I held my sister close. I tried to put on a straight face, but my trembling fingers betrayed the fact that I was holding back tears that would not stop once they started flowing. The light was dim, and the long shadows on the walls became monsters that only added to my sister’s fears. Her soaked eyes were buried in my shirt, leaving stains in my heart that no amount of washing would ever remove. Her hands were clutching my waist as if I was the only thing holding her up. Her breaths were heavy and when she tried to speak, no words came out. “It’s … it’s … going to be okay, … trust me” I managed, and tried to force a smile when all I had was disbelief. But adversity tends to expose the latent (but very real) maturity in a usually mischievous and energetic nine year old. I would not let my little sister be affected by the shocking image of my parents fighting and cursing at each other in the worst possible ways, regardless of whether I would be scarred for the rest of my life by it. Actually, although I still remember this scene vividly, I really wouldn’t have been (and haven’t been) scarred for the rest of my life. Throughout my childhood I’d seen TV shows and books where the male protagonist would not let …show more content…
And so, I went to cricket coaching with the same excitement and energy from the match I’d seen. I did every single drill the coach asked me to do: ranging from running across a lake (the total length was 5 kilometers) to shadow practicing until I perfected the form of my shot. It was all in the belief that I would one day be good enough to play on the Indian team. I jumped at my parents and forced them to let me control the TV every time I could, just so that I could watch famous cricket matches on DVD. I also played cricket with my friends every weekend, collected cricket cards, … you get the idea. So now, it should not be as surprising that cricket served as a major distraction (and focus) from even moments like the one at the beginning of this