Chapter 3: Breaking the Timeline

The 5 AM darkness wrapped around me like a blanket as I jogged to the academy. My breath formed small clouds in the January chill â€" a detail I'd forgotten about 2003 winters. The streets were empty except for newspaper vendors and milk deliverymen, who gave curious looks to the teenager running with a cricket kit at this ungodly hour.

Coach Kulkarni was already there, setting up the bowling machine â€" a recent addition to our modest academy that had cost him his savings. In my original timeline, it had broken down within months from misuse. Another thing I could change.

"Good morning, sir," I said, dropping my bag. "Before we start, can I show you how they maintain these machines in Australia?" The lie came easily â€" better than explaining I'd learned this from a YouTube video that wouldn't exist for years.

As we worked through my early morning session, I began introducing elements that wouldn't become common in Indian cricket for years: high-intensity interval training between batting stints, specific visualization techniques, and the shadow practicing of unconventional shots that would become T20 staples.

"These exercises," Coach said, watching me do planks between bowling spells, "where did you learn them?"

"Reading about Australian and South African training methods, sir." Another half-truth. These were actually from the 2015 Indian team's fitness regime under Kohli's captaincy, but I couldn't exactly say that.

By 6:30, other players started arriving. Rohit, our fast bowler, joined my fitness routine with curious enthusiasm. Within days, our early morning group grew from two to five, then ten. I was careful not to show off too much during these sessions, but I couldn't help correcting basic techniques that I knew would become crucial.

"Watch the wrist position," I told Rohit during his bowling run-up. "In five years, all fast bowlers will focus on this." I caught myself. "I mean, this is how Brett Lee does it."

One morning, about two weeks into our new routine, Coach called me aside. "Arjun, the under-16 state trials are next month."

My heart stopped. In my original timeline, I hadn't even considered attending these trials. By this time, I'd already been focused on engineering entrance exam preparations.

"You should go," he said, then hesitated. "But there's something else. Mr. Dravid will be there."

Rahul Dravid â€" who in my timeline would go on to become one of India's most successful cricket coaches, transforming how young cricketers were trained. In 2003, he was still just a player, though one of India's finest.

"The way you've been training these boys," Coach continued, "the new techniques you're showing them... I mentioned it to some people. They're interested."

I sat down heavily on the bench. This was a major deviation from my timeline. In my previous life, Coach Kulkarni's connection to Dravid had never been utilized because he'd had no special talent to showcase. Now, my future knowledge was drawing attention.

That evening, I stared at my diary entry from 2025: "Maybe if I'd trained smarter, not harder. Maybe if I'd known then what I know now about cricket fitness and technique. Maybe if I'd just had the confidence..."

Well, now I had all three. But I also had something else â€" the weight of knowing how every small change could ripple through time. If I attended these trials, if I caught Dravid's attention... how much would that change the future?

At dinner, I broke the news about the trials to my parents. Mom immediately started planning what sweets to pack for my energy. Dad was quieter, but I saw him later googling "cricket state trials preparation" on his ancient computer.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I pulled out my notebook and started mapping out everything I knew about cricket development in the next two decades. The IPL would revolutionize the game, but it was built on the foundation of countless small innovations in technique and training. Many of those innovations I was already quietly introducing at our academy.

My Nokia beeped â€" a message from Rohit: "Bhai, early practice tomorrow also?"

I smiled. In my original timeline, Rohit had given up cricket after college. Now he was showing remarkable improvement with the new training techniques. Another change to the timeline.

Looking at my ceiling, I made a decision. The butterfly effect was already in motion. Maybe instead of trying to preserve the timeline, I needed to focus on making it better. Not just for me, but for Coach Kulkarni, for Rohit, for every kid who'd give up cricket because they were born a few years too early for the opportunities that would come.

I got up and went to my kit bag, pulling out the tennis ball I'd been using to perfect the carrom ball. The state trials were a month away. By then, I needed to be good enough to get noticed, but not so revolutionary that I'd draw too much attention. It was a fine line to walk.

But then again, that's what cricket is all about â€" balance. Between defense and attack, between tradition and innovation, between the past and the future. And now, for me, between preserving history and changing it.

I set my alarm for 4:30 AM. Tomorrow would be another day of practicing shots that hadn't been invented yet, of teaching techniques that were ahead of their time, of carefully nudging the future in a new direction.

The weight of unwritten history was heavy, but the bat in my hands felt lighter every day.