“It’s too late Ayaan. Now put that phone down and get into your bed quickly”. I sighed. “Come on mamma it’s just 10 pm. I’ll be fast asleep by 10:30, I promise”. I had an important upcoming badminton match next day in the National Youth Championship in the semi-finals, and I couldn’t sleep due to excitement – or rather anxiety. Rather than sprawling on my bed, I decided to check out some strategies for my match. After scrupulous research, I decided to finally sleep, while thinking about different shots I could practice before the match. I didn’t realize when I dozed off, but soon I could hear my alarm beeping hard – 8 am!!
The tournament semi-finals kicked off with Pool A’s first match in the league. Everyone was busy there, but I was into profound insight about my match. There was no way I could lose, after all the efforts I had devoted. Still my conscience told me I was shaking – not physically but emotionally. Soon enough it was time for my match, and I entered the court like being awakened from a deep slumber. The match proceeded with an advantage to the opponent, which ultimately started to increase – along with my heartbeat. I was struggling – not in the match, but against my own mind which was hesitant to act as I wanted.
The first set ended with a one-sided 21-8. I was now literally shaking; I dropped my water bottle. My coach was watching from a distance….. Why is he not guiding me through? Does he want me to lose? The break was over and determined to make a comeback in the second set, I set my shaking feet on the court. Soon I was again lagging behind with 4 against 20. He had to land down a just single hit. Was it over……? My championship journey was about to be cut short. With these thoughts muddled in my head I accidentally laid down a perfect opportunity for my opponent. And he was not careless like me and landed a perfect smash which came like a bullet to me dashing through the noise. I lost my grip over my racket, as if my limbs declined to respond and the shuttle cock pierced through me like a bullet. I felt myself sinking in the earth and all I could hear was name among the crowd.
“Ayaan? Ayaan…? Ayaan!” Bright sunlight flashed into my eyes through the windows. I could see everyone standing around me. “Ayaan? You alright? What has happened to you?” I could hear my mom’s voice but still I could not respond. I wanted to say, but the grief of losing took over me. I just nodded and dully replied into affirmative. Everyone was full of questions to bombard, but my eyes searched for my coach, a tall man of 37 years – 6 foot 3 inches. He was standing at the doorway and his eyes bent down as if in shame. Did I just break all his expectations and my promise of winning the Championship? I got up from my bed to advance towards him, but something took over me…. I slipped back onto the stretcher and my eyes shutting down into oblivion.
I was startled with a jerk. This time it was pure gloomy with enough light to see. I could see my coach just over my head glaring down into my eyes. I fell off the bed I was lying on. “Is this all you got?” the voice was my coach’s but not the tone. It was not the way he usually addressed me. “Oh, come on, don’t be a weakling – grab that racket of yours and land on the court. I couldn’t see anyone else in the room. Neither could a single voice be heard except that of ours. “Where are the others?” I questioned daringly, as we moved down to the stadium through the dimly lit corridor. “Whom are you talking about? Those who had their high hopes on you just to be shattered into fine pieces? They all have left in despair, yearning for happiness and satisfaction.”
I didn’t have the faintest idea of what he was talking about while we were walking down. “I am asking about mom-” “Shut that blabbering of yours and get hold of you racket” He interrupted me as I was just about to ask him again. Hesitantly I picked up my favorite racket from the pile, as we finally arrived. “Not that one! Pick the one lying at the corner”, I glanced to broken racket lying above the stool. It resembled my own racket but looked like if a sphere had passed through it with great velocity. “This one?” I confirmed while pointing towards it. “Of course that’s yours one. Don’t you remember the shuttle cock piercing it down in the previous match? I couldn’t remember properly. The racket surely fell down before I fainted so this could not have happened. “Oh, now be quick and stop slacking off” He shouted before I could give it another thought. “Can’t I use the other ones lying here… this one doesn’t seem like can be used in the game”. I prompted. “Come on, that’s your favorite racket – and lucky one too! You decorated the dreams of winning the championship with that racket. And that’s the gift from your brother” Something hit me. So, was the racket actually broken? The one my brother had gifted me on my 19th birthday. He was an avid badminton player while he was in his early twenties, but an unfortunate accident caused his one leg to be amputated. Now, he just wanted me to continue my passion for this game while he worked in a corporate office, supporting me whenever I need. “Are you just going to sulk there or accept my match challenge?” A challenge? I thought he was going to teach me some shots. Without any further ado, I joined in with my broken racket. But how was I even supposed to play with it? Suddenly I thought it could be a dream. It has to be a dream! Everything is so unrealistic. I tried pinching, slapping and even shaking myself. But none of those methods worked. Accepting the situation, I finally entered the court. All of a sudden, I could feel the presence of people in the stadium. I could see my mom and friends seated in the stands watching me. At the bottom most row I saw my brother… how?
He was supposed to be in Mumbai! He didn’t even turn up for my match. He seemed to be the only person smiling at me. Other sat in their respective seats as if consumed by the gloomy atmosphere. “Now focus!” My coach ordered as he took the first serve. I missed the first shot – how could I even make it when the shuttle went past through it. “Come on no excuses and return the shuttle to me” He cut me before I could even say something. I was too tired – mentally exhausted to listen to my conscience. Just as I picked up the cock and returned it to my coach the score board lit with 1-0.
Seriously, I was playing an official match with such a disadvantage? “Your racket isn’t the only broken thing you’ve got. Something else’s broken too. Now focus here! We will have 5 sets of 21 and if you lose, I will stop training you.” That came like a snipe shot to me. Just this mean that I was so worse at this game that I was not worthy of even being trained? I tried to focus upon the match but couldn’t. I was fighting a double-edged battle – One with my coach and one with my inner self. My mind resisted my instructions. The score board beeped again, 11-1. The one score that was in my favor happened due to an accidental contact of the shuttle with iron frame of racket. The situation seemed familiar, isn’t this similar to what was happening in the morning’s match?
It definitely was Déjà vu…. But how was I supposed to deal with it? I again heard a beep with score board flashing 20-1. My coach took another serve, and I again touched it with the frame of racket. It went easily like a piece of cake, and he landed a massive smash at me like what had happened in the morning’s match. This time, the shuttle again went through the racket and struck me straight on the forehead. Simultaneously, my mind hit me too. It felt like my conscience had finally surrendered and agreed to obey me. I may have lost that set, but I regained my consciousness, so that I could focus on the match.
The next set proceeded with my serve, and I made a near to perfect one. How? I peeked at my racket. It seemed like some of its strings had rejoined. Still, there was enough space for shuttle to pass through. Ignoring the miracle, I focused upon the match. I was again losing but this time 6 to 11. I had to improve; else it would be a bitter loss. Despite being able to control my mind again, I felt as if something was missing. A piece of puzzle was absent, and I lost my focus again. Again, an impactful smash came tearing through the air my racket, making me lose total 18 points.
This time, it was harsh and felt like total destruction. I fell upon my knees and looked towards my coach.
He was smiling viciously and seemed to be surrounded with rigor and flaming passion. Something was unusual about his aura, it was too dazzling. It lit up and blinded me at the same time. I was succumbing to loss and grief… Then he spoke, with a glittering charm in his voice, “Ever heard about phoenix? The Bird which rises from its ashes. Is it so simple that it’s way of diminishing serves as the way of revival? No! Even after being defeated, before trying again, one must have enough guts to even think about getting up. Only Phoenix’s pure will can transform the ashes into his medium of rebirth”. I tried to consume the essence of his words.
Not instantly, I got it. I understood the mistake I had been repeatedly making- I always focused on training myself physically. I had played many matches, and constantly won, but this loss in the championship was one which came different. I had not prepared myself for it. My mind was not used to a grief so impactful.
It was true; even before trying again it takes guts to think about trying again. I had been so coward that even my mind wouldn’t respond to my orders.
I regained my focus and got up. Suddenly everything seemed so changed; the atmosphere of the stadium suddenly changed. The twilight poured in through the glasses, pushing the gloom outside. I firmly griped the racket as my coach took a serve. It was a perfect one – but intentionally designed to be hit hard and so I did, landing a perfect smash that went soaring down into opposing court. I looked at my racket in pure awe. The racket was good as new, without even a single scratch.
Despite gaining my confidence I lost by 17-21. I could lose no more. Remaining three sets had to be dominated by me.
“Follow me. Let’s get an energy drink from the cafeteria.” My coach instructed. I tagged along as we move into the corridor leading to cafeteria. In the hallway I saw the painting which I did not bother to see earlier. One of it depicted a phoenix burning down into ashes and then reviving from it. The caption stated - “Phoenix the golden bird, which never gives up, is a symbol of determinations, courage, resilience and will.” Another painting at the entrance of cafeteria displayed a person holding a trophy while his knees touched the ground. “A champion is one who learn from his losses and continues the adventure he has embarked upon” My coach read the caption. He fetched a drink from the refrigerator and passed it to me. “Drinks on me, for a painstaking session” Those were the last words I heard before taking a sip. Instantly I could feel myself falling into the depth of multiple dimensions in the blink of an eye. With an abrupt jerk, I woke up on the stretcher. This time only my mother, my brother and my coach were present in the room. They all sighed in relief. Nurse came running to inspect me. She might have said that I had not fully recovered my energy, but I was ready – to hop onto my practice and get onto the tracks. “I’m ready to have a fresh start, Dad”, I told my coach. All the things have been taught to me by him; he was my father – and only coach also.
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