1 1. A Dream Deferred

The searing sun shone down on the hectic streets of Hyderabad, casting long shadows over its inhabitants hurried footsteps. Inside a tall glass structure was a man with disheveled black hair and deep-set brown eyes intensely fixated on the computer screen in front of him. His lean body was outfitted in a plain shirt and trousers, looking as if he was preparing to leave for the day. He had typical South Indian features: an aquiline nose and a well-marked jawline. An ID card marked with his name, Charan Kumar, was placed on his cluttered desk.

Charan was a 28-year-old man living in Hyderabad city. He worked at a small corporate company and his desk was located in the northwest corner of the building, above the bull pen where 17 other employees worked. His office overlooked the street below where cars, motorcycles and auto rickshaws lined up to move about the city. Crowds of people were on their way to work or to shop or visit friends. Some were dressed like him, in a white shirt and trousers, while others wore different colors and styles of clothing that represented their culture and stated their personalities more clearly than Charan knew how to. They all shared this space, moving and mixing together like water through fish gills as they went about their daily lives. The only sound louder than the engine sounds outside was Charan's thoughts about his life and what could have been, which he kept to himself.

He had grown up with a passion for cricket, something that was common among many young boys in India, but his circumstances didn't allow him to pursue it professionally. Instead, he had settled for a regular job at a small company, where he spent most of his day sitting in front of his computer, typing away at his keyboard. It was a monotonous routine, but it paid the bills.

As he sat there, his mind drifted to the previous day's T20 World Cup semifinal match between India and England. He had watched the match with great enthusiasm, hoping that India would come out on top. But alas, it was not to be. India had lost the match, and with it, their chance to play in the final. Charan felt a deep sense of disappointment and frustration, as if he had lost something very valuable to him.

He remembered how he used to dream of becoming a cricketer when he was young. He had grown up playing cricket on the streets with his friends, and he was always the one who was picked first for the team. His skills had impressed everyone, and he had even been selected for the school team. But fate had different plans for him. His family had financial problems, and they couldn't afford to support his dream of becoming a professional cricketer. So, he had to let go of his dream and focus on getting a job that would help him support his family.

But even though he had given up his dream of becoming a cricketer, his passion for the sport had never died. He still followed every cricket match with great enthusiasm, and his knowledge of the game was unmatched. He knew every player, every statistic, and every game-changing moment in the history of Indian cricket. He could talk for hours about the game with anyone who was interested.

As he sat there, lost in thought, a strange feeling came over him. It was as if he was being pulled in all directions, like a puppet on strings. Suddenly, his surroundings faded away, and he was left in a void of darkness.

When Charan opened his eyes, he was no longer in his office. He was lying on a small bed in a cramped room, surrounded by unfamiliar objects. He sat up, confused, and looked down at his hands. They were small and smooth, lacking the calluses or the roughness he had developed over the years.

As he tried to get up, he stumbled and fell back onto the bed. It was then that he noticed something else - his body felt different. He was lighter and more agile than he had been in years. Looking down at his legs, he saw that they were thin and unblemished, with no signs of the wear and tear of adulthood.In that moment all he could say to himself was: "What the hell is going on?!"