Cricket, Goosebumps, and a Scooter on a Quiet Street

Cricket has given me many unforgettable moments over the years, but the ones that stay with me most are the moments that gave me goosebumps. Moments filled with disbelief, joy, tension, pride, relief, and sometimes even tears. Many of them were famous victories, some achieved against all odds, and each of them left behind memories that still feel vivid even today.

And strangely, one of the most special goosebump moments I have experienced related to cricket did not happen during a match at all. It happened much later, on a quiet street, after a famous Indian victory. Even today, whenever I think about that moment, it feels almost unreal.

My relationship with cricket began relatively late. I truly started following the game around the 1992 World Cup. But once the cricket bug bit me, it became a lifelong passion. Since then, cricket has become deeply intertwined with friendships, celebrations, heartbreaks, family moments, and memories of growing up.

The matches and innings I mention here are based purely on top-of-the-mind recall and are in no particular order. I am sure I may have missed several special performances and unforgettable moments that evoked equally strong emotions over the years. But these are the ones that instantly come rushing back whenever I think about cricket and what it has meant to me emotionally.

The 2002 NatWest Final against England remains one of the defining moments of Indian cricket for me. I was pursuing my MBA then and staying in a flat with friends. After Sachin Tendulkar got out, many of us lost hope and some even left. But a few of us stayed back as Mohammad Kaif and Yuvraj Singh slowly pulled off the impossible. As India edged closer, the same friends began returning one by one. I firmly believe the victory changed Indian cricket.

There was the famous Silver Jubilee Independence Cup final in Dhaka in 1998, when Hrishikesh Kanitkar hit the winning boundary against Pakistan off the penultimate ball. I still remember running barefoot onto the streets after the win. We burst crackers, danced, and celebrated like the entire city belonged to us.

Sachin Tendulkar’s back-to-back centuries in Sharjah against Australia in 1998 still feel unreal in my memory. I remember sitting in front of the television...completely stunned. It felt less like cricket and more like witnessing something magical. Every shot carried a kind of authority and beauty that is impossible to fully describe even today.

VVS Laxman’s 281 against Australia at Eden Gardens in 2001 was another unforgettable experience. There have been bigger innings in Test cricket history, but I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful innings. The partnership that Laxman and Rahul Dravid stitched together was not just great cricket - it was resistance, artistry, and belief unfolding together. They simply refused to surrender.

Sachin Tendulkar’s unbeaten 241 at Sydney in 2004 is another innings deeply etched into my memory. Many people had started writing him off then because of low scores and a visible pattern in his dismissals. Then came that masterpiece of discipline and control. I remember crying when he reached his double century.

And then, of course, came the 2011 World Cup victory. Like millions of Indians, I wanted India to win but I also wanted India to win for Sachin Tendulkar. The man had been waiting for a lifetime. When India finally lifted the trophy after 28 years, it felt deeply personal.

Virat Kohli’s unbelievable innings against Pakistan at the MCG in 2022, and India’s historic Gabba win in 2021 are all memories that still give me goosebumps.

And above all, as a lifelong Royal Challengers Bangalore supporter, the 2025 IPL victory remains deeply emotional. After 18 long years of waiting, heartbreaks, near misses, trolling, and endless jokes, RCB finally lifted their maiden IPL trophy. It felt like emotional closure after nearly two decades of loyalty and hope.

But despite all these unforgettable matches and innings, one of my most cherished cricket memories did not happen during a match.

It happened after one.

It was after the 2003 ICC World Cup match between India and Pakistan in Centurion. Sachin Tendulkar’s unforgettable 98 against a terrifying Pakistani pace attack - that included Shoaib Akhtar, Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis - led India to victory in one of the most emotionally charged matches Indian cricket fans have ever witnessed. Like millions of Indians, I was ecstatic.

After the match ended, I took out my two-wheeler and went to a friend’s place. From there, we went to another flat where a few of our friends were staying together. I wanted all of us to step out and celebrate the victory properly. I wanted everyone to take out their two-wheelers and ride towards Hussain Sagar in Hyderabad.

But, apart from me, everyone was reluctant.

“Do we really need to go out?” some of them said. The match was over. The excitement, for them, was already beginning to settle.

We were still standing outside on a dimly lit street when something happened that I can never forget.

Out of nowhere, a scooter slowly appeared from the other end of the road. A Sardarji was riding it. His young son was standing in front of him. His daughter was standing at the back seat, holding an Indian tricolour in her hand. And all three of them were shouting:

“Indiaaaaa… India!”

The street was still mostly quiet. No one else was celebrating...at least in that part of the town. But this family did not care. They were celebrating as if India had won the World Cup.

There was something magical about that sight.

Even today, whenever I see the Indian tricolour flying, it gives me goosebumps. But that moment felt different. For those few seconds, it did not even feel real. There was something incredibly pure about that sight - almost divine.

I can never forget the sight of still the little girl standing fearlessly on the back seat of the scooter, waving the flag proudly into the night while holding onto her father’s shoulder. I still remember the father driving carefully, slowly, protectively. I still remember the energy in their voices as they shouted “Indiaaaaa… India!”

It was such an ordinary scene. And yet, it captured something extraordinary.

I immediately pointed towards them and told my reluctant friends, “Look at them!....Shame on you guys!!”

That sight changed everything. Within minutes, all of us took out our vehicles and headed towards Hussain Sagar. The entire city had come alive by then. Necklace Road was overflowing with people. Roads were jam-packed. Thousands had gathered to celebrate India’s victory. The celebrations that night were unforgettable.

But even today, years later, what remains with me most vividly is not the crowd, not the noise, not even Sachin’s innings.

It is that one scooter in a dimly lit street.

A Sikh father. Two happy children. A waving tricolour.

And three voices shouting into the night: “Indiaaaaa… India...”

One Rule for Kohli, Another for SKY?

When Virat Kohli retired from T20 internationals after India’s 2024 T20 World Cup victory, many (including yours truly) believed the decision was not entirely voluntary but was also influenced by the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the team management’s desire to transition toward a younger T20 side. Though I was sad, the reasoning sounded logical and not out of place. I had the same opinion. T20 cricket has evolved into an extremely aggressive format where, these days, even 200 is no longer considered safe. I recall when Manish Pandey scored the century in IPL in 2009, the total team score was around 160 runs and it was considered a good score back then. Players from Kohli’s generation had to adapt to this format later in their careers, whereas today’s youngsters are growing up naturally suited to this style of cricket.

That is why Kohli’s retirement, while emotional, did not feel entirely unreasonable. The argument was simple - T20 cricket is now a young man’s game, and India must prepare the next generation. 

But...if that was truly the philosophy...and there was no ulterior motive...then the same standards must apply to everyone equally. Which brings us to the curious case of Suryakumar Yadav aka SKY.

SKY is currently 35 years old, the exact same age Kohli was when he stepped away from T20Is. If age and transition were the criteria then, how can they suddenly stop mattering now? The argument cannot change based on convenience or personal preferences within the system. If players like Bhuvneshwar Kumar or Mohammed Shami are no longer seriously considered for T20 cricket largely because of age and long-term planning, then the same logic must also apply to SKY. Selection policies cannot have different versions for different individuals.

Some may argue that SKY must continue because in March this year, India won the last T20 World Cup under his captaincy. But if success is the yardstick, then Kohli should never have been nudged toward retirement in the first place. He retired immediately after India won a T20 World Cup and after being the Man of the Match in the final. More importantly, his recent IPL performances clearly show that he still has plenty to offer to T20 cricket. If a player performing at that level could be moved aside in the name of transition, then success alone cannot suddenly become the justification for extending someone else’s T20 career.

This is not about disrespecting SKY or denying his contribution to Indian cricket. It is about consistency and fairness in selection philosophy. In few months, SKY would be 36 years old. India has enough young talent emerging every IPL season to build the next T20 core. If the management truly believes that the future of T20 cricket belongs to younger players, then that principle must apply uniformly, irrespective of success, captaincy, dressing-room influence, or proximity to the current leadership. Otherwise, the message becomes very clear - some players are asked to move on because of policy, while others continue because of preference.

A Special Night for Pandey Ji...and His Fans

Really happy to see Manish Pandey finally get an opportunity to bat today - and he made it count in style.

He played a calm, crucial, and match-winning knock when his team needed him the most. The composure, experience, and timing he showed throughout the innings reminded everyone of his class and value under pressure.

Winning the Player of the Match award made the moment even more special and well deserved.

For fans - like yours truly - who have always backed him, this performance felt emotional. Cricket can sometimes move very fast, and players often get judged too quickly. But innings like this prove that class never disappears. Given the right opportunity, quality players can still shine brightly.

Today was more than just a good batting performance. It was a reminder of resilience. A reminder that staying prepared matters, even when chances are limited.

And honestly, it was simply wonderful to see Manish Pandey smiling at the end, holding the Player of the Match trophy after playing such a crucial knock for his side. 

While destiny has not been very kind to you, Pandey Ji, your patience, and perseverance (and fielding) have always stood out. God bless you.

The Boy Who Bowled MS Dhoni

There are stories that stay with you because they were extraordinary. And then there are stories that stay with you because they were unfinished.

This is about a school friend named Ariel.

Ariel was from Jharkhand. Even his name sounded unusual back then. But that was not the unusual part about him. Ariel played cricket with a polio-affected leg. And yet, he was unbelievably good. Even today, when I think of Ariel, I remember one thing before anything else - how ridiculously difficult he was to bat against.

I was never much of a batsman, but I still remember once facing around twenty deliveries from him and failing to connect even one properly. I know, you guys would argue that it only reflected my batting (in)abilities. Fair enough! But that was not the real issue. Ariel had one of the most difficult bowling actions I have ever faced.

Because of his affected leg, his run-up and delivery stride were awkward, unpredictable and extremely deceptive. And then came the real problem - he could bowl leg-spin, googly, off-spin and wrong ones with almost the same action.

Trust me, I am not kidding or exaggerating.

We were in Kendriya Vidyalaya Dipatoli in Ranchi. Before Ariel got selected for the school cricket team, I had never seen him bowl. To be honest, when I first heard about his selection, I assumed he would become a liability in the field. I thought the captain would probably have to hide him somewhere because of his leg.

Then came the first match. I did not go to watch it. And in that very match, Ariel bowled us to a convincing victory against a decent side. Naturally, I became curious.

The next game was against Central Academy, one of the strongest school cricket teams in Ranchi at the time. They had won the Inter-School League multiple times and had also finished runners-up on several occasions. Their batting line-up included a hugely talented and popular batsman named Deepak Lal, who apparently had a reputation for never getting bowled.

Ariel dismissed him with a googly.

Not just dismissed him - completely foxed and bowled him!!

He took three wickets in that match. We still lost, but that day I realized just how special he was. Later, my cousin, who studied in Central Academy, told me that their batsmen could not stop talking about Ariel.

Our next match was against the mighty DAV Jawahar Vidya Mandir - commonly known as DAV Shyamali. Their admissions were famous for two things: excellence in academics and excellence in sports. They also seemed to have a few “over-aged” players. One batsman honestly looked more like a coach than a student.

They beat us comfortably. But Ariel left an impression there too.

Kendriya Vidyalayas used to send students for regional and national selections. Ariel was selected by our school for the regional trials in Patna.

And this is the part that still annoys me when I think about it.

He travelled all the way to Patna, only to be rejected before even getting a chance to bowl in the nets. The selectors looked at his crippled leg and decided he could not play. That was it. No trial. No assessment. No opportunity.

Ariel challenged them.

He asked them to put their best batsman against him for one over. He said that if he managed to dismiss the batsman even once, they should at least give him a fair chance. The selectors agreed.

The batsman they chose was the captain of the district team. Ariel bowled him three times in that one over. And still, he was sent back to Ranchi. Nothing changed.

The following season, we again played against DAV Shyamali. We batted first and collapsed to 45 for 8 in six overs in a fifteen-over match. Ariel played a useful innings lower down the order and somehow dragged us to 114.

It was still nowhere near enough against a side like DAV. Then...Ariel bowled.

He picked up four wickets in his three overs while conceding very few runs. One of the batsmen he dismissed that day was a boy named Mahendra Singh Dhoni - who would later become one of the greatest white-ball wicketkeeper-batsman of all time, arguably the best finisher the game has seen and India’s most successful white-ball captain.

We still lost the match. But once again, Ariel walked away having impressed everyone except the people who mattered.

Over the next couple of years, I watched him play many matches. He was a genuinely gifted bowler, a decent batsman and a very sharp close-in fielder. Running was his only real limitation. But talent alone is rarely enough in India.

Ariel came from a lower-middle-class family. His family could not support his cricket financially. He could not afford club cricket. He was not particularly interested in academics and eventually became ineligible to continue representing the school team. Slowly, his cricket reached a dead end.

Years passed.

He later started a small music band in Ranchi and performed at local functions, events and perhaps even church gatherings. But one thing about Ariel never changed - his smile. It was infectious. So was his energy. He was one of those people who made conversations easy.

I passed out of school in 1997 and after that we gradually lost touch. Even during our final years in school, we hardly met because he had failed a couple of times academically and we were no longer in the same class. Later he continued his education privately and we mostly met only during inter-school cricket tournaments.

I met him once around 1999 when another school friend and I went to meet old friends in Ranchi. Ariel was exactly the same - warm, cheerful and welcoming. His family treated us like their own.

Years later, around 2011, I visited his house again when I was in Ranchi for a few months around my daughter’s birth and while preparing for my move to Malaysia. He was not home when I arrived, but his family once again welcomed me warmly. Ariel later came back and we spent some time together.

After that, our meetings became infrequent. Occasionally, whenever I visited Ranchi, we would meet over drinks.

Then came COVID.

And strangely enough, during the pandemic, our school batch suddenly became enthusiastic about organizing a reunion in Ranchi. I knew from the beginning that I probably would not attend, especially because of the pandemic, but as usual I involved myself actively in the planning so that my eventual withdrawal would not surprise anyone.

Ariel became part of the core organizing group because he was one of the few batchmates based in Ranchi. He helped tremendously. He visited resorts, negotiated prices and coordinated logistics. At one point, some people were unhappy with the deal he negotiated with a resort, so I spoke to the management over phone and together we managed to work out a much better arrangement.

Eventually, close to the reunion date, I informed everyone that I would not be able to attend. Soon after that, the entire reunion got postponed indefinitely. Ariel was disappointed. He had genuinely been looking forward to meeting everyone. This was sometime in the second half of 2020, after the first wave of the pandemic.

We remained in touch through phone calls, WhatsApp and social media. He spoke about the shoe shop he had opened and the struggles of running a small business. Several months later, during a WhatsApp video call with a few school friends, someone suggested adding Ariel to the call.

He answered.

And I remember feeling shocked the moment the screen opened. He was lying on a hospital bed with an oxygen mask on. He told us he had COVID.

If I remember correctly, this was during the beginning of the second wave. By then, my parents had already contracted COVID and recovered. A few years earlier, I myself had been hospitalized in Malaysia with a rare form of pneumonia and had experienced dangerously low oxygen levels.

So when Ariel told me that his oxygen saturation was around 88, I tried to reassure him. He had removed his oxygen mask while talking to us and he still sounded relatively stable. I told him I had seen patients in much worse condition recover fully. I told him everything would be alright. That he should wear the mask again, avoid talking too much and follow the doctors’ instructions carefully.

He became a little calmer.

But before ending the call, he asked me one more question.

“Will I be alright?”

I told him confidently, “Yes. One hundred percent.”

A week later, Ariel passed away. And even today, that question haunts me.

“Will I be alright?”

He was sitting alone in a dark hospital room, away from his loved ones, searching for reassurance and hope. I still wonder whether I gave him enough of it. I do not know.

What I do know is this - every time school friends now discuss reunions, I quietly stay away from the discussions. Because some absences change the meaning of gatherings forever.

And any reunion without you would never really feel complete, my friend.

The Threshold for Greatness Changes

For decades, 10,000 Test runs was cricket’s sacred line.

Cross it, and you entered a different room in history. It separated the merely excellent from the immortals. Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Jacques Kallis, Ricky Ponting, Alastair Cook - the club itself became shorthand for batting greatness.

But sport evolves. And when sport evolves, the thresholds for greatness evolve with it.

Football once had a similar problem. Before 1995, the Ballon d’Or was restricted to European players. That meant Pelé and Diego Maradona were ineligible for the sport’s biggest individual honour during their primes. The rules eventually changed because excluding names of that magnitude made the criteria look incomplete.

Cinema did the same with Charlie Chaplin. The Oscars eventually had to correct themselves with honorary recognition because history could not seriously tell the story of film while leaving Chaplin outside its highest institutional validation.

Earlier, winning the World Cup was often seen as the final measure of greatness in football. Though he eventually lifted it in 2022, many people already considered Lionel Messi one of the greatest ever because two decades of brilliance mattered more than a single trophy.

Cricket now faces a similar moment with Virat Kohli.

The game he played was not the game previous generations played. Modern cricketers exist in a year-round cycle of Tests, ODIs, T20Is, franchise leagues, travel, media scrutiny, and relentless athletic demands. Batting across formats today is physically and mentally more taxing than it was for most earlier eras.

And yet, despite that burden, Kohli retired with 9,230 Test runs at an elite average, across conditions, eras, and attacks. Any honest list of Test batting greats is incomplete without him.

Which raises the obvious question:

If a threshold excludes someone universally accepted as great, is the threshold still correct?

Maybe the number was never sacred. Maybe it was only symbolic.

For this era, the line can no longer be 10,000 test runs.

Now, the threshold for greatness most certainly is 9,230.

King Kohli Does It Again!

Good game. Virat Kohli scored another century and Royal Challengers Bengaluru marches on. Back at the top of the table now, and qualification looks certain. The next target has to be finishing in the top two.

Happy with the RCB win. Happier with Kohli’s century.

But honestly, the moment that made me happiest was that stunning catch of Tim David taken by someone who I have always supported and wanted him to do well - Manish Pandey. Nonchalant. Clean. Effortless.

We speak a lot about great fielders like Kaif, Yuvi, Suresh Raina and Ravindra Jadeja, but I genuinely think Pandey Ji belongs right up there with the very best. His catching and outfield work have always been elite.

That catch today was pure class.

A Missed Chance Amid Victory

What a match. Royal Challengers Bengaluru pushed Mumbai Indians to the wall by taking three wickets in the PowerPlay, but then allowed them to recover through poor fielding and dropped catches. Mumbai eventually managed 166 - a decent total on that pitch, but not one that should have seriously troubled RCB. The surface was not exactly a batting paradise and the chase was always within reach if approached sensibly.

But RCB rarely believes in comfort. They started poorly and lost wickets early, then stitched together a few useful partnerships to regain control. Just when the match seemed to be drifting towards a relatively calm finish, they decided to make things interesting again by losing a few more wickets. In the end, RCB crossed the line with absolutely nothing left in reserve - an empty fuel tank, several faulty parts, and nerves hanging by a thread. Splendid match. Chaotic, stressful and immensely entertaining.

I could have been there. I was close to booking tickets for the game, but first the forecast of excessive heat and later the forecast of rain discouraged me from taking a flight to Raipur. In hindsight, I wish I had gone. Matches like this are worth every penny.

More Than Six Sixes: Yuvi, the Fighter Within and Beyond the Boundary

Recently I read The Test of My Life, the ‘autobiography’ of Indian ex-cricketer Yuvraj Singh. While a lot of cricketers write autobiographies and take some help from more accomplished writers, this book must have required much more than ‘some’ help from his co-authors. The writing is vivid, soulful and engaging, making it easy to visualize events. The simple language ensures an effortless and immersive reading experience. Yuvi’s was extremely skilful with the bat, but I really don’t think he is even remotely as skillful with the pen! So, credit for the writing would go to the co-authors - Sharda Ugra, a respected sports journalist and author known for insightful cricket writing and Yuvi's friend, Manager and ex-journalist, Nishant Jeet Arora is also a co-author.

While the book touches upon Yuvraj’s childhood, his family, the role his father played in shaping his cricketing journey, his domestic performances before making his debut, the limited opportunities he received in Test cricket, his friendships, and his relationships with fellow cricketers, its primary focus remains an honest and deeply personal account of his battle with cancer.

Who is Yuvraj Singh? I recall Yuvi as one of the cleanest hitters of a cricket ball. Every cricket fan, of course, remembers the six sixes he smashed off Stuart Broad in an over during the 2007 T20 World Cup. He is also one of the few Indian cricketers to have won three ICC events: the Under-19 World Cup in 2000, the ICC T20 World Cup in 2007, and the ICC World Cup in 2011. And he did not just win them - he was Player of the Tournament in the Under-19 World Cup (2000) and the ICC World Cup (2011) and missed the same honour in the 2007 T20 World Cup by just one point. While his performances in 2000 and 2007 were outstanding, it was in 2011 that he truly carried the team, winning us the World Cup with a series of splendid all-round performances, both with bat and ball. I call him the man who won us the 2011 World Cup. (It triggers my father, who immediately jumps in to defend Sachin Tendulkar’s performances - and rightly so, as he too had a great tournament. We are both big fans of Sachin, but I firmly believe it was Yuvi who truly won us the World Cup.)

I also recall Yuvi as a gun fielder. Before he burst onto the scene, Indian fielding was largely mediocre. It was he, along with Mohammed Kaif, who truly raised the bar.

If I had to pick an all-time India limited overs cricket team, I would always include Yuvi.

Post the 2011 World Cup, when it emerged that he had played the entire tournament under extreme physical duress due to a tumour between his lungs - unaware at the time that it was cancer, a diagnosis that came much later and almost too late - the respect for his World Cup performances only grew stronger.

Hence, I was keen to read about his cricketing journey as well as his personal account of battling cancer. I read the book with great interest and came away with several key takeaways. They have been discussed below but in no particular order.

I was quite impressed that even while battling the disease, he did not blame his luck or ask the inevitable ‘Why me?’ Instead, he reflected on how he had never attributed his successes to luck either. He never asked the God 'Why me' when he scored big runs, took wickets, had the big moments, won the awards. If he had never questioned why good things came his way, he felt he had no right to question why adversity did. It is so natural and easy to blame luck and play victim. It is not fair and It does not help. It is important to pick ourselves up and fight.

I feel Indian cricketers are often unfairly criticized for having a flamboyant lifestyle - going to nightclubs, being seen with girls - and I find it extremely unjust. What a cricketer (or anyone) does in their personal time is nobody else’s business. Everyone likes to have a good time, yet some are branded as ‘bad boys’. On this Yuvi makes an interesting point in the book that “It is well-known that I love having a good time, isn’t it? I’ll tell you what. I go into clubs and restaurants through the front door, not hiding through the back, because I believe at a certain age, it is fine to want to go out and have fun and be normal. It is normal to be normal”. I completely agree. We demonize parties and people who enjoy them for no good reason. Yes, if the cricketer goes out for form then talk about his poor performances and drop him if required. However, if a player is able to balance both, no one should have an issue. There is a difference between being fun and being indisciplined. We somehow fail to segregate the professional and personal lives of celebrities.

The book is also a reminder of how often we fail to see the pain behind a smiling face. I remember during his cancer battle, Yuvi had started sharing messages and pictures on Twitter, often showing him smiling and laughing - and honestly, it was such a relief to see. Yet, I don’t think any of us truly understood what he was going through. The book reveals how weak he had become, his desperate urge to get back to India and to the dressing room, and the self-doubts that had started creeping in. We never realized this because Yuvi chose not to show it. I found it deeply relatable.

I was also impressed by the professionalism of the doctors and experts Yuvi consulted. When his cancer was detected, he had initially planned to get treatment in London and had met a senior doctor, Dr. Harper. However, before chemotherapy began, the family decided to shift the treatment to the United States - under Dr. Lawrence Einhorn at the IU Simon Cancer Center in Indianapolis [The reason for the change in location is also interesting and divine]. What struck me was Dr. Harper’s reaction. He did not question the decision or -  intentionally or unintentionally - instill doubts. Instead, he said that the treatment in London would have been identical, but "if it happened to my son, I would send him to Dr Einhorn." I cannot imagine many doctors in India responding that way.

It reminded me of an episode in my life - back in 2007 - when I consulted several doctors in New Delhi for a spinal tumour my father had been diagnosed with. Some doctors in Kolkata had said surgery was the only solution but warned of high risks, including paralysis or death. That of course psyched out my father and all of us. I travelled to New Delhi to consult doctors there. I wanted opinions on the next steps, the type of treatment, and where to get it done. Almost all the doctors insisted the treatment should be under them; one even started showing videos of the surgeries he had performed. When I mentioned that my father was seriously considering the Army Research & Referral (R&R) Hospital, most of them discouraged the idea. Eventually, my father was successfully operated on at R&R Hospital, and the surgeon there was highly professional.

Reading about Yuvi, I could imagine the relief and confidence he must have felt with Dr. Harper’s words - a level of honesty, respect, and professionalism that is rare and deeply reassuring. 

One more thing I found extremely relatable was how Yuvi, before his cancer diagnosis, ignored all the warning signs his body was giving him and delayed tests and treatment until it was almost too late. He kept convincing himself it was just exertion, lack of sleep, something he ate, or some minor medical issue. When the tumour was finally detected, and before it was confirmed malignant, he ended up trying acupuncture on the advice of a so-called well-wisher with their own agenda! Honestly, that’s probably the most bizarre tumour treatment I’ve ever heard of. Yet, I found it completely relatable, because I too suffer from FOFO - Fear Of Finding Out.

The book also discusses in detail the role of his father, Yograj Singh, himself a former Indian cricketer. Yograj comes across as a temperamental man who speaks his mind and does not care for political correctness. While I’ve never seen him play, everything I’ve read and heard suggests he was a fairly decent fast-bowling allrounder - a rare breed back then, and one that remains rare even today. Why he did not play more for India remains something of a mystery. He attributes it to politics, which could well be true. It could also be his temperament. After all, honest and straightforward people don’t always win popularity contests.

It is easy, therefore, to see why many view Yograj Singh as a frustrated and bitter ex-cricketer. Yet, what cannot be denied is that Yuvi would not have become the player, match-winner, and warrior he did without his father’s relentless effort, strictness, absence of indulgence, and constant demand for more. In many ways, Yograj Singh gave Indian cricket a gem and played a crucial role in our World Cup triumph.

I will admit, I personally lack discipline, and while reading the book I found myself wondering what it would be like to have someone like him pushing me to fix my flaws. Even imagining it was terrifying!

Lastly, the book made me think about something Yuvi himself acknowledges - that his recovery and comeback would not have been possible without the support of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI). The BCCI stood firmly by him, protected his privacy, monitored his progress, kept track of his treatment, and took care of the financial aspects. It was also because of the world-class facilities and support available through the BCCI that Yuvi could make a comeback.

I cannot help but imagine that had this happened to an athlete from a ‘less privileged’ sport, the story might have ended very differently. Without financial backing or institutional support, survival itself would have been a challenge, let alone a return to professional sport. The BCCI is often criticized for being political, power-hungry and overly capitalistic, and to a large extent that criticism is valid. But it is also true that it has built a system capable of genuinely taking care of its cricketers and stakeholders. And for that, credit must be given where it is due.

Towards the end, Yuvi talks about his comeback journey, and it was genuinely moving to read. I admit that my own memory of his comeback is a little fuzzy, and I cannot recall too many standout innings after his return. But reading this section made me realize that the comeback was not really about numbers or scorecards. It was about simply finding his way back.

He writes about how difficult it was to lose the weight he had gained, rebuild fitness, and push his body every single day. There were moments when his mind asked him is all the effort worth it, what else does he want to achieve, what does he want to prove. But he came to an important realization - that the mind’s questions were actually the body’s protest. "A few hours of rest and the body would be silenced and the mind could easily win the debate." That line stayed with me. (Just stayed with me; do not think that I am going to hit the gym tomorrow!)

While training at the NCA, he recalls hitting Ishant Sharma for a six - probably his first six after cancer, even if it was with a tennis ball. That one shot gave him immense joy and confidence. He describes it as 'muscle memory' kicking in, as if his old life was linking arms with the new one.

Later, after making his way back into the Indian team, he remembers a moment against New Zealand when Daniel Vettori floated one outside off stump. Without overthinking, his body took over. A decisive step across the crease, the bat coming down, arms following through, and the ball sailed over wide long-on for a SIX.

Was it a big deal for someone who had hit countless sixes in his career? Maybe not on paper. But this one was special. It made him (and me) emotional. It symbolized that there was life after cancer. The life post his cancer battle is his second life and Yuvi did not just return to cricket - he learned to cherish each baby steps in his new life - the first match, the first six, the first Player of the Match award, the first 200-plus score in domestic cricket. By any measure, it was a remarkable comeback.

Eventually, Yuvraj Singh retired in 2019, and he recently mentioned in an interview that he stepped away because he no longer felt backed or respected. He had hoped to be selected for the 2019 World Cup but was overlooked. I can understand the disappointment - everyone wants a final hurrah (his father actually wanted him to continue for another 5 years!!). At the same time, it is also fair to acknowledge that by 2019 he was 37 years old and no longer the fit, destructive batsman he once was. His non-selection for that World Cup was not entirely surprising.

What I do find unfair, though, is that he was overlooked for the 2015 World Cup. He should have been picked purely out of respect and as a salute to his contribution. His domestic performances were not poor, and he could easily have been included. Big-match players like Yuvi have a habit of surprising oppositions when it matters most. The fact that he was not considered in 2015 only reinforces a familiar feeling - that we are an ungrateful nation.

I strongly recommend The Test of My Life for its honesty and emotional depth. It is a deeply moving and relatable account that goes far beyond cricket, offering valuable life lessons on resilience and discipline. While cricket fans will naturally connect with the sporting journey, the book is equally relevant for anyone who has faced illness, adversity, self-doubt, or major life setbacks. It is particularly worth reading for those seeking perspective, strength, and inspiration in difficult phases of life.

R Ashwin Responded 😊

'R Ashwin's 'I Have the Streets': Not Your Usual Cricket Autobiography

(Image Source: https://brokencricketdreams.com/2025/06/07/r-ashwins-i-have-the-streets-book-review-refreshing-honest-unexpected/)

Recently, I read I Have the Streets by Ravichandran Ashwin, which is his autobiography (Co-authored by Sidharth Monga). Having read several sports and cricket autobiographies and biographies, I was a little unsure about this book. That is because, many a times, cricket biographies or autobiographies (lets broadly call them memoirs) are not much more than match-by-match or series-by-series narrations. In a cricket-obsessed country like India, where most readers already know what happened in those matches, such books often add very little incremental knowledge and, frankly, can get a tad boring. I Have the Streets does not have such issues. In fact, Ashwin has hardly talked about his performance in International matches.

Instead, the book focuses more on his journey, struggles, friends, the local and street tournaments, how he made it to the Indian team and the efforts and sacrifices of his parents. I particularly enjoyed reading about his parents; it once again reinforces how critical parental support is in shaping the journey and success of a cricketer or any sportsperson. It also shows how Indian parents parents help their children stay humble, disciplined, and connected to core values. Rather than focusing only on match statistics or celebrated victories, the book emphasizes Ashwin’s thought process, discipline, and continuous self-reinvention. 

I recall that when Ashwin started playing for India, several questions and doubts were raised. The general sentiment was that he had made it due to backing from certain people in the board, his association with CSK, and, of course, MS Dhoni’s support. The book quashes all those myths. 

His action was also quite different and attracted attention and debates. I remember a discussion with friends where I confidently pointed out that Ashwin had an “ugly” action compared to other off-spinners who supposedly had more “flowing” and “rhythmic” actions (whatever that actually means). I even cited Erapalli Prasanna as an example of a beautiful action. I remember the discussion and my arguments but honestly, I am not sure I had ever actually watched Prasanna bowl!! (Its okay, who has not made up stories to win arguments?!!) Ashwin’s tendency to tweak his action frequently and almost pause in his delivery stride made me think he was more of a 'containing' bowler, perhaps better suited for limited-overs cricket. 

Did my impression of Ashwin change later? Of course. 

While he was successful and miserly in limited overs, he turned out to be a completely different beast in red-ball cricket - not only as a bowler but also as a capable batter. Five Test centuries is no small achievement! 

Over the years, it also became evident that Ashwin is a thinking and 'street smart' cricketer: constantly analyzing his own strengths and weaknesses, studying the batsman, and adjusting accordingly. He would not shy from trying everything. He would modify his run-up, arm speed, release height, flight, length, and more. In order to stay ahead of the batsmen, he also added several variations to his arsenal - the sodakku ball (carrom ball), arm ball, top-spinner, even leg-spin. He had the ability to bowl six different but robust variations in an over. 

Ashwin also received considerable flak for 'Mankading', a controversial cricket dismissal where the bowler runs out the non-striker for leaving their crease early. The term itself annoys me, as it unfairly gives a negative connotation to a perfectly legal dismissal and, in the process, maligns a great Indian cricketer, Vinoo Mankad. I see absolutely no issue with this form of dismissal. A non-striker has no business leaving the crease early to gain an unfair advantage. All arguments about it being against the “Spirit of the Game” are, quite frankly, horseshit! I fully supported Ashwin during the controversy - after all, what is sport without the hunger to win - but the issue was that I supported him while sitting on a couch at my home and somehow he did not come to know about my complete, total, unwavering, and unequivocal support!!! 

I was so impressed by Ashwin skills and overall attitude that I often say that Ashwin is one of India's best test captains - that we never had. Once again, no one has ever heard that as I say that from the same couch!

Coming back to the book, I found the book extremely engaging, relatable and compelling. I am usually a slow and somewhat strange reader (as covered in a recent blog), but this book was genuinely hard to put down. I finished it quickly and enjoyed every bit of it. The book offers interesting personal insights and genuine stories rather than just a dry sporting memoir. 

It is also and an 'easy read' i.e., the author has not switched on the 'Shashi Tharoor mode' and the language is simple and effective. I would highly recommend this book to everyone, especially young and aspiring cricketers or sportspersons, and their parents.

Overall, I Have the Streets stands out as a thoughtful sports memoir. It is ultimately a story about perseverance, learning, and professional growth—making it relevant not only to cricket fans but also to readers interested in personal development and high-performance mindsets.

Finally, one aspect I particularly liked is that the book ends with India’s ICC World Cup victory in 2011. This leaves ample room for a 'sequel'. Ashwin achieved so much after 2011, right up to his retirement and he is still quite young. So a Part 2 (and even Part 3) of his story is plausible and if it happens, it will almost certainly be worth reading.

Happy 85th

This 46-year-old man, burdened by many personal challenges, finds that beyond his routine daily prayers -and apart from prayers for his daughter - he more often than not prays not for centuries and success of another person: Virat Kohli. Relieved and happy today. 🥹

Pata hai hum match kahaan haare?

India has just lost the second Test match against South Africa in Guwahati. Considering that losing a Test at home was a rarity until about a year ago, the chatter in the media is unsurprising. Since October 2024, India’s overall Test record (home and away) reads 3 wins, 2 draws, and 7 losses!! At home, the numbers are even more alarming: 2 wins and 5 losses; and the two victories coming against West Indies—currently one of the weaker Test sides in world cricket.

(Infographic created through Gemini. Apologies for the typos; AI is still learning)

Naturally, fans are furious. Yet I doubt this frustration will endure. India continues to perform well in limited-overs cricket, which inevitably garners more attention, and memories of these Test losses will fade soon enough. Moreover, the next Test is scheduled for August 2026—far too distant for knee-jerk decisions, even though some fans are already calling for the removal of the head coach and the chief selector.

As someone who cherishes Test cricket far more than one-dayers or the T20 circus, I am frustrated too. But at the same time, I find myself strangely satisfied—almost deriving a grim sense of vindication. That is because I expected this. The current and former custodians of Indian cricket dismantled a functioning system and are now reaping the consequences.

There is a memorable moment in MS Dhoni: The Untold Story where Sushant Singh, portraying Dhoni, asks a friend after a loss: “Pata hai hum match kahaan haare?” (“Do you know where we lost the match?”). Indian cricket fans and the media could ask themselves the same question today.

We did not lose this match today. Nor did we lose it when the team was selected, when the schedule was crafted, when legends were nudged aside, when an arrogant and self-centered coach was appointed, or when the chief selector took charge. All of these factors did contribute but the real damage was done long before any of that.

There was a phase in Indian cricket when the bigshots of the BCCI were stripped of control due to multiple controversies. A Supreme Court–appointed committee—headed by Vinod Rai—was entrusted with running the board. During this period, Virat Kohli and coach Ravi Shastri enjoyed considerable autonomy, including significant influence over team selection. And they delivered. Under Kohli, India lost only two home Tests and held the No. 1 Test ranking for several consecutive years. Fans admired this era, but it generated insecurity among many others. In a sense, Kohli grew bigger than the BCCI itself—a situation the old guard resented deeply. Some former cricketers, especially those who have long been more political than sporting in their approach, also bristled. Even a few of Kohli’s peers were unsettled.

Thus began a calculated effort to cut Kohli down to size—or push him aside altogether—once the committee’s tenure ended. The BCCI leadership, heavily intertwined with political figures, did not want the public backlash of sidelining a star player themselves. They needed a former cricketer to front the operation. Saurav Ganguly, a successful captain and a transformative figure in Indian cricket, was cast in that role. As BCCI President, he was tasked with curtailing Kohli’s influence.....and he delivered.

Kohli was told to relinquish limited-overs captaincy in both ODIs and T20Is. While he was willing to step away from T20 leadership, he wished to retain the ODI captaincy—a request brushed aside under the pretext of avoiding split captaincy, a principle later abandoned without hesitation. The manner in which the episode unfolded, including leaks of sensitive information to the media, was unfortunate and ultimately pushed Kohli to resign as Test captain. Sunil Gavaskar even remarked, with a certain satisfaction, that Kohli’s resignation was inevitable as he would have been removed anyway!!! That is bizarre as Kohli remains the most successful Indian Test captain in history.

That is where the plot was lost—and, by extension, this match and series.

Since then, efforts to marginalize Kohli have been relentless. His personal dip in form did not help, but the institutional push was unmistakable. Gautam Gambhir was appointed head coach despite the well-known friction between him and Kohli. Gambhir has always deserved respect for his cricketing contributions and his support for the families of martyrs, but he is also a man of considerable ego. His on-field confrontations with Kohli are part of public memory, and the BCCI surely knew he would not hesitate to sideline Kohli. Once again, a player became a pawn in a larger power game.

Kohli retired from T20Is just before Gambhir took charge—though the decision’s true nature remains unclear. A few months ago, he retired from Test cricket as well. It still feels surreal that a modern great, who valued Test cricket above all formats, never even reached 10,000 Test runs—whether by choice or by design.

There is no doubt that Kohli ranks among India’s finest Test cricketers, even if Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, and Sunil Gavaskar may stand ahead in class and achievement. But Kohli’s impact on Test cricket is unparalleled. Under his leadership, the Indian team was a fireball. Each ball, each over, each session, each innings was approached with 100% intensity, and the team gave it all. However, in the hunger to reclaim power and settle scores, BCCI has pulled down the brightest star. 

Test cricket, sadly, has become the collateral damage.

RIP King Shane

Greatest spinner ever. A true showman. Rajasthan Royal's victory in IPL under his captaincy is a story worthy of a movie. 

RIP King Shane. Do not know why...but it feels like a personal loss...

Ananya Met Varun Aaron

These pics were taken when we were returning from Udaipur. This is actually at Udaipur airport. While getting into the airport, I noticed some familiar faces. Some Indian cricketers were in the queue. Varun Aaron, Indian fast bowler, was right behind me. I shook hands with him and wished him luck for a comeback in the Indian team. Later we saw Karun Nair, Shreyas Gopal and few other cricketers. They had come to Udaipur to attend Karun Nair's wedding. Ananya did not recognize any one of them but wanted some autographs. Varun Aaron happily obliged and that brought smile on Ananya's face.  

RIP Sushant Singh Rajput

Recently I watched the movie for zillionth time. It is indeed an inspiring story and I watch it quite frequently. But this time, for the first time, I saw Sushant Singh Rajput in the movie. Every other time, I saw Dhoni...this time I saw the actor. And from here on....this movie would always be about Sushant Singh Rajput. RIP Sushant. 

Broom the Groom-ing Plan

Heard that MS Dhoni would be 'grooming' Pant till Pant settles down. 

What does that mean?

While all these are speculations, it suggests that Dhoni would be 'skipping' India's tour of West Indies. However, later he would be part of the team but would not be in playing XI!!! That way he would mentor Rishabh Pant. 

My take on this:

Teams did not need such mentoring when Bradman, Sachin, Lara, Sobers, Richards, Gavaskar, Dravid, Ponting, Warne, Gilchrist, Kumble, Akram etc retired. Are they suggesting that MS Dhoni is the greatest ever and his exit would create such a massive vacuum that Indian team would find it difficult to play unless they see MSD at least in the dressing room?!!? And what about the player would could have been in the squad but would not be there because one slot was reserved for MSD. Who would mentor/groom that player?

This is complete bull shit!!! He is past his prime and should make way for someone who can make it to the next WC. Period!!!

2 Amazing Matches....2 Winners and No Losers

Watched two amazing matches yesterday. 1. ICC Cricket World Cup Finals between hosts England and New Zealand and 2. Wimbledon Men's Singles Final between World #1 Novak Djokovic and the all time greatest - legendary Roger Federer.

Both matches involved edge of the seat action and in both it was difficult to differentiate between the two sides/men.

New Zealand scored 241 and then - thanks to a last over overthrow drama - England also ended up with 241. In the super over, England scored 15 and New Zealand also scored 15!!! Yet, England won because the hit more boundaries in the regular innings. That is a bizarre rule but it was decided before the World Cup. I think no one objected as no one could have imagined that the scenario would actually play out!!!

I believe New Zealand was unlucky. The overthrow punched holes in their plans and later the rule to decide the winner on the basis of boundaries also went against them. It is also being said that the overthrows should have costed them 5 runs instead of 6. Not sure about that but if it is true then they have another reason to feel bad.

In the other match, Federer clearly looked like the better player. Djokovic looked nervous and was not his usual self. Yet, he hung in there and won the important points. It was a matter of who keeps nerves in control and who is fit enough to win the longest Wimbledon Finals ever!!! 

I was cheering for Federer and New Zealand and I was tad unhappy after both matches. England and Djokovic are the winners but New Zealand and Federer are definitely not losers!!!

Unfollowed the accounts of ICC and ESPNCricinfo. Will follow them back after a month. Cannot stand the dhol and shahnai of someone else's wedding.

Should Indian Captain for Limited Overs Cricket Change?

Read a news article that there is a rift in the Indian cricket team and two camps have emerged - one with Kohli and Shastri and the other led by Rohit Sharma. The article mentioned that some team members are not happy and they desire a change in leadership. While I believe that (a) the story is work of fiction and (b) one bad match should not result in stripping Kohli of captaincy, I also think that handing Sharma the captaincy in shorter format is not a bad option. My reasons are (a) dependence on Dhoni for DRS (b) lack of flexibility and willingness to try new players/combinations and (c) slight biasedness towards certain players (d) failure to build a strong middle order and (e) failure to realize that some players no longer are fit for the team. I still like Kohli as a Captain and batsman but it would not hurt to try something new. However, I do not think selectors would do it.