The morning of my first state team practice dawned crisp and clear, a reminder of why I loved this season. The nerves from the trials hadn't dissipated entirely; they had merely morphed into a different kind of anxiety—anticipation of what lay ahead.
The state team practiced at one of the most prestigious grounds in the city, a step up from the local academies where I'd honed my skills. As I walked onto the field, the perfectly trimmed grass and polished net setups felt surreal. It was a far cry from the uneven surfaces and fraying nets where I had learned cricket as a child.
My eyes scanned the field as players arrived, each carrying the unique swagger that came with knowing they were among the best. Some were familiar faces from the trials—Aditya Sinha among them, his shiny new cricket kit an unmistakable symbol of his family's wealth. Others were senior players with reputations that had preceded them: Parthiv Nair, the captain, with his stoic demeanor, and Aman Chauhan, the fiery pace bowler who was said to bowl at speeds touching 140 km/h.
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The First Session
The coach, a wiry man in his fifties named Sanjay Verma, called us into a huddle. He surveyed us with an appraising gaze before speaking.
"Welcome, gentlemen. You're here because you've earned it. But remember—staying here is harder than getting here. Talent brought you this far. Discipline and hard work will keep you here."
We were split into groups for the day: fitness drills, fielding practice, and net sessions. My heart sank slightly when I was sent to join the fitness group first. After the trials, I'd hoped to dive straight into batting and bowling.
The drills were grueling, deliberately designed to test both endurance and mental strength. Shuttle runs, agility ladders, medicine ball tosses—all under the stern eyes of the assistant coaches. I reminded myself to stay within the bounds of what was expected for 2003. No use revealing 2025-style fitness at this stage.
By the time we hit the nets, my legs felt heavy, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins carried me forward. I was slotted in to bat against the spinners first, a relief given Aman's fiery pace bowling in the other net.
The first bowler, a tall off-spinner named Shreyas, floated a loopy delivery toward me. I leaned forward, blocking it with a straight bat, the sound of leather meeting willow reverberating satisfyingly. I settled into a rhythm quickly, careful not to play anything too extravagant. The selectors weren't here to see improvisation; they wanted solid, textbook batting.
Until Aman Chauhan showed up in the spinner's net.
"Mind if I try a few?" he said with a sly grin, his broad shoulders looming as he grabbed the ball from Shreyas.
I suppressed a gulp. Aman's reputation wasn't built on sheer speed alone; his bouncers were infamous.
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Facing the Fire
The first ball came in fast—short, straight, aimed at my chest. Instinctively, I swayed away, letting it fly past to the keeper. The next ball was fuller, swinging in slightly. I adjusted, guiding it to the covers for a single. Aman wasn't happy.
The third delivery was a bouncer, sharper and higher. The 2025 player in me reacted before I could think. I swiveled into a pull shot, sending the ball soaring toward the mid-wicket fence. It thudded against the boundary rope, silencing the chatter around the nets.
Aman stared, his lips curving into a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Nice shot. But don't make it a habit."
"I'll try," I replied, keeping my voice even.
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Team Dynamics
As the day wound down, we gathered for a debrief in the dressing room. The camaraderie was still tentative, the hierarchy clear. The seniors spoke freely, cracking jokes and sharing advice. The juniors mostly listened, nodding politely.
Parthiv Nair, the captain, finally turned his attention to me.
"Arjun, right?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"You were the one Dravid talked about after the trials."
My stomach flipped. "Dravid?"
He nodded. "He called you a 'thinking cricketer.' Said you might surprise us."
There were murmurs of interest around the room. I caught Aditya Sinha glancing at me, his expression unreadable.
"Let's hope he's right," Parthiv said, before standing and clapping his hands. "Good work today, boys. Same time tomorrow."
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Reflections
That night, lying on my bed, I replayed the day's events. Dravid's words had followed me here, casting a long shadow. It was exhilarating but also daunting. The expectations were higher now, the stakes even greater.
As I flipped through my diary, jotting notes about team dynamics and playing conditions, one thought lingered:
Would I shape my own destiny, or would this timeline shape it for me?
The first practice was over. The journey had only just begun.