Chapter 2: Nitish

Nitish was born and brought up in Kurnool, a small town in Andhra Pradesh. Growing up among dusty roads and humble homes, he always dreamed of a better life. He loved cricket from a young age. In the evenings, he would sit outside with his friends and play cricket on the narrow streets. His heart beat fast every time he saw a cricket ball fly in the air. But even then, he also loved numbers. He spent many hours with an old, worn-out book on mathematics. In those pages, he found a world of ideas that sparked his curiosity.

When Nitish finished high school, he set his eyes on a bright future. He dreamed of studying abroad and making a mark in the world of data science. With the help of a few scholarships and his own hard work, Nitish made it to a good university in the USA. He was excited beyond measure. In the United States, everything was new and shiny. The campus was modern, the classrooms were full of bright ideas, and his teachers encouraged him to explore new ways to use data to tell stories.

In his master's program, Nitish learned about machine learning, statistics, and data visualization. He spent long hours in libraries and computer labs, always eager to learn. Every new topic excited him. He loved how data could be used to predict trends, understand people's behavior, and even help in sports like cricket. He believed that with the right data, one could solve many puzzles of the world. His classmates admired him for his clear thinking and his ability to explain complex ideas in a simple way.

However, after graduation, things did not go as planned. Nitish sent out many job applications. He went to many interviews, sometimes even traveling to cities like San Francisco and New York. But every time he got an interview, the result was the same—a polite rejection. The job market was very competitive, and despite his good grades and strong skills, he could not find a job in the field of data science. Day after day, Nitish received emails saying "Thank you, but we have decided to move forward with another candidate."

After nearly a year of struggles, Nitish felt very lost. The dreams he had carried all the way to America began to fade. With a heavy heart and fewer options left, he decided to return to his home in Kurnool. Taking a flight back to India, he left behind the bright buildings and busy streets of the USA. He came home with a suitcase full of memories and a head full of ideas, but also with a deep sense of disappointment.

Back in Kurnool, things did not feel the same as he had imagined. His parents had been very proud of him when he left for America. They had hung his admission letter on the wall and often spoke of his future with hope. But now, with Nitish back home, their praise turned into worry. Every time his father saw him, his look held both pride and sadness. His mother would ask him softly, "Beta, what will you do now?" Their eyes, once filled with hope, now held a hint of worry.

Nitish's sister, Aisha, was already working and busy with her career. She had found a good job in a well-known company in Hyderabad. Aisha had always been serious about her studies and work. When Nitish returned, things between them changed. Aisha did not speak to him as much as before. In the evenings, when the family gathered for a small meal, Aisha often sat quietly, her eyes fixed on her phone or her work. She had little time left for brotherly chats. For her, Nitish had become a reminder of what she saw as a wasted chance. She felt that while she had moved on and built her career, Nitish was stuck, unable to find his place.

Feeling the weight of failure, Nitish turned to one place where he could feel useful and understood—a social media platform called Twitter. On Twitter, he began to share his love for cricket. It was a quiet escape from the world that seemed to have forgotten him. Every morning, he would turn on his old laptop and check his Twitter feed. He posted little observations about cricket matches, sometimes writing short analyses in simple language. Other times, he created funny memes that poked fun at the way teams played or the strange decisions made by coaches. His tweets were filled with a kind of raw, honest insight that came from years of watching cricket on dusty television screens in his hometown.

Nitish's cricket memes quickly began to catch the attention of other cricket fans. People started liking and retweeting his posts. They appreciated his unique view of the game—one that mixed solid statistics with a pinch of humor. His numbers were simple, his language plain, and his passion clear. While many others discussed cricket in highbrow terms, Nitish's words were like that familiar conversation you had with an old friend on a lazy afternoon. Slowly, his follower count grew. It wasn't all praise—sometimes, his tweets received criticism from others who preferred a different style. But for every negative comment, there were many more who appreciated his honest take.

There were nights when Nitish stayed up late, refreshing his feed to see if there was any new comment or retweet. The little digital applause gave him a spark of hope. Even though his real-life days were filled with routine and a sense of rejection, these small victories online made him feel alive. In his room, surrounded by textbooks, cricket posters of famous players he grew up watching, and his old laptop humming on his desk, Nitish created a world for himself—a world where his ideas mattered.

Despite spending most of his time on Twitter, Nitish's life was not without challenges. His parents often looked at him with worry. They still did not understand why he did not try harder to get a regular job in data science, a field that he had studied so diligently for. They believed that he was wasting his talents. His mother would sometimes say, "When will you find a proper job, Beta? Look at your cousin Kiran; he is already doing well." His father, who once bragged about Nitish's American degree, now spoke less and barely made eye contact. The small apartment they lived in seemed to carry the heavy silence of unfulfilled dreams.

Aisha, his sister, rarely joined him when he tried to chat about cricket or his new tweets. She was busy with work meetings and office emails. Sometimes, she would send a brief text that said, "Busy, will call later," and then nothing more. Nitish missed the times when his sister was his first fan. He remembered when she used to play cricket with him in their courtyard and cheer him on when he scored a boundary. Now, each message from her felt distant and formal. Their relationship had slowly slipped into a quiet distance that left Nitish feeling even lonelier.

Over time, Nitish realized that while his Twitter account gave him a small voice and a rabbit's foot of hope, it was still a digital world. He often wondered about the cost of living inside a screen all day. There was no one at his side to share his moments of small wins, no warm hand to hold his as he walked through the crowded streets of Kurnool. The friendly nods from neighbors that once made him feel included had now faded away. In fact, most people now saw him as the quiet, odd man who loved cricket a little too much.

Every day, Nitish followed his routine. He would wake up early in the morning, make a cup of tea in a small, chipped mug, and sit at his desk. The morning light would fall through the window, illuminating a small stack of papers filled with cricket stats and sketches for memes. He would log onto Twitter and spend hours scrolling through the latest updates on cricket matches happening around the world. In these quiet hours, he would gather new ideas and write down notes for tweets that could capture a moment or a trend in the game. His tweets ranged from predictions about a match's outcome, simple statistics about a player's performance, to light-hearted jokes about the choices made by cricket teams.

Sometimes, during these long hours, Nitish thought back to his days in the USA. He remembered bustling cafes where he once discussed data science with classmates, long nights in a quiet library, and lively group discussions that made him feel part of a global community. But those memories now felt distant, like pages from a book that he had read long ago. He wondered if he had made the right choice by coming back home. Here in Kurnool, things were simpler but also colder. Opportunities were fewer, and the pace of life was slower.

Nitish's only comfort was the passion he had for cricket. The game was a constant companion—a reminder of days when he played freely on the dusty fields, when the sound of a bat hitting the ball could erase all worries. Cricket gave him a way to translate his deep love of numbers into something meaningful. Every player's performance was a puzzle, every match a story waiting to be told. And while he could not change his reality in the job market, he could at least bring joy to others with his unique view of the game.

One evening, after a quiet dinner at home where the brief conversation was mostly about the weather and daily chores, Nitish sat down in his room. The room was small and simple, with a worn-out fan slowly turning above his head. He opened his laptop and began typing a tweet about a recent cricket match. In his tweet, he noted how a particular bowler's averages did not match with his on-field behavior. He explained it in simple words, mixing statistics with the kind of humor that only someone like him could muster. Within minutes, his tweet received a handful of retweets. It was a small achievement, but it felt big to him.

Nitish leaned back and smiled. In that moment, the warm glow of his laptop screen made him forget a little bit about the harder parts of his day—the disappointed looks of his parents, the distant silence of his sister, and the emptiness that sometimes seeped into his heart during quiet late nights. Here, among the cheerful interactions on Twitter, he was known as someone who brought fresh ideas and simple truths about the game he loved.

As days turned into weeks, Nitish began to see change in small ways. A few local cricket clubs started discussing his tweets. Some even mentioned his name during post-match chats at small tea stalls. Though he never met these people in person, knowing that his words reached hearts in his town gave him a renewed sense of purpose. He started to compile his cricket observations into short articles. He would spend an afternoon sitting in a quiet corner of a nearby park, jotting down ideas and patting his old notebook filled with sketches and thoughts.

Even though his parents still hoped for a well-paying job in data science, they could not ignore the spark in his eyes whenever he talked about cricket. They saw that cricket was more than just a hobby for him—it was a lifeline. Even if the digital world was the only place where Nitish truly felt at home, it reminded them of the little boy who once ran around the fields with dreams in his eyes.

Aisha, his sister, remained busy with her work. One day, during a rare family dinner when the conversation was a bit warmer, Aisha briefly asked, "Nitish, can you explain what you meant in that tweet about the bowler's average?" Her tone was short, almost business-like, and the question did not come with any warmth. Nitish tried to explain in simple words how his data revealed an unusual pattern in the player's performance, and for a moment, there was a pause at the table. Then Aisha excused herself, returning to her phone without a word. That evening, Nitish felt the cold distance between them more keenly than ever. Despite her rare attempts to understand his work, Aisha remained distant—a strong reminder of the differences in their lives.

Night after night, while others in the town went off to sleep, Nitish continued to live his quiet digital life. The lights of the room grew dim as he wrapped himself in a soft blanket, the echo of cricket commentary and the clicking of keyboard keys his only companions. Even though he felt alone at times, there was comfort in the routine. Each new tweet, every retweet, and every comment reaffirmed to him that he was not forgotten. The online cricket community had given him a stage, however small, to speak the language of his passion.

Nitish sometimes wondered about the future. There were days when he hoped that his tweets might lead to better opportunities—perhaps even back in the field of data science, or in a role related to cricket analysis. He imagined a day when his ideas would be recognized by a local cricket team or a media outlet that focused on sports statistics. Despite his many setbacks, the hope of a breakthrough kept him going. He believed that success might still come, even if it took a long time.

In the quiet hours of early morning, before the town woke up, Nitish would sit by his window and watch the first rays of sun. He thought about how far he had come—from a small boy in Kurnool playing street cricket to a young man with a master's degree from a foreign land, and now back home, trying to find his place in a world that had moved on. The journey had been long and filled with unexpected turns, but even in his struggles, Nitish clung to the dream of making a mark with his love for cricket.

And so, day after day, Nitish continued his simple life—wandering through the busy streets of Kurnool during the day and retreating to his room in the evening. His world was divided between the physical and the digital. The warm, familiar glow of his small room and the vast, endless realm of Twitter became the two worlds that he managed to navigate. Though one was filled with the tangible sounds of daily life and the other with the quiet buzz of online interactions, both worlds had one thing in common—they reflected Nitish's enduring love for cricket.

In the midst of all his loneliness, hard times, and the heavy burden of unmet expectations, Nitish held fast to his passion. He believed that one day his simple truths and heartfelt observations might shine through the noise. He might yet find a chance to change how people saw both cricket and himself. Until that day came, Nitish continued to share his thoughts on Twitter, one simple, honest tweet at a time—a quiet rebellion against a world that had yet to understand the beauty of his vision.

As the stars filled the night sky over Kurnool, Nitish closed his laptop, feeling both the quiet sorrow of a lost future and the gentle hope that his words might someday light the way. In that small room, with the soft hum of his old computer and the distant sounds of the city, Nitish took a deep breath. He knew that despite the challenges, he would keep tweeting, keep dreaming, and keep believing that his passion for cricket could open the door to a better tomorrow.

Thus, the story of Nitish—the data science graduate from Kurnool with a love for cricket, a talent for making memes, and a heart full of dreams—continued to unfold. Each day was a new page in his life, and every tweet was a step toward a future that he hoped would one day understand him fully.