When I first started playing representative cricket,
whenever a team list was put up, my first worry was whether I made the team or
not. My finger would trace all the names and slow down when it reached number
12 or 13. Is my name there? Once I found it, my joy knew no bounds. The names
before (and after, if there were any) never registered. It was only about
seeing my name on the list—that was the first step!
As the years went by and I became a more permanent fixture
in the squad, checking the team list became more about whether my name appeared
higher than the last year. If I started off at 15 in my first year, moved to 11
a few years later, did I move up the ranks as the years progressed? No.8, maybe
7? What about 5?
Once I got over that, team announcements became less about
finding my name and more about who else had made it. Don’t get me wrong, I
never took my place for granted, but once I found my name, I would always take
a careful look at the team I would be playing with.
Over the years of course, the team became like a family. We
shared more memories together than with other friends. We got used to being
around each other and forged some unforgettable bonds. So obviously, when team
announcements were made, we were all worried about whether the other made it or
not. We felt happiness and disappointment for each other… Even wept for each
other.
I consider myself extremely fortunate to have understood
very early in my career that your place in a team has to be earned. I broke
into the Hyderabad Senior team when the side was packed with so many fantastic
players. I spent two years on the fringes, overlooked because I had done
nothing of any real consequence at the Under-19 level. Once I did manage to
break into the side, I spent a few more years on the bench as 12th
man. As much as the wait left me frustrated, it was a period that taught me how
special and important that cap is, and how privileged I was to be part of a
team that was at the top of its game.
Maybe as I have grown older I have been less accepting of
change. I remember those years sitting on the bench wishing one of the seniors
would sit out just to give me a chance to prove my worth. Now, I know how much
a good senior player can contribute to a team just by being out there on the
field.
I grew up in probably one of the best groups of Hyderabad
players. There was so much talent and respect among the senior group that most
of the time I was in awe of them. Now I can call the likes of Gouher Sultana,
Sravanthi Naidu, Sowjanya Nath, Mamtha Kanojia, Diana David, Sunitha Anand, M
Shalini and so many others my friends! I think of the 14 year old me and feel
blessed!
I am no longer 14 anymore, which means my seniors have grown
up too. Many of them have moved on with their lives, while others have been
forced to. I have to admit that I haven’t been the most open to these changes.
Many of the players I grew up playing with have moved on, and there’s always a
younger lot there to replace them. It’s not like I do it on purpose, but I
suppose sometimes I haven’t been the best at openly accepting these kids who
walk in as replacements. It’s not like I have abused them and shunned them to a
corner, but there has always been that voice in the back of my head that tells
me my friends aren’t around because of them… But then again, they have done
nothing wrong. Breaking into the Senior team is a big deal!
I am not sure why I am writing this… Or if any of it is even
connected, but when I looked at the team this morning, I felt empty…
I followed the usual routine… I looked for my name, and
found it… And then I looked for a few other names, found them… and then I
looked again and again, but I couldn’t find two names that have always been
around since I made my debut for Hyderabad… It felt strange… It felt wrong… It’s
not meant to be this way…
Maybe we all have to move on at some point in our lives, but
I have always believed that sometimes people should be given a little more
respect, for no other reason than the fact that they have earned it… For no
other reason than the fact that it’s the least we can do.
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