Chapter 49: Day One!
The noon sun was beating straight down onto the Elphinstone Custom plot, turning the damp morning grass into a sticky, humid blanket. My white shirt was already stuck flat against my ribs, heavy with sweat. Every time I ran, the canvas straps of my thigh guard rubbed raw against my wet trousers.
"Two! Come for two, Deshmukh!" I screamed, turning sharply at the non-striker’s end.
I didn’t lift my head to watch the ball. I just launched my body forward, digging the nose of my duckbill bat into the dry clay just as the ball thudded into the keeper’s gloves behind me. Deshmukh was bent over his bat at the other end, his chest heaving, his face bright red under his oversized helmet.
"Stop it, Kabir... drop the pace, re," Deshmukh panted, wiping grease from his forehead with a dirty thumb. "The outfield is too heavy. We can’t keep turning singles into doubles."
"The fielders are lazy," I told him, not lowering my voice. "They are bending from the waist because of the heat. If we push them now, they’ll drop their shoulders by lunch. Keep moving."
Through the grainy horn speakers hooked to the wooden poles near the tent, the local commentator’s voice cut through the noise of the Dadar traffic.
"...absolutely remarkable running here at Cross Maidan. This young Tendulkar XI captain, Kabir, is giving a proper demonstration of physical conditioning. He has moved to 73 runs without hitting a single boundary along the grass. Every single run has been scratched out through ones, hard doubles, and sharp triples. The Gavaskar XI fielders are looking completely ragged in this session..."
Under the canvas canopy, Patil sir was leaning against the rusted iron railing, his hands tucked inside his tracksuit pockets. He wasn’t chewing his tobacco anymore. His eyes were locked on my feet every time the bowler released the ball.
"The boy hasn’t played a single horizontal-bat shot all morning," Patil sir muttered to the assistant coach, his voice low and blunt. "Kazi has tried three different spells, angling it into the rough, but the kid just plays with a straight face right under his eyes. No ego. Look at his balance. Even after running forty singles, his head isn’t tilting by a millimeter at the point of impact."
Across the pitch, the Gavaskar XI coach was standing near the scoring table, his face dark as he yelled at his deep mid-wicket fielder. "Get closer to the rope! Don’t let them take the second! Are you boys asleep in this heat?"
Over 22.1
The spinner, Joshi, came back into the attack from the Churchgate end. He tossed up a slow, looping delivery outside off-stump, trying to tease me into a big hit over the infield. I didn’t take the bait. I took a short, neat step forward, met the ball right at the pitch to kill the spin, and soft-pushed it into the vacant pocket between cover and extra cover. "Two! Run hard!" I called. We sprinted the first twenty-two yards, my spikes tearing up the dry dirt, and completed the double before the point fielder could even gather the ball.
Over 22.2
Joshi shortened his length, bowling a flat, quick ball on middle stump. I stayed deep in the crease, waited for the bounce to peak, and opened the face of the bat at the last microsecond. The ball zipped past the lone slip fielder’s ankles. "One, easy," I called, jogging through to swap ends.
Over 22.3
Deshmukh was on strike now. Joshi bowled a drifting ball on leg stump. Deshmukh played a loose defensive stroke, the ball trickling to short fine leg. No run.
Over 22.4
Joshi tried the same line. Deshmukh managed to squeeze it down to long-on for a single, his steps heavy and slow.
Over 22.5
I was back on strike. Joshi floated it up again, targeting the rough cracks outside off. I stepped across my stumps, using my wrists to flick the ball cleanly past the short leg fielder’s shins. The placement was precise, hitting the empty pocket at deep square leg. "Two! Come back!" I yelled, pushing Deshmukh hard. We crossed for the second run just as the deep throw came in high over the keeper’s head.
Over 22.6
The final ball of the over. Joshi went flat and fast to restrict the scoring. I stood my ground, presenting the full, straight face of my customized willow to block it right back to the bowler. No run.
Over 23.1
An off-spinner came on from the pavilion end. He bowled a flat delivery that turned into my pads. I didn’t swing hard. I just flicked my wrists slightly, pushing the ball behind square leg. "Run, Deshmukh! Two is there!" I called out. We completed the first run quickly, and even though the fielder had already picked up the ball, my turn at the crease was sharp. I dragged my foot inside and sprinted back. Deshmukh made it home just as the keeper broke the stumps, panting heavily.
Over 23.2
The off-spinner tried to correct his line, bowling a wider ball outside off-stump. I stepped across, kept my head over the ball, and nudged it softly toward point. "Single," I called, walking through to rotate the strike.
Over 23.3
Deshmukh took guard. The spinner bowled a slower ball that gripped the dry clay. Deshmukh lunged forward, blocking it back down the pitch. No run.
Over 23.4
The spinner pulled his length down short. Deshmukh tried to pull it, but his arms were too tired. He mistimed it completely, the ball looping safely over short leg for a single.
Over 23.5
I was back on strike. The off-spinner floated it high on middle stump. I took a step out of my crease, smothered the spin on the half-volley, and drove it along the ground to deep mid-off. "Two, come on!" I yelled, pushing Deshmukh again. He groaned but ran, sliding his bat just in time as the throw came in.
Over 23.6
The final ball was a fast carrom ball that skidded low. I stayed on my back foot, kept my bat completely straight, and dead-batted it into the clay. No run. My score reached 73, all purely off running.
By 1:00 PM, the lunch bell rang from the umpire’s tent. The scorecard read 153 for 1, and I walked into the cramped canvas changing room with my shirt completely soaked in sweat.
Deshmukh dropped his helmet onto the dirt floor, collapsing straight onto a wooden bench. His face was pale, his lips dry and white from dehydration. "Sir," he gasped, looking up at Patil sir who was walking in with a clipboard. "I can’t run anymore. My thighs are locking up. Kabir is running like a machine, but my legs are completely dead. Every time I look up, he’s calling for a double."
Patil sir looked at Deshmukh’s trembling knees, then turned his eyes toward me. I was sitting on a plastic crate, unbuckling my pads to let the air hit my shins. My breathing was heavy, but stable.
[System Notification: Endurance Level 4 Active — Fatigue absorption at 88%]
"Kabir," Patil sir said, his gravelly voice turning serious. He tapped his pen against my custom bat. "You’ve broken their fielders, but you’re going to kill your partner out there. The afternoon heat is going to bake this clay flat. Dial down the running after lunch. The ball is soft now. Open your arms and go for the boundaries. Clear?"
I took a slow sip of water from my steel flask, feeling the cool liquid slide down my parched throat. I looked at Deshmukh’s exhausted face, then nodded cleanly. "Yes, Sir. I’ll look for the boundaries."
When we walked back out for the afternoon session, the pitch had turned a pale, dusty white. The morning moisture had completely evaporated, leaving the surface flat and true. The ball was forty overs old, its red leather dull and soft.
The Gavaskar XI captain brought back Kazi for a fresh spell with the old ball, hoping the afternoon heat would find some reverse movement off the rough outfield dirt.
Over 41.1
Kazi ran in, his boots making a dull thudding sound against the baked clay. He delivered a fast, full ball on the off-stump line. I didn’t just block it this time. I leaned into the stroke, my front knee bending cleanly as I timed a cover drive.
Ping!
The ball split the cover fielders perfectly, racing across the parched grass to hit the boundary boards for my first four of the day.
Over 41.2
Kazi looked startled. He corrected his line, bowling a quicker, back-of-a-length delivery straight at my middle stump. I stayed balanced on my back foot, opened the face of the bat at the last fraction of a second, and guided it past short third man. The ball hit the rope before the point fielder could even turn around. Four more runs.
Over 41.3
"Get the field back! Deep point, move!" the opposition captain shouted from the slips, his voice cracking.
Kazi ran in furiously, digging a heavy bouncer into the center of the pitch. Because of my 35.5% Sachin template, my eyes tracked the red seam perfectly as it rose toward my throat. I stood tall on his toes, rolled my wrists cleanly over the handle, and hit a pull shot over the mid-wicket region. The ball didn’t stay on the ground this time—it sailed cleanly over the fielder’s head, bouncing twice before clearing the line. Four runs.
Over 41.4
Kazi walked back slowly, his shoulders dropping. He delivered a defensive, wider ball outside off-stump. I stepped across and soft-defended it toward cover, calling a loud "No" to keep Deshmukh safe.
Over 41.5
Kazi tried to slide a fast yorker to catch me off guard. My wrists reacted instantly. I whipped the ball off my pads with absolute timing, sending it through the vacant mid-wicket gap. The outfielders didn’t even chase it. Four runs.
Over 41.6
The final ball of the over. Kazi went flat and fast outside off. I shifted my weight back, extended my arms cleanly, and cut it fiercely through the point region for another boundary. Twenty runs off the over. My score surged straight to 97.
Over 42.1
Joshi took the ball from the opposite end, looking nervous. He bowled a short delivery wide of off-stump. I shifted my weight completely to my back foot, extended my arms, and slapped a hard cut shot along the turf. The fielder at point dove to his left but missed it completely. The ball hit the boundary boards for four.
Over 42.2
Joshi tried to bowl slower, floating it up on middle stump. I stepped out of my crease, met the ball on the half-volley, and lofted it straight over the bowler’s head. The ball bounced once near the sightscreen and slammed into the wood.
Through the static of the speakers, the commentator was screaming into his grainy microphone.
"And that is the century! A magnificent, flawless hundred for the thirteen-year-old captain, Kabir! A double ton at Wankhede last month, and now a hundred at Cross Maidan! The entire ground is on its feet!"
A small crowd of local office-goers and clerks had gathered along the old iron boundary railings, clapping loudly as I raised my custom willow toward our tent. Inside the dugout, Patil sir was standing up, a rare, appreciative smile breaking across his weathered face.
Over 42.3
Joshi was completely flustered now. He bowled a fast, flat delivery down the leg side to stop the scoring. I just turned my wrists at the last moment, deflecting it fine past the short fine leg fielder for another boundary.
Over 42.4
Joshi went back to a standard length on off-stump. I pressed my front foot forward and blocked it cleanly back to the bowler, calling "No" to keep things calm.
Over 42.5
Joshi tossed it up again on a full length. I played a textbook straight drive, the ball rocketing past the non-striker to hit the boundary boards. Four more runs.
Over 42.6
The final ball of the over was a quick arm ball outside off. I stayed back, opened the face of the bat, and tapped it gently toward point, declining the single.
The match ground on through the final session. Deshmukh was eventually clean-bowled for a gritty 48 by Joshi, but the platform was already locked in. I stayed out there until the sun dipped low behind the tall Churchgate buildings, turning the sky a deep purple.
When the umpires looked at their watches and pulled the stumps out of the ground to signify the end of Day 1, our team score stood at a commanding 263 for 2. I walked off the pitch completely unbeaten on 121 not out, my bat tucked under my arm, my eyes already focusing on what the morning cracks would do tomorrow.