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.

Six Books In, and Counting

My resolutions for this year included 'Reading More' and 'Writing More'

Writing is limited to this silly blog. The primary intention is: stress busting, and also to speak to anyone who is reading. 

Reading, on the other hand, feels deeply productive. I am enjoying immensely and far more than I expected. I have been fairly disciplined about it too. I have already finished six books (image above) this year (one was started in late December though), and I am currently on my seventh. Actually, not exactly the seventh - I am somewhere between the seventh, eighth, and ninth as I am reading three books simultaneously! 

Hopefully this good habit would not fade away as we march ahead in the year. 

'12 Years - My Messed-Up Love Story': Ending We Once Hoped For

 

Recently, I picked up a Chetan Bhagat novel after a long time, and the book was 12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story. I have always liked his writing. It is simple, direct, and easy to read. I do not approach his books expecting literary brilliance. I read them because they feel familiar and because they often echo emotions and situations that many of us have encountered at some point.

The story follows Saket, a divorced man in his early thirties, and Payal, a young woman at the beginning of her adult life. Their relationship unfolds through a series of emotionally charged moments that reflect confusion, attachment, and vulnerability.

The writing is fast-paced, which worked for me. I read the book in long stretches without much effort. Some parts, however, felt childish. The episode where the couple gets caught stood out in particular. It felt exaggerated and immature, and it momentarily weakened the emotional credibility of the narrative.

The ending, too, felt unrealistic. Yet, interestingly, it was the ending I found myself hoping for. There was a phase in my life when I believed such endings were possible, when I imagined that time, success, or circumstance could rewrite unfinished stories. Looking back, that hope feels naive, but it was sincere. I no longer think that way, but reading this book reminded me of that younger version of myself who did.

12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story may not be a book I revisit, but it quietly brought back a version of my own thinking that I have long moved past. For me, that is what stayed after I turned the last page.

R Ashwin Responded 😊

A Breezy, Relatable Read: Musafir Cafe

Recently, I read a Hindi book after a long time, and the book was Musafir Cafe. I had been seeing frequent recommendations for it on Instagram, likely because I am always on the lookout for good Indian writing. I find books by Indian authors, or stories set against an Indian backdrop, far more relatable.

Musafir Cafe is a fiction novel by Divya Prakash Dubey. It revolves around a relationship between a confused man (someone I could easily relate to) and a woman with a devil-may-care attitude. The characters undergo an emotional journey, and the story is distinctly contemporary in its setting and sensibilities.

The book does have its shortcomings. Perhaps intentionally, to maintain a fast pace, the characters feel somewhat underdeveloped and the story lacks depth in parts. Certain episodes unfold too quickly, making them appear unrealistic and rushed.

That said, I found the story relatable and emotionally resonant on multiple levels. It transported me back to a phase in life when everything felt exciting and beautiful - largely because of my naivety. Are we not all naive when we are young? We believe we understand love. We think our story is unique and our partner is different. Inevitably, my own hawai kila (castle in the air) came crashing down not long after, and I probably deserved that rude awakening. Yet, in retrospect, life felt beautiful then, much like the intensity of a first crush or first love in our teenage years.

I was so engrossed in the book that for two consecutive nights I kept reading late into the night - what some sarcastic people like my wife and friends would call early morning - until I finished it. I wanted to know what happened to Sudha and Chandar and simply could not sleep without closure.

I agree that the book is not a “piece of art” and does not come even remotely close to being considered an outstanding or highly artistic literary work. However, the fact that it hooked me and I was restless till I completed the story shows that - I have an average taste...but that aside - the book delivers what it intended. A portion of the story hit the rewind button and I felt a strange pain in my chest, the kind I last remember feeling about 20-25 years ago, or perhaps even earlier. 

Musafir Cafe is a breezy read with a simple story, one that I believe will resonate with people who have 'grown up' but were in love during their teenage years or early twenties. If you are one of them, I would recommend reading it. 

'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.

Reading, Rest, and the Elusive Pursuit of Sleep

Sleep has been a long-standing challenge for me. For several years, I survived on barely 3.5 to 5 hours of sleep a day. While I am now averaging a little over five hours—which is a meaningful improvement—I would like to push this to six hours or more in 2026. As expected, this is easier said than done. Old habits, after all, are remarkably persistent. Late nights spent watching podcasts or playing chess have been part of my routine for far too long.

Well-meaning experts around me suggested a familiar remedy: avoid screens after 10 p.m. and replace them with reading. No television, no laptop, no mobile phone—just books.

On paper, this advice suited me perfectly. I have always enjoyed reading, even though I rarely seem to “find the time” for it. I am also, apparently, an unconventional reader. I read four or five books in parallel. Much like music, my reading depends on mood and timing. If I have thirty minutes, I pick up a short story. On some days, it is fiction; on others, military histories or sports biographies and autobiographies. Occasionally, depending on the mood, I turn to Hindi books, which I find easier to read.

Taking this advice seriously, I began reading more in 2026. Today is only the 12th day of the year, and I have already finished three books—one cricketer’s autobiography and two works of fiction—and I am well into my fourth. By any reasonable standard, this feels like a personal victory.

Unfortunately, it is also a problem.

The purpose of reading was not to increase my book count but to help me sleep on time and sleep enough. Instead, I have discovered that books are no less dangerous than screens when they are good. A couple of nights ago, I started reading at 10:30 p.m. and stopped at 5 a.m.—only because my vision became blurry. The night before that, I managed to put the book down at a comparatively respectable 3:30 a.m.

So yes, reading is a good habit. It is just not the solution I was hoping for.

For now, I intend to exercise patience—and, hopefully, discipline. I will continue reading, but with one important constraint: no fiction at night. Good fiction is simply too hard to abandon mid-chapter. Whether this revised strategy succeeds remains to be seen.