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Chapter 14 - Chapter 14: Dreams of the Red Ball

*Mumbai, March 2014*

The gates of Mumbai's Shivaji Park were heavy with nostalgia. After nearly two months in the UAE, with the World Cup trophy polished and packed back at the BCCI headquarters, Ishaan Verma walked into the ground that had raised him. Not as a prodigy now, but as a champion.

The red mud underfoot, the mango trees at the corner, the sharp whistle of the local train passing in the distance—none of it had changed. But Ishaan had.

Children stopped their games to glance at him. Some ran up to touch his bat. Others just whispered his name.

He didn't say much. Just nodded and walked to his favorite net—the one near the banyan tree. Coach Kulkarni was already there, sitting on a stool, sipping his lukewarm tea.

"You remember how many balls you middled the first day you came here?" he asked without looking.

"None," Ishaan smiled.

"Exactly. And look at you now."

Kulkarni handed him a red SG Test ball.

"Time to stop dreaming in white and blue. Let's see if your bat sings in red."

---

### The Shift

While the cricketing world buzzed around Ishaan's U-19 heroics, the BCCI selectors had already begun discussions. Ishaan was among the shortlisted names for the India A squad that would tour England that June. A team designed to simulate the grind of Test cricket—early morning sessions, green-top wickets, cold winds, and the red ball that refused to behave.

But before any of that, Ishaan had to prove himself in the domestic grind: the Ranji Trophy.

Mumbai's senior team was stacked. Names like Armaan Rathod, Vinay Trivedi, and their ever-reliable opener Dhruv Deshmukh stood between Ishaan and a spot.

But the selectors knew talent when they saw it. The plan was to ease Ishaan in through the Irani Cup, where the Rest of India team would play against Ranji champions Karnataka.

When the call came, Ishaan was silent.

"What's wrong?" Meera asked.

"Nothing. It's just... this is the real game now. No more U-19s. No more safety nets."

Meera smiled and brought him a bowl of hot upma.

"You've walked into fire before. Just remember why you walked."

---

### Irani Cup, Nagpur

The VCA Stadium looked pristine under a high summer sun. The crowd was thinner than it had been in Dubai, but those who were there knew their cricket. They didn't scream names. They assessed techniques.

Ishaan walked in at No. 3, with Rest of India one down for 18.

He adjusted his pads, tapped the bat twice, and took guard.

Facing him was Suraj Bhonsle, Karnataka's veteran swing bowler, known for his ability to seam the red ball both ways.

First delivery: a full in-dipper.

Ishaan let it go.

Second: outside off. Left again.

Third: seaming away. Ishaan shaped to drive but withdrew last second.

The commentators noticed.

"Mature leave. Most debutants would've flashed at that."

Ishaan batted for three and a half hours that day.

He didn't dominate. He endured.

Fifty-five off 173 balls.

It wasn't flashy, but it was noticed.

Coach Kulkarni called him that night.

"You left more balls than you played. That's how you tell a spinner from a stroke-maker."

Ishaan smiled. "Still dreaming in red."

---

### The Ranji Trophy Debut

His Ranji debut came a month later against Tamil Nadu at Chepauk. A ground where spinners aged like wine.

He walked in to bat on Day 2, with Mumbai at 74 for 2. The pitch already showed cracks.

Muralitharan's disciple, off-spinner Naveen Raj, was on a rampage.

Ishaan took guard and swept the first ball he faced.

Four runs. Statement made.

He rotated strike, stepped out often, and occasionally reverse swept to upset the field.

By stumps, he was 79 not out.

He reached his maiden First-Class hundred the next morning with a gentle tap to third man.

Helmet came off. No roar. Just a glance upward.

Rudra messaged: \*"Now the game begins."

---

### Off the Field: The Noise

With success came attention.

Endorsements followed. Journalists called. Twitter flooded.

One tweet stood out:

**@EmmaWatson:** \*"Hard work in silence. Let your bat be the voice. Watching from afar, but cheering always."

Ishaan stared at the screen.

Meera peeked over. "Is that..."

"Yes," he said, locking the phone quickly.

That night, he wrote in his diary:

*She sees me. Not as a fan. But as someone who's becoming what he promised himself.*

---

### Selection for India A

June came with monsoon showers and a letter from the BCCI.

**Player: Ishaan Verma. Tour: India A - England. Format: Four-day Tests.**

The first call he made was to Kulkarni.

"England, sir. Red ball. Duke ball."

Kulkarni laughed. "Now the boy becomes a man."

---

### Before Departure

Ishaan visited his father's resting place.

Sat down. Took out his bat. And spoke.

"I leave tomorrow. England. I might fail. I might shine. But whatever happens, I'm going to stand straight and watch the red ball. Just like you taught me."

He left a small Indian flag by the gravestone.

---

As the plane took off from Mumbai airport, Ishaan looked out at the clouds.

He remembered Shivaji Park. The red dirt. The banyan tree. The smell of rain on the pitch. The bruises. The tape ball. The silence of his father's last breath. The noise of World Cup celebrations.

All of it.

Now, England awaited.

The ball would swing more. The weather would test him. The bowlers would sledge. The critics would grow.

But he was ready.

*Because now, he didn't just dream of cricket. He dreamed in red.*

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