60 (80, 4x5)

Six months ago, I was starting the new season on a positive note. The previous year had been an unprecedented success and had led to my election as vice captain. People were citing my averages from the last season. I was bordering on cocky, was buzzing with ideas and was raring to have a go. That is when it all went the clichéd way.

We are so often forced to call cricket a funny game that it has become clichéd to say so. You can guess what happened then. It started with a couple of unlucky dismissals - a wrong call here, an overambitious shot there. I rubbed them off and kept the faith that the big innings was just round the corner. Then misfortune intervened. I took a blow to my left hand which put me out of action for a couple of games and in my absence my understudies put in some strong performances. I was still confident in my mind but an element of doubt was beginning to creep in. On my return to playing I couldn't retain my usual spot in the line-up. The captain shifted me down, as much to give the other contenders their chance as to see if maybe I would click at another position. It wasn't going to work. The "demotion" hit my ego. I became desperate and went further downhill from there.

Over the next month I played at every occasion I could. With a false bravado I would go in to bat and try to hit myself out of trouble, believing luck could not desert me forever I gave every ball a mighty go. Some connected, enough didn't. I was searching for any runs, ugly or lucky, hardly any came by. I dropped further down the pecking order. So down that the captain started playing me as bowler. I was a fair bowler but that's not the point. I was there to be a batsman and I wanted to keep things so, but it wasn't a matter of wish now - I could no longer lay a straight bat on ball. The previously cited confidence was by now properly shot. Every slight deviation in line looked out to get me. My hands shivered when I picked up a bat. When I stepped in to bat I was already imagining a drudged walk back to the pavilion. Cricket started to frustrate me.

So desperate and frustrated was I that I would try anything. Fortunately, a batting course came by. I silently signed up. They had video analyses, trained batting coaches, fitness trainers, bowling machines and other fancy things, all to help me bat. Over the course of a week they recommended changes in my technique, they put me through a tough fitness regime, they started from scratch and taught me how to play all the basic shots that my muscle memory had all forgotten about. My batting looked crude and messed up. They tried to tighten its screws and chisel at it. One day I was terrible, the next day I could get into the right position. Then came some drives. Cuts. No pulls still. They talked to me about temperament, about sticking in there and valuing your wicket. I had good final session. Crisp shots flowed off my bat, my defence was tighter and I was fitter. Some confidence oozed back. I was ready for redemption.

Still a funny game, cricket. Fate(rain) curtailed the next match and the Captain couldn't justify slotting me in above other deserving men. I was still playing as a bowler for him. I went in last after prolonged wait and whatever confidence had gone in my system had by now rushed swiftly back out. I over-enthused over a simple straight drive and was out first ball. We lost the game, due in some measure to my non-performance. The team lost its cool, the Captain lost his sense and strong words flew. Sense prevailed ultimately, but I knew had hit rock bottom and it was emotionally painful. However, as is often the case with that place there was only one place left to go.

So over the last two weekends I have scored a 48 and a 60. The first was a wretched looking but gritty performance in an insignificant friendly game. Significantly though, my captain was there and he appreciated my willingness to stick it out in difficult times. The team appreciated the score. I felt good about holding a bat again, after a long time. I rued missing out on a half century but the time for that was to come the next Sunday.

Against strong opposition in the last league fixture of the season I opened batting. I started patiently and unhassled. Soon the ball was leaving the bat-face nicely. Boundaries came by - off cuts, even off pulls ! Drives which used to find fielders started finding gaps. Runs started to flow, the opposition deflated and the runs flowed harder. Somewhere between the first and the second drinks break I reached my half century to the hard applause of my team. The bat was raised for a moment and hands were shaken with the other batsman. Then I went back to batting. It wasn't much for a reaction because I wanted many more such moments and I was hungry for many hundreds of runs. It was not redemption yet. It was a very good lesson in life.

That haar ke jeetne waale ko Baazigar kehte hain.