Mumbai, July 2007 – Under-16 Selection Camp, Mumbai Cricket Association Ground, Kandivali
The monsoon had turned Mumbai into a city of puddles and prayer. Streets flooded, trains halted, and yet the trials for the Mumbai U-16 squad remained untouched by compromise. Cricket in this city didn't bow to weather—it battled it.
At the MCA Ground in Kandivali, tarpaulin sheets flapped wildly in the wind, covering practice nets and equipment like makeshift armor. The air smelt of damp mud, linseed oil, and unspoken ambition.
Ishaan Verma stood near the scorer's tent, his cricket bag resting against a rain-splattered plastic chair. He wasn't wearing headphones. He never did. Not because he disliked music, but because his mind was always singing one track of its own: silence sharpened into focus.
It had been two months since Rajeev's passing.
Since then, Ishaan had gone back to the basics with a different kind of hunger. Not desperation, but dedication with fire stitched into its seams.
Coach Kulkarni, who was now overseeing selection logistics for the MCA trials, watched from a distance as the boys warmed up. His clipboard had dozens of names, stats, average scores, heights, and batting positions. But beside one name, he had written just one word: fireproof.
Only forty boys had been shortlisted from the city's zonal matches. And of them, just fifteen would make the final cut.
Unlike the previous camps Ishaan had attended, this one didn't feel friendly. Every smile was measured. Every handshake, a calculation. Friendships here lasted only until the toss.
At the start of the trial, the MCA's senior selector, Mr. Atul Gokhale, a man with steel-rimmed glasses and a reputation for ruthlessness, addressed the group.
"You're not here to be promising. You're here to be ready. We're building a team that can win the U-16 nationals. Talent won't save you. Temperament will."
That set the tone.
Three days of fielding drills, net sessions, and match simulations followed. Rain delays became fitness sprints. And any lapse in attitude meant instant elimination.
Ishaan batted like a monk in a storm.
In his first net session, facing a pair of medium pacers and one wily left-arm spinner, he left ball after ball with calculated disdain before unleashing a flurry of late cuts, on-drives, and lofted flicks.
One delivery jagged in unexpectedly and struck his glove. Blood seeped from his index finger.
"Retire?" a coach asked.
Ishaan sucked the finger, re-gloved, and said, "No. Next ball."
From a balcony above, Gokhale watched through narrowed eyes. "Who's that boy?"
Kulkarni didn't even glance up. "Verma. The kid who lost his father last month."
Gokhale grunted. "Doesn't bat like he lost anything."
"No," Kulkarni said. "He bats like he's carrying everything."
On day two, Ishaan met an unexpected face in the dressing room.
Riyan Singh.
A year older now. Taller. Stronger. Still carrying that same quiet cockiness like a second skin.
"Didn't think you'd come for U-16 so early," Riyan said, tightening his wristbands.
"I didn't come early," Ishaan replied. "I came on time."
They didn't need to say more. The rivalry had moved from youth tournaments to state-level trenches.
The selectors paired them in opposite teams for a practice match. Riyan captained the Reds. Ishaan vice-captained the Blues.
The sky remained overcast as the match began. The outfield was heavy, but the pitch held surprising bounce.
Blues batted first. Ishaan walked in at 2 for 1.
Riyan took the ball in the sixth over. His run-up was longer now, rhythm smoother, and the leg-spin meaner.
First ball to Ishaan: classic leg-break. Ishaan stretched forward, dead-batted it.
Second ball: flighted, turning away.
Ishaan stepped out and lofted it—clean over extra cover. Four.
Riyan smiled. "Still love the aerial route, huh?"
"Only when the ground's not enough," Ishaan replied.
The duel continued. Riyan tried everything—quicker ones, googlies, sliders.
Ishaan batted through it all.
He retired on 78, anchoring the innings, rotating strike, and soaking pressure like a sponge.
Blues won by 23 runs.
Back in the changing room, Riyan tossed him a bottle of water. "You've grown."
Ishaan caught it. "So have you."
Riyan nodded. "Let's both make the team. Then let's see who scores more."
That was all the friendship they needed.
By day three, the selection camp had shrunk. From forty to twenty-five. The pressure was surgical now.
Rudra had also made it to the final pool of fast bowlers.
"Tomorrow's the final match," Rudra said that night, twirling a red SG ball. "I need wickets. You need runs."
"I need to stay true," Ishaan said. "Runs will follow."
That night, Ishaan returned home and opened his father's letter again.
He read it slowly, like it might vanish if he blinked too long.
When you score your first century for India, look up.
"I'll get closer tomorrow, Dada," he whispered.
Final Match – U-16 Selection
Venue: BKC Ground, Mumbai
Format: 40 overs per side. Full gear. Official umpires. Selectors in the stands.
Blues vs Greens.
Ishaan opened the innings again. The pitch was slightly damp. Seamers found early swing. One opener was dismissed second ball.
Ishaan stayed still.
He played out the first four overs without scoring a boundary.
Then, like a valve opening, he unleashed.
Cover drives like arrowheads. Backfoot punches through point. Nudges for singles. Calls like a general marshalling his army.
By the 30th over, he was on 92.
Rudra, batting at the other end, was on 28.
"I'll hold up one end," Rudra said. "Take it home."
Ishaan smiled. "One more over."
He stepped down the track to a part-time off-spinner and lofted him over long-on.
Six.
Then a flick through midwicket.
Four.
Two balls later, a late cut for three.
Century.
He didn't raise his bat to the crowd. He turned, looked up at the sky, and mouthed, "Dada, this is for you."
The applause was polite.
Kulkarni's was not.
He clapped like he had just seen sunrise for the first time.
Gokhale leaned to another selector. "He's not just a player. He's a program. A system of focus."
India U-16 Selection – Result Day
Back at the MCA office, the final list was put up by noon.
Fifteen names.
Rudra Singh — Fast Bowler ✅
Riyan Singh — Leg Spinner ✅
Kartik Sharma — Middle-order Batsman ✅
Ishaan Verma — Opening Batsman ✅
Four names. Four stories.
Ishaan looked at it without blinking.
He didn't smile.
Instead, he walked to the back of the room, pulled out his diary, and wrote:
July 10th, 2007 — Selected for India U-16. I'm still just beginning.
Now the country expects. Now I give it reason.
The press took notice.
Local headlines the next day read:
"Mumbai Boy's Century Seals Spot in India U-16 Squad"
"Verma the Wall: Calm, Composed, Clutch"
One article even called him "The Boy with a Father's Fire."
When Meera read that line aloud, Ishaan stood quietly at the balcony, eyes fixed on nothing.
"It's true, you know," she said. "He's still with you."
Ishaan nodded. "He's not just with me. He's guiding my hands."
One evening, as the rain finally stopped after days, Rudra and Ishaan visited Shivaji Park again.
The pitch was muddy, the nets sagging slightly from water weight.
But they walked to the center anyway.
"Do you think they'll still doubt us?" Rudra asked.
"They will," Ishaan said.
"Even now?"
"Especially now."
They both smiled.
Then Ishaan unzipped his kitbag, pulled out the professional bat his father had once gifted him, and began shadow-practicing in the fading light.
In a quiet corner of Mumbai, under floodlights flickering like distant dreams, two boys batted against shadows.
And every shot they imagined—was a promise they intended to keep.