned in, her eyes wide with surprise, “but I didn’t realize you were going for the homeless look.”
Sid shot back with a deadpan expression.
“Very amusing.”
“Turn your face.
I want to see it.”
“Alia, I’m not a mannequin.”
She reached across the table, grabbed his chin, and turned his head with a firm grip.
“It’s so patchy, Siddhu.”
“Thanks.
Your honesty is truly a gift.”
“And your hair!” She made a move to touch it, but Sid caught her wrist mid-air.
“Don’t.
It took me ten minutes to make it look effortlessly messy.”
Alia burst into laughter, her bright giggles drawing curious glances from nearby tables.
“You are such a ridiculous actor.”
“We’re both ridiculous actors,” he corrected, releasing her wrist.
She took a sip of her coffee, sinking back into the cozy leather chair.
“So, Shraddha Kapoor.”
Sid blinked, a bit taken aback.
“What about her?”
“You met her for a screen test.”
“How do you even know that?”
“Varun,” Alia replied matter-of-factly.
“They’ve been friends since childhood.
Shakti uncle used to bring her to David uncle’s sets when they were kids.
Varun told me they would act out entire dramatic scenes together in the trailers.”
Sid pictured a young Varun Dhawan dramatically falling in a pretend gunfight staged by a young Shraddha Kapoor.
“That’s actually adorable.”
Alia made a slight face and began stirring her coffee with an exaggerated focus.
Sid noticed right away.
“What’s that about?”
“Nothing.
I just had a fight with my sister today.”
Sid raised en eyebrow, “Oh, what was that about?”
“She kept bragging about how she could eat whatever she wanted and dress however she wanted just because she’s independent and has more friends than me.”
Sid stayed silent for a bit before asking, “Are you jealous?”
“Of what?” she shot back, a bit defensive.
“Of Varun and Shraddha?
And your sister?”
“Absolutely not!” Alia looked genuinely offended.
“Why would I be jealous of that?”
“Alright, alright,” Sid said, raising his hands in surrender.
Alia’s gaze dropped to her cup, her tone shifting completely.
“I’m jealous that they had that.”
“Had what?”
“A friend,” she murmured, tracing the rim of her porcelain cup.
“Someone you can just…
be silly around.
Without a care.
And you know Varun, he doesn’t need a reason to be silly.”
Sid stayed quiet, allowing her to continue.
“When you’re little, you shouldn’t have to worry about messy hair or saying something silly,” Alia said, her voice losing its usual playful edge.
“I had friends growing up, but…
I always felt like I had to put on a show.
Especially at home.
Sit up straight.
Don’t eat that.
Guests are coming, change your outfit.
Be the perfect daughter.”
She let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“Mum was so focused on appearances.
Makeup, clothes, weight, yoga, photographers… Get faster updates on g.com.
I don’t even like yoga.
I like food.
Real food.”
She looked up, her eyes suddenly glistening.
“But the moment someone calls you an ‘actress’, you’re expected to survive on three almonds a day and pretend you’re happy.”
Sid quietly pushed the napkin box across the wooden table, trying to break the tension.
Alia quickly swiped at her eye, determined not to let a tear escape.
“I know I’m lucky.
I get that I have a lot of privilege and that others face real struggles, but—”
“You’re allowed to dislike parts of your life without hating everything about it,” Sid interjected softly.
Alia took a deep breath, gripping a crumpled napkin tightly.
“My family is…
complicated.
My dad…”
She paused, her expression tightening.
“He makes these jokes.
The way he talks to women, even family members, is just too familiar.
It’s creepy, and then he laughs, making everyone else feel like they have to laugh too.
And everyone pretends it’s normal because he’s Mahesh Bhatt.
I hate sitting there acting like I don’t see it.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I can tell when Mum is faking her smile.
I know when Dad is lying.
We’re not a normal, perfect family.”
“What do you want, Alia?” Sid asked gently.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, her honesty clearly frightening her.
“I want to act.
I want to win a Filmfare.
But I want people to recognize that I’m actually good.
Not just Mahesh Bhatt’s daughter.
Not just Karan’s star-kid project.
Me.”
She met Sid’s gaze, searching his face for understanding.
“You probably see me as just another spoiled insider.
But when I look at you, I feel ashamed.
You wake up, train, go to classes, and wander around Mumbai learning music from real people in chawls…
You actually know what you want.”
Sid was puzzled by the sudden shift in her mood and how they went from family issues to Filmfare dreams.
Maybe it was just her mood swings or a fight with her sister, but he let her vent.
If only she realized that his “focus” was more about survival, guided by a roadmap he had drawn up after a loss.
He leaned back, observing her closely.
For weeks, he had seen her as the typical industry insider—coddled and protected.
But privilege didn’t shield her from toxicity; it merely dressed it up in a shiny exterior.
“Alia,” Sid said, taking his time with each word.
“Remember when you wanted to tag along on one of my ‘actor research’ trips?”
She blinked, quickly wiping her cheeks.
“You said no.”
“Well, I’ve had a change of heart.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I think it’s time for you to see a different side of this city.
Plus, you could really use a break from being ‘Alia Bhatt.'”
Her brow furrowed.
“What do you mean by that?”
“No entourage, no playing the producer’s daughter, no need to impress anyone,” Sid said as he stood up and pulled out his wallet.
“Just come with me.
But there’s one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He pointed down at her feet, where she was sporting some fancy high heels.
“You’re going to regret those.
We need to grab some flat slippers first.”
Alia stared at him for a moment before bursting into a tearful laugh.
“Are we getting street food?”
“As much as you can handle.”
“Alright,” she snapped her bag shut and jumped to her feet.
“Let’s do this.”
Sid grinned, watching her shake off the heavy vibe of the café.
He wasn’t sure if taking her into the heart of the city would provide her with the clarity she was seeking.