April 15th to May 10th.
The summer in Vizag hit like a hammer. The humidity rose to 80%, turning the air into soup.
For most 14-year-olds, this was the time for video games, mangoes, and sleeping in.
For Arjun, it was the "Construction Phase." He didn't ask to join a gym. In 2011, middle-class parents believed two things about gyms: they were full of rowdy goons, and lifting weights would "stunt your height." If he asked, Ramesh would have laughed him out of the room.
So, Arjun built his own.
He found two empty emulsion paint buckets on the terrace. He stole some leftover cement from a neighbor's renovation pile, mixed it with sand and water, and stuck an old rusted iron rod between the buckets.
Result: A crude, unbalanced barbell weighing roughly 25 kgs.
He emptied his old school bag and filled it with thick encyclopedias and wet sand.
Result: A 10kg weighted vest.
Every morning at 5:00 AM, the terrace witnessed a silent war.
Squats with the cement buckets.
Weighted pushups with the bag.
Lunges until his legs shook.
He was feeding the machine—eggs, chicken, peanuts—and breaking the muscles down.
Then, biology took over. It started with the knees. A sharp, throbbing ache just below the kneecap that woke him up at 3 AM. Then the shins. It felt like someone was hammering his bones. Then the hunger—a bottomless pit that no amount of rice could fill.
One morning in early May, Arjun put on his track pants. They stopped two inches above his ankles.
He stood against the doorframe where his mother used to mark his height with a pencil. He had shot up. He wasn't the small, scrawny kid anymore. He had stretched out. His shoulders were slightly broader, his arms longer.
He picked up a cricket ball to shadow practice.
He tripped.
His new limbs felt alien. His center of gravity had shifted upwards. He felt like a baby giraffe trying to walk.
Great, he thought, rubbing his sore knee. Upgrade complete, but the calibration is off.
May 12th. One week before the trials.
Arjun stood on the terrace holding his bat. He took a swing. It felt... wrong. Before, the bat felt heavy. Now, with his longer arms and stronger forearms, the balance felt off. The "sweet spot" felt too low. When he lifted the bat, the toe dragged.
He knew exactly what was wrong. The physics of the bat didn't match his new height. He grabbed his bat and some saved pocket money. He took a shared auto to Jagadamba Junction.
"Siva Sports."
It was a small shop smelling of leather, sawdust, and seasoned willow.
Arjun walked in. Behind the counter, a guy was restringing a badminton racket.
It was Shiva. The 'Vizag Vipers' batsman. Shiva looked up. He squinted for a second, then grinned."Oyy! Chotu! I haven't seen you at the ground lately. Where did you vanish?"
Arjun smiled. "Hi, Anna. Just studying."
Shiva put the racket down and walked around the counter. He stopped and looked Arjun up and down. His eyes widened.
"Wait. Did you stand in manure? You look... taller."
"Summer," Arjun shrugged. "Just growing."
"Good," Shiva nodded. "You needed it. Last month I was scared the wind would blow you to Orissa. What do you want? New ball?"
Arjun placed his bat on the glass counter.
"No. I need to fix this." Shiva picked up the bat. He tapped it. "It's a plank, ra. Buy a new English Willow. I'll give you a discount."
"I don't have the budget for English Willow," Arjun said. "I need you to shave this one."
Shiva raised an eyebrow. "Shave it? Where?"
Arjun pointed to the bottom three inches of the bat, near the toe.
"Take 50 grams off the bottom back. And add a second rubber grip to the handle."
Shiva frowned. "If I take weight off the bottom, you lose power for the Yorkers. Why do you want to make it top-heavy?"
"Because I grew," Arjun said calmly, tapping his own shoulder. "My backlift is higher now. If the weight is at the bottom, the pick-up feels heavy and slow. If you shave the bottom, the sweet spot moves up. It balances the pick-up. I can react faster to pace."
Shiva stared at him. He looked at the bat. He swung it a couple of times, testing Arjun's logic.
He realized the kid was right. A higher sweet spot meant a lighter pick-up—perfect for a backfoot player, which Arjun needed to be now that he was taller.
"You speak like a physics teacher," Shiva muttered, impressed. "Where did you learn this?"
"Internet," Arjun lied. Shiva laughed. "Okay, Professor. I'll do it."
He took the bat to the workshop at the back. The sound of a sanding machine filled the air.
Ten minutes later, he came back. The bat looked cleaner, the bottom curve sharper. A fresh orange grip was on the handle.
Arjun picked it up. He swung it.
Whoosh.
It cut through the air like a sword. The balance was perfect.
"How much?" Arjun asked, reaching for his wallet.
"Normally 150," Shiva said. He took the 50 rupee note from Arjun's hand. "Give me 50. Consider it a 'special' discount. But listen..."
Shiva leaned forward. "Trials are next Sunday, right? The 20th?"
Arjun nodded. "Yes."
"My younger brother is going too," Shiva said with a grin. "He's an opener. Go easy on him, okay? Don't bowl that cutter."
Arjun smiled. "I'll try."
"Good luck, Chotu," Shiva said, handing him the bat. "Don't waste that height."
May 18th. Two days before the trials.
The dining table was quiet. The hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound.
Ramesh sat at the head of the table, holding a sheet of paper.
It was the Cumulative Performance Report from V-IGNITE.
Arjun sat opposite him, eating his curd rice. He wasn't nervous. He had executed the plan perfectly.
Ramesh adjusted his glasses. He looked at the numbers.
Week 1: Rank 8
Week 2: Rank 3
Week 3: Rank 1
Week 4: Rank 1
Consistency. That's what a man like Ramesh respected. Not a fluke, but a pattern.
Ramesh placed the paper down. He didn't smile, but the tension in his shoulders was gone. "You have improved," Ramesh said. "The ranks are solid. The teachers have written 'Excellent' in the remarks column."
"I focused," Arjun said simply.
"Good," Ramesh said. "If you keep this up, we can look at the top batch next year."
He folded the paper. "Do you want something? A cycle? Or that video game cassette you asked for last year?"
This was the moment. Arjun stopped eating. He wiped his mouth.
"I don't want a game, Dad."
Ramesh looked curious. "Then?"
"I want one day," Arjun said clearly. "May 20th. This Friday."
Ramesh frowned immediately. "Friday? You have classes."
"I know," Arjun said. "I want to take leave."
"Leave?" Ramesh's voice sharpened. "For what? Are you sick?"
"ACA District Cricket Selections," Arjun said.
The air in the room froze. Sarada stopped serving. Ramesh's face hardened instantly.
"Cricket?" Ramesh said, the warmth vanishing from his voice. "You want to bunk school to play cricket? I thought we were past this phase. You are topping the class, Arjun. Why do you want to go back to the dust?"
"It's not a phase," Arjun said, keeping his voice calm. "I delivered the ranks you wanted. I studied. I didn't watch TV. I didn't complain."
He looked his father in the eye. "You treat your office targets like a deal, right? If the team delivers, they get a bonus."
Ramesh stared at him.
"I delivered the target," Arjun continued. "My bonus is one day. Just drop me at the ground. One day of school won't change my rank. I've already finished the syllabus."
Ramesh leaned back in his chair. He looked at his son—really looked at him. The taller shoulders. The calm eyes. The logic that cut through the emotion.
"You speak like a matured man," Ramesh said softly, almost to himself. "Where did this come from?"
He looked at the report card again. Rank 1. He sighed, a long exhale of resignation.
"Okay," Ramesh said. "One day. Since you kept your word, I will keep mine."
"Thanks, Dad."
Ramesh stood up. "I will drop you at 7 AM on my way to the office. But don't expect me to stay and watch. And Arjun?"
"Yes?"
"If you go there, play properly. Don't embarrass me."
"I won't," Arjun said.
He finished his curd rice. The bat was ready. The body was growing. The permission was granted.
Now, he just had to beat 300 other kids who wanted the same spot.