Time: 10:15 AM (Short Recess)
Location: The Main Corridor, St. Ann's High School.
The corridor was a war zone.
"List pettaru! List pettaru!" (List is up! List is up!)
A stampede of boys from Class 6 to Class 10 was rushing towards the wooden notice board near the Principal's office. It was the Holy Grail: The U-12 and U-14 School Team Selection List.
Sai stood at the back of the crowd, sipping water from his Milton bottle. He wasn't rushing. His 20-year-old brain knew that pushing through a sweaty mob of teenagers was inefficient.
"Arey Sai! Padha ra!" Karthik grabbed his hand, vibrating with anxiety. "Let's check! Did I get selected?"
Sai looked at him. "Karthik, you dropped three catches and asked the umpire if you can bowl 'underarm'. You are not on the list."
"Chance undi ra! Naa leg-spin evariki ardham kaledu!" (There is a chance! No one understood my leg-spin!)
"That's because it was a wide ball, Karthik."
They squeezed through the crowd. The smell of unwashed socks and Ponds talcum powder was overwhelming.
Sai scanned the pinned sheet of paper.
ST. ANN'S HIGH SCHOOL - U-12 CRICKET SQUAD (2008-09)
Aditya Verma (Captain) - VI A
Rohan K. - VI B
...
Sai's eyes scrolled down. He skipped the middle names. He looked at the bottom. usually, the small kids were listed as "Reserves."
11. V. Sandeep - V C
12. Sai Krishna - V B
Sai let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He was in. Number 12. Not a reserve. A squad member.
"Yes!" Karthik screamed, reading Sai's name. "Arey, my best friend is in the team! Party ivvali ra!" (You have to give a party!)
Aditya, the tall boy who had smashed the ball yesterday, was standing near the board with his cronies. He saw Sai.
"Oye, chotu," Aditya smirked, crossing his arms. "You got lucky. Gopal Sir likes defensive tuk-tuk players."
Sai looked up at him. Aditya was a foot taller.
In 2025, Sai would have come up with a witty comeback. But here, he just smiled politely.
"Thank you, Captain," Sai said calmly.
Aditya blinked. He wanted a fight, but Sai killed it with kindness. "Uh... yeah. Practice starts Monday. 4 PM. Don't be late. And wear proper kit. No colorful jokers allowed."
Time: 4:15 PM
Location: The Staff Room.
Sai knocked on the door. "May I come in, Sir?"
Gopal Sir was sitting at his desk, drinking tea and correcting PT journals. He looked up.
"Ah, the Technician. Come."
Sai walked in. "Sir, I saw my name. Thank you."
Gopal Sir put his pen down. He looked serious. "Don't thank me. You have good hands, but you are weak. If we play against Hyderabad Public School (HPS), their bowlers will eat you alive. You need to eat."
"Yes, Sir."
"Also," Gopal Sir pointed to Sai's shoes—dirty white canvas Goldstars. "You need rubber studs. And a proper white uniform. And your own abdominal guard (L-Guard). I can provide pads and bats, but personal protection is yours. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir. I will get it."
"Good. Go."
Time: 8:30 PM
Location: Sai's Living Room.
The TV was on mute. Rao (Sai's dad) was calculating the monthly expenses in a small diary.
Milk: Rs. 450
Paper: Rs. 120
Bus Pass: Rs. 200
Sai sat on the floor, pretending to read his Science textbook. He was waiting for the right moment. The "System" could help him time a cricket ball, but could it help him time a difficult conversation with an Indian father?
Wait for him to close the diary, Sai thought.
Rao closed the diary and sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Now.
"Nanna," Sai started softly.
"Enti?" (What?)
"I got selected for the school team."
Rao stopped rubbing his forehead. He looked at Sai. A flicker of pride crossed his face, quickly replaced by practical worry.
"Oh. Good. Very good," Rao said, but his voice was guarded. "Does it mean you will miss evening tuition?"
"No, Nanna. Practice is till 6 PM. Tuition is at 7."
"Okay." Rao picked up the remote. "Good job."
Sai bit his lip. This was the hard part.
"Nanna... Gopal Sir said I need a uniform."
Rao paused. "School uniform is there, no?"
"No. Cricket whites. T-shirt, tracks... and shoes. Rubber studs."
Rao put the remote down slowly. "Entha avthundi?" (How much will it cost?)
Sai had already done the math. He had visited the sports shop window on the way back.
"Shoes are Rs. 400. Uniform... maybe Rs. 300. And a guard... Rs. 50."
Total: Rs. 750.
In 2008, for a middle-class family, Rs. 750 was a significant amount. It was half the grocery bill.
Rao stared at the fan. The silence stretched.
Sai felt a knot in his stomach. He remembered this from his past life—the constant guilt of asking for money. He hated it then. He hated it now.
"I can use my old shoes for now, Nanna," Sai added quickly. "Just the pants..."
"Ledu," Rao interrupted. (No.)
He stood up and walked to the almirah (cupboard). He unlocked the small locker inside.
He took out a crisp Rs. 500 note and three Rs. 100 notes.
He came back and placed the money on Sai's textbook. Rs. 800.
"Don't buy cheap shoes," Rao said gruffly, avoiding eye contact. "If you slip and break your leg, hospital bill will be Rs. 5000. Better to spend Rs. 400 now."
Sai looked at the money. His throat felt tight.
He knew his dad was probably taking this from the 'Emergency Fund' or delaying the electricity bill.
"Thanks, Nanna. I won't waste it."
"Study well also," Rao grumbled, turning on the TV. "If marks drop in Unit Test, cricket bat will be used for something else."
Sai smiled weakly. "Yes, Nanna."
Date: June 14, 2008 (Saturday)
Location: Sachdev Sports, Secunderabad.
The smell of new leather and rubber was intoxicating.
Sai stood inside the sports shop. It was heaven. Walls lined with Kashmir Willow, English Willow, leather balls, and colorful grips.
He wasn't looking at the expensive bats. He was looking at the shoe rack.
Segar Rubber Studs. White with green stripes.
They were heavy, clunky, and ugly compared to modern Nike spikes. But to 10-year-old Sai, they looked beautiful.
He tried them on.
Stomp. Stomp.
[FEEDBACK]
Stability: High. Traction: Good. Weight: Heavy.
The System approved.
He bought the shoes. He bought a cheap white pair of tracks and a plain white T-shirt.
He had Rs. 50 left.
He looked at the counter. There was a jar of "Grips."
His current bat—the heavy Kashmir Willow—had a torn grip. The wood was exposed, which caused vibrations (Dissonance) when he didn't center the ball.
"Uncle, that grip. How much?"
"Rs. 40."
Sai bought a neon orange grip.
Time: 6:00 PM
Location: Home.
Sai sat on his balcony.
He had spent the last hour putting the new grip on his bat. It was a struggle rolling it down the handle, but now it looked fresh. Neon orange against the dark wood.
He put on his new white shoes.
He stood up on the balcony tiles. The rubber studs gripped the floor firmly.
He picked up the bat.
Stance.
He visualized the first match against Hyderabad Public School.
They were rich kids. They practiced on turf wickets. They had English coaches.
Sai looked at his reflection in the glass door.
White kit. Orange grip. Dad's investment on his feet.
He tapped the bat. Tap. Tap.
[RESONANCE]
The sound was crisp.
He wasn't just Sai anymore.
He was a Player.
"Okay," Sai whispered, watching the sunset over the chaotic Hyderabad skyline. "Investment made. Now time to give Returns."