Mumbai, 2010 — Inter-Academy
Tournament, Azad Maidan
Azad Maidan was chaos stitched together by boundaries of tape and chalk. Twenty matches unfolded simultaneously across the sprawling green, and yet every ball, every cheer, every appeal, echoed with the urgency of a final.
The air was thick with dust and humidity, making breath feel like syrup. But amidst it all, Ishaan Verma walked with the stillness of purpose. At twelve, he already moved like a boy carrying a mission — chin up, shoulders light, bat slung casually over one shoulder.
He was in his second season under Coach Kulkarni's sharp eye. Now a regular opener for Shivaji Tigers, Ishaan had built a reputation. Compact technique, clean temperament, and hands that whispered stories to the cricket ball.
He was averaging over 60 in junior games. Not just with flair — with grit. And word had started to spread.
But today wasn't just another match.
Today, he would meet Riyan Singh.
Riyan had a reputation too — perhaps even louder than Ishaan's. A Delhi-based prodigy, one year older, already nicknamed the 'Next Kumble' by the junior press. Right-arm leg-breaks, sharp turners, and a googly that slipped past even seasoned under-15s.
He was cocky, precise, and disturbingly calm. While most bowlers celebrated wickets like festivals, Riyan just
flicked his fingers, almost bored.
Ishaan had heard of him but never faced him.
Until today.
The toss was won by Shivaji Tigers. Ishaan would bat first.
He walked out to the pitch, scanning the field, then glanced at the opposite team.
Among the players stretching near the boundary, one boy stood with arms folded — tall, lean, sharp eyes behind dark lashes.
That was Riyan.
And he was already watching him.
The first few overs passed easily. Ishaan stroked a couple of boundaries, rotated strike. But in the eighth over, a figure stepped into the attack.
Murmurs went around the spectators.
"That's Riyan Singh."
"Guy spins it square."
"Bowled five batters last week."
Ishaan adjusted his pads.
The first delivery was a classic leg-break. It pitched outside off and turned late. Ishaan played it safely.
Second ball — a quicker one. Dot.
Third — the googly.
It dipped.
Ishaan didn't read it.
The stumps rattled. Clean bowled.
Silence.
Then a loud appeal — unnecessary — from Riyan's end. Just a psychological jab. Riyan didn't celebrate. He turned, walked to his mark, and whispered, "Next time, watch the hand."
Ishaan stood, staring at the shattered stumps, not blinking.
The walk back felt longer than usual.
After the game, Kulkarni didn't say anything.
He handed Ishaan a bottle of water and let him sit.
Ten minutes later, he said, "Now you've seen what a real spinner can do. What will you do?"
Ishaan didn't answer. But that night, he replayed the dismissal over and over in his head. He drew diagrams.
Reenacted the delivery using a marble and notebook. The words echoed in his head: Watch the hand.
The next month was an obsession.
He borrowed DVDs on Warne, Kumble, and Rashid Khan. He practiced reading grips. He bowled leg-spin himself, just to understand the release. He even tied a string across the net to improve his eye level tracking.
Coach Kulkarni noticed.
"Good," he said one morning. "You're turning pain into homework. That's what champions do."
The rematch came in the Mumbai Junior League.
Shivaji Tigers vs Delhi Stallions.
Ishaan had earned the captain's armband for consistency. Riyan was leading his side too.
They met at the toss.
Riyan smirked. "Still watching the hand?"
Ishaan smiled back. "Now I watch the fingers."
The Tigers batted first again.
Ishaan was sharper now — weight balanced, footwork dancing. When Riyan came on in the ninth over, Ishaan welcomed him with a confident sweep.
Next ball — leg break. Ishaan stepped out and lofted it over mid-on.
The duel had begun.
Riyan varied his pace, tried to lure him. But Ishaan played from the crease, judged length, respected spin.
And then came the moment.
A slow, flighted googly.
Ishaan stepped out — not to defend, but to launch.
A towering six.
The crowd erupted.
Riyan stared at him. This time, he spoke nothing.
Ishaan finished on 123 off 89 balls. The Tigers won. And the junior press snapped photos of the two shaking hands post-match.
That evening, Kulkarni gave him a rare compliment.
"You built that innings in your mind before your bat did. That's rare."
Ishaan just nodded.
But inside, he felt something else.
It wasn't pride.
It was ignition.
Because this wasn't just about runs or redemption. It was about growth. About battling himself.
The media picked it up: "Verma Outsmarts Delhi Spinner Riyan in Youth Epic."
Riyan, in a press quote, said:
"He's good. Maybe even special. But let's see what he does when it really counts."
And just like that, the rivalry was inked.
Not out of hatred. But out of mutual obsession with greatness.
That weekend, Ishaan came home to find his father watching Emma Watson on the news. Another UN speech. Another fire in her eyes.
Raghav looked up. "She's doing big things, huh?"
Ishaan nodded. "I know."
He opened his diary and added two lines:
Today, I beat the best spinner I've ever faced. Not with muscle, but with learning.
Someday, I'll stand tall enough that even she will know who I am.
Coach Kulkarni began preparing Ishaan for the Under-14 selections.
More drills. Fitness. Situational games.
Video sessions. Pressure matches.
And in each, Ishaan rose.
The trials were fierce. Only 15 boys would be picked. Over 300 showed up.
Ishaan stood among them, shoulders square, bat balanced on his foot.
He didn't think of failure.
He thought of the alley. The plywood bat.
The sting of that first rejection.
He smiled.
And when he walked in to bat, he didn't look at the selectors.
He looked at the bowler.
And thought:
Let them watch now. Because I have become unavoidable.