mahieka sharma

Best of the last batch

till hardik was 19, he was a pure #4 batsman in baroda. the monkeying younger brother, his presence on the ground was incidental. hyper and athletic, cricket became the way to channel his energy. barely educated, it would also become his grounds for expression. years of performing as a batter were not enough to ensure he would get a place in a team. politics and an inability to perform for the benefits of social inclusion separated him from his worthy selection. being an avid runner - an uncommon trait among batsmen - he had a knack for working like a horse. unbeknownst to him, this was his biggest cheat code. poor, socially excluded and considered a “rebel” because he never learnt the performative norms more common to those with lateral thinking and conventional upbringings - he didn’t seem to be getting any favours either. without knowing what empathy meant, while all the batsmen would leave after getting their share of balls, he would stay back after his batting was done to bowl for his bowler teammates’ batting practice. a school dropout, it was a good use of his time since he couldn’t afford any hobbies and there wasn’t much to do once home. there also wasn’t any infrastructure in the locality to identify if he had a learning disability which he described as “numbers and words flying around”. with no intention to be a bowler or an allrounder, the empathetic boy yet a batsman, continued on with his relentless pursuit of cricket - the only thing in his life that made him feel accepted. a twist of events had a senior coach notice him bowling and caused severe confusion - he only knew hardik the batsman. a few days later he debuted as an all rounder, bowling in a match for the first time ever, and took 5 wickets. he didn’t even own a single pair of bowling shoes. 2 years later he was scouted by his dream IPL team, and signed on as a fast bowling all rounder. 6 months later he debuted for India. today he is unequivocally the best at what he does. no amount of dreaming could’ve penned the script #33 was about to live. while my letter might only dip into 3% of the well of greatness that is his story, I smile knowing his medium isn’t words. it never was.