I don’t even remember the first time I watched a cricket match. It’s one of those things that’s always been there, like the smell of monsoon rain or the sound of the local chaiwala shouting early in the morning. For most people where I’m from, cricket isn’t something you learn about — it’s just a part of growing up.
Our lives practically revolved around it. We didn’t need a pitch. We didn’t need expensive bats. We just needed a ball — even a torn tennis ball would do — and three bricks to make a wicket. That was it. The rest took care of itself.
Funny thing is, we didn’t play for fitness or fame. We played because it made us feel alive. You hit a six and the entire street knew your name. You got bowled first ball, and your friends wouldn’t let you hear the end of it for weeks. It wasn’t just cricket. It was community. It was friendship. It was rivalry and fun and, honestly, the purest kind of joy.
The Long Matches That Felt Too Short
If you’ve never watched a five-day Test match, you’re probably wondering what the fuss is all about. I get it. “Five days? For one match?” Even now, I’ve got friends who shake their heads and stick to T20s.
But here’s the thing — there’s magic in those long matches. The ebb and flow, the way one team dominates in the morning and the other claws back by tea. It’s not about instant gratification. It’s about patience. Strategy. Mind games.
I remember once skipping college lectures for an entire week because India was playing Pakistan in a Test match. I’d sit in front of the old TV in our living room, volume turned low so my parents wouldn’t catch me. It was thrilling. And the best part? We won on Day 5, after a heart-stopping finish. I still remember Dravid’s innings from that match. He didn’t just bat. He survived. He endured. And we all did, with him.
The Soundtrack of Our Lives
Cricket’s always been there in the background — whether I was happy, sad, or somewhere in between. It was there during family lunches, with the commentators’ voices echoing from the TV in the next room. It was there during late-night study sessions, when I’d sneak a peek at the score every five minutes. It was there when life was uncertain and I needed something familiar to hold onto.
We don’t realize it when we’re younger, but cricket — and I mean this honestly — it teaches you things. How to be patient. How to lose with grace. How to win with humility. How to bounce back after you’ve messed up. I’ve learned more life lessons from the middle of a cricket field than from any classroom.
The Heroes We Grew Up With
Every generation has its cricketing gods. For my dad, it was Sunil Gavaskar. For me, it was — who else? — Sachin Tendulkar. The man was a legend, sure, but more than that, he felt accessible. Like one of us. A kid with a dream who made it big. And when he retired? God, it felt like a piece of my own childhood ended that day.
Later, it was Dhoni. That calm face behind the stumps, finishing matches like he was flipping pancakes. You knew if Dhoni was at the crease, the game wasn’t over. Kohli brought the fire. Rohit brought the elegance. Jadeja? He brought the swag.
But you know who my personal favorite was? VVS Laxman. There was something so poetic about his batting. That 281 against Australia — I don’t care what anyone says, that was art. Not sport. Art.
From Radio to Reels
Back in the day, we’d listen to cricket on the radio. I know that sounds ancient now, but trust me — there was a charm to it. The crackle of the commentator’s voice, the way your imagination filled in the blanks. Now? You get live scores, slow-mo replays, ball-tracking, expert analysis — all on your phone.
Cricket’s changed. It had to. T20 brought in a new wave. IPL turned players into superstars, gave young kids a platform, and filled stadiums like rock concerts. Some people say it’s all become too commercial, too flashy. Maybe they’re right. But who are we to judge? The game’s just evolving, like everything else.
What matters is that kids still pick up a bat and dream. That streets still echo with the sound of “Bowled!” and “Out!” That cricket still makes your heart race.
Not Just for the Boys
One thing I’ve been really happy about in recent years is how women’s cricket is finally getting some spotlight. I’ll admit — for the longest time, I didn’t even know the names of our women players. But now? Mithali, Harmanpreet, Smriti — they’re heroes in their own right. And rightly so.
I still remember that 2017 World Cup final. India didn’t win, but they won us. It was gutsy, emotional, and everything cricket should be. We need more of that. More coverage. More matches. More little girls picking up bats and believing they can go all the way.
Cricket Is Everywhere
You walk through a village and see boys playing barefoot. You ride a train and find strangers huddled around a phone, watching the match. You walk into an office and see half the team sneak glances at the score.
That’s what cricket does. It brings people together — rich, poor, young, old. It gives us something to cheer for, something to argue about, something to hold onto when nothing else makes sense.
One Last Over
I know I’ve rambled a bit here. But maybe that’s the most honest way to talk about cricket — not in bullet points or neat paragraphs, but like a friend telling a story over a cup of chai.
Cricket isn’t perfect. It’s had its scandals, its politics, its ups and downs. But despite everything, we keep coming back to it. Because in some strange, beautiful way, it’s ours.
It’s in our blood. In our weekends. In our WhatsApp groups. In our memories.
And it always will be.
