Chapter 46:
The floorboards of the clubhouse were slick with old wax. Avneet didn’t look at Kabir when she served; she just threw the shuttle up and cracked it with a short, snapping motion of her wrist.
Thwack.
The plastic shuttlecock dropped straight over the tape, dying on the green rubber line. Kabir lunged, his right shoe scuffing the floor as he managed to get the racket under it. He floated it back too high. Avneet didn’t jump this time. She just stood her ground and smashed it flat into his ribs.
Thwack.
"That’s twenty-one," Avneet said, catching the shuttle on the bounce with her left hand. She didn’t look tired. She unzipped her Yonex bag, pulled out a small plastic bottle of glucose water, and took a short sip. "Your footwork is completely heavy today. What happened to the big Wankhede champion?"
Kabir leaned on his racket, his breath scraping his throat. The air inside the closed hall was humid, smelling of damp walls and rubber glue. "The shoes are different. Badminton requires too much lateral shifting. My thighs are stiff from the five days on the turf."
"You won the shield anyway," she said, leaning against the wooden benches. "Chetan was showing everyone the clipping in the colony group. So, what’s next? More school matches?"
"No. School matches don’t get you noticed by the BCCI selectors," Kabir said. He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve, the cotton rough against his eyes. "Next month is the Mumbai Under-16 trials for the Vijay Merchant Trophy. That’s the real entry point."
Avneet adjusted the grip tape on her racket handle, pulling it tight. "Under-16? You just turned nine a few years ago. You’re thirteen now, right? The other guys will be fifteen, sixteen. They have real adult shoulders."
"It doesn’t matter," Kabir said, stretching his left hamstring against the wall. "If you miss the Under-16 selection in Mumbai, you get stuck in the local school leagues forever. The boys who play Vijay Merchant are the ones who go into the India Under-19 camp and the senior Ranji Trophy nets. If you want a state cap, you have to get onto that clipboard before you turn fourteen."
Avneet tossed the shuttle back to him. "Then stop complaining about your thighs. Serve."
By 4:00 PM, the smell of wax was replaced by the sour stench of drying mud at the Shivaji Park corner nets.
Achrekar sir hadn’t touched his cap all afternoon. He stood near the rusted iron pipe where two groundboys were finishing up pouring four plastic buckets of tap water directly onto the hard clay of the practice pitch. The water had turned the red dirt into a dark, greasy puddle that looked like lard.
"The Wankhede wickets are over, Kabir," Achrekar sir said, his voice flat as he pointed his bamboo cane toward the crease. "The local tracks in November hold the dew till noon. The ball will skid at seventy-five miles from eighteen yards. If you lift your chin, the edge goes straight to short leg. Pad up."
Kabir tied the canvas straps of his pads, the buckles biting into his shins. Nitin was already waiting at the far end, his hands red from rubbing a brand-new SG ball against his trousers. The leather was slick, holding a film of moisture from the wet outfield grass.
"Eighteen yards, Nitin," the old man called out from behind the iron screen. "Full shoulder. Don’t let him drive."
Ball 1: Nitin ran in from the shortened mark and slammed it into the center of the puddle. The ball didn’t bounce; it skidded off the wet clay, staying below knee height as it shot toward the leg stump. Kabir’s front foot clicked forward, his bat dropping down straight with a loose grip to damp the ball into the mud. Water splashed his white socks.
Ball 2: Nitin put more shoulder into the second delivery. The ball hit the dry crust on the edge of the puddle and rose sharply, aiming straight for Kabir’s collarbone. Kabir didn’t pull. He pulled his hands back toward his chest, letting the ball hit the thick shoulder of the wood. It dropped dead near his toes.
"Keep the head forward," Achrekar sir muttered. "Again."
Ball 3: Nitin went fuller, angling it into the off-stump. The wet seam gripped the mud and cut inward sharply like an off-spinner’s break. Kabir read the angle, covering the line with his front pad while keeping his bat hidden behind his leg. The ball thudded against the canvas pad. No run.
Ball 4: Nitin tried to lure him into a wide drive, pitching it three inches outside off. The ball carried a small spray of water as it zipped past. Kabir simply lifted his arms and let it go through to the keeper’s gloves.
"Don’t chase it," Achrekar sir said. "On a wet morning, that’s a catch to second slip."
Ball 5: Nitin hit the middle of the puddle again. It stayed low, targeting the base of the off-stump. Kabir dropped his hands quickly, jamming the bottom edge of the blade onto the ball before it could sneak under. The bat made a wet, dead tock.
Ball 6: The final ball was quick and straight on the middle wire. Kabir stayed balanced on his back heel, closed the face of the bat at the fraction of a second, and nudged it past short leg’s ankles into the empty dirt.
Achrekar sir didn’t say anything. He just tapped his cane against the rusted iron rail. "Switch ends, Nitin. Kabir, stay inside."
The club iron room behind the pavilion smelled of sweat, rusted weights, and old rubber tiles that had curled up at the corners. Subodh, the trainer, was sitting on a wooden crate, holding a five-kilogram medicine ball against his broad chest.
"Achrekar told me you’re bowling longer spells for the trials," Subodh said, tossing the ball hard into Kabir’s stomach. "No heavy lifting today. Your growth plates are still soft. If we load your spine now, you’ll be a bowler with a broken back by sixteen. Focus on the core."
Kabir caught the ball and dropped to the rubber mat, starting his side-to-side rotational twists. His obliques were burning from the continuous friction, the exact muscles needed to find speed for his outswingers and leverage for his pull shots.
Keep it tight, Kabir thought, his lungs drawing in the dusty gym air as he picked up two eight-kilogram iron dumbbells for his shoulder presses. He pushed them up slowly, focusing on his rotator cuffs so his arm wouldn’t drop after his eighth over in the afternoon heat.
[System Notification: Sachin Tendulkar Template — 35.8% Unlocked]
[System Notification: Wasim Akram Template — 35.8% Unlocked]
The blue text appeared against the gray brick wall for an instant and vanished. Kabir finished with eighty repetitions of calf raises on a wooden block, strengthening the small ligaments around his ankles to absorb the landing impact that had ruined his knees in his previous life.
When he walked out of the pavilion, the Dadar buildings had completely blocked the sun, leaving the park in a cool, dark purple twilight. His hands were gray from the iron rust, his shoulders heavy with a deep, clean ache. He unzipped his canvas bag, took a drink of water from his steel flask, and looked out at the empty turf.
The Under-14 shield didn’t matter anymore. The real grind for the state cap was waiting at the Wankhede gates.
[ okey i know this Chapter is short compared to previous Chapter , really sorry for that , don’t worry , we’ll have 2-3 Chapter tomorrow as its sunday and sorry for the rambling from here its meant for filling 1500 word] .
The Mumbai Cricket Association (MCA) junior selection process operates like a highly competitive pyramid, designed to filter out the absolute best talent from thousands of school cricketers in the city. Since Kabir is transitioning to the Under-16 selection bracket (Vijay Merchant Trophy), the system shifts gears significantly from what he experienced at the Under-14 level. [1, 2]The core structure of the MCA junior selection system functions through specific sequential stages:1. The Entry Points (Club Nomination vs. Extreme Outliers)The Standard Route: Normally, a player cannot just walk into the Wankhede Stadium selection trials. MCA-affiliated clubs or schools must officially nominate a restricted number of top players from their nets.The Special Talent Hunt Exemption: For players like Kabir who hit exceptional statistics—like his twin centuries—the junior selection committee chairman or talent scouts can bypass the standard club restrictions and add the player directly to the tracking list. [1]2. The Multi-Day Selection Trials at Wankhede NetsThe Numbers Game: Around 100 to 150 elite boys from all four Mumbai zones (North, South, East, West) gather at the Wankhede Stadium or BKC ground practice facilities. [1, 2, 3]The Crucible: Unlike school nets where you face familiar bowlers, here selectors line up the quickest, tallest 15-year-old bowlers to bowl at the trialists. Batsmen get exactly 10 to 12 balls per session to prove their footwork, reflexes, and how they handle genuine raw pace off the seam. [1]3. The MCA Selection Tournament (The Payyade / Shalini Bhalekar Trophy equivalent)The Filter: The initial pool of 150 is immediately slashed down to roughly 60–80 players.The Teams: The selectors split these remaining players into four distinct zonal or randomly selected teams (e.g., Team A, B, C, D) to play a high-intensity multi-day selection tournament.The Evaluation: This is where the selectors watch how players manage their workloads under actual match pressure across 2-day or 3-day formats, evaluating their fielding placement, tactical maturity, and consistency. [1, 2, 3]4. The Elite Summer Vacation Coaching CampThe Final Elite Pool: The top 25 to 30 players from the selection tournament are invited to the official MCA Summer Selection Camp.The Routine: This is where proper first-class training kicks in. Players work with specialized state coaches, train inside the indoor academies, undergo strict physical conditioning tests, and fix minute technical flaws.The Ultimate Prize: From this specific block of 25 players, the selectors finally lock down the official 15-man Mumbai state squad to travel for the BCCI Vijay Merchant Trophy tournament.