Chapter 6 — The Badminton Discovery
Age: 6 Years Old
Summer arrived heavily over Kolkata.
The air near Dakshineswar Kali Temple felt thick with humidity even before sunrise.
Sweat clung to skin constantly.
The narrow lanes buzzed with:
tram bells,
cycle horns,
fish sellers shouting,
temple chants floating through morning air.
And every single morning, before the city properly awakened, six-year-old Riddhiman Paul trained.
Not because someone forced him.
Because fear forced him.
Fear of wasting another life.
Fear of becoming ordinary again.
That fear had already become routine.
At six years old, his body had begun changing slowly.
Not stronger exactly.
More responsive.
Yoga improved balance.
Stretching increased flexibility.
Endless shadow batting sharpened movement patterns.
Even Ghosh Kaku had started noticing something unsettling: Riddhiman learned body mechanics abnormally fast.
Too fast.
One evening after cricket practice, the old coach sat beneath a tree wiping sweat with towel while children argued loudly nearby over run counts.
Riddhiman remained near practice net again.
Always practicing.
Always adjusting something.
Grip.
Footwork.
Bat angle.
Never satisfied.
Ghosh Kaku suddenly asked:
"School e sports khelar byabostha ache?"
(Does your school have sports activities?)
Riddhiman looked up.
"Ache."
(Yes.)
"Cricket chara kichhu kheli?"
(Do you play anything besides cricket?)
Riddhiman shook his head.
The old coach remained silent briefly before speaking again.
"Bhool."
Riddhiman frowned slightly.
"Cricket shudhu cricket diye hoy na."
(Cricket is not built only through cricket.)
That line immediately caught his attention.
Ghosh Kaku pointed toward nearby badminton court beside local club building.
A few teenagers played doubles under yellow lights.
Fast movement.
Sharp reactions.
Constant footwork.
"Oi game ta dekh."
(Watch that game.)
Riddhiman turned toward court.
The shuttle moved insanely fast.
Players reacted instantly:
lunging,
rotating,
recovering balance,
adjusting angles.
His eyes slowly sharpened.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The old coach continued calmly:
"Batting er shobcheye important jinis ki?"
(What is the most important thing in batting?)
"Timing," Riddhiman answered immediately.
Ghosh Kaku shook his head.
"Balance."
Then pointed again toward badminton court.
"Oi game balance aar reaction duita-i banay."
(That game builds both balance and reaction.)
Something clicked inside Riddhiman instantly.
Because suddenly he understood: future cricket wasn't only about technique.
It would become:
faster,
more reactive,
more athletic.
And badminton perfectly trained:
explosive movement,
wrist speed,
reflex adjustment,
recovery balance.
His pulse quickened slightly.
Another piece of the puzzle.
Three days later, six-year-old Riddhiman entered the local badminton club for first time.
The hall smelled of:
sweat,
old wood,
dust,
rubber shoes.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead while shuttle sounds echoed endlessly through room.
Most children there looked excited.
Riddhiman looked observant.
A coach handed him racket casually.
"Agey khelichis?"
(Have you played before?)
"No."
The coach nodded absentmindedly.
Then feeding drills began.
At first, Riddhiman struggled badly.
His timing failed repeatedly.
The racket felt awkward compared to cricket bat.
But after fifteen minutes—
something changed.
His eyes adjusted.
His footwork stabilized.
And suddenly his reactions became unnaturally sharp.
Not because he was talented at badminton.
Because his brain constantly analyzed movement patterns.
Angles.
Recovery.
Timing windows.
Balance shifts.
The same systems he used in cricket began adapting automatically.
The coach's expression slowly changed.
Interesting child.
Very serious.
After one particular rally, Riddhiman instinctively adjusted body weight mid-movement and recovered impossible balance.
The coach blinked once.
That recovery should not happen naturally at six years old.
Meanwhile, inside Riddhiman's mind, excitement exploded quietly.
This worked.
Badminton directly improved:
reaction timing,
body control,
split-step movement,
wrist manipulation.
Especially wrists.
That realization thrilled him most.
Because wrists controlled:
late cuts,
flicks,
shot redirection,
future improvisation.
And if his wrists became faster—
then conscious batting itself would evolve faster too.
For first time since rebirth, Riddhiman felt genuinely ahead of his era.
Weeks passed.
Now his routine became monstrous for a six-year-old child.
Morning:
yoga,
stretching,
balance drills.
Afternoon:
school,
shadow practice.
Evening:
cricket nets,
badminton training.
Night:
visualization,
movement analysis,
silent batting practice on rooftop.
His mother became increasingly worried.
One evening during dinner, she stared at him seriously.
"Tor boyosh chhoy bochor."
(You are six years old.)
Riddhiman quietly ate fish curry.
"Shobshomoy practice korish keno?"
(Why do you practice all the time?)
He remained silent briefly.
Because the real answer sounded insane.
Finally he replied softly:
"Better hote hobe."
(I have to become better.)
His mother sighed helplessly.
"Kar theke?"
(Better than whom?)
Riddhiman's fingers paused slightly over rice.
Everyone.
But he couldn't say that.
So he simply lowered his eyes and continued eating.
From nearby radio, cricket commentary played softly in background.
Again: Sachin Tendulkar dominating somewhere.
The entire country worshipped him already.
Yet strangely, Riddhiman no longer watched Sachin emotionally.
Now he studied him.
Because admiration and obsession were different things.
Very different things.
One rainy evening after badminton practice, Riddhiman walked home carrying racket beside cricket kit.
Rainwater flooded narrow Kolkata lanes while tram tracks reflected yellow streetlights.
His body hurt badly.
Legs exhausted.
Wrists aching.
Shoulders burning.
But internally—
he felt alive.
Because for first time in both his lives, he felt himself changing intentionally.
Not drifting.
Not surviving.
Building.
As he crossed near Ganga ghat, heavy wind blew rain across river surface violently.
Temple bells echoed faintly through storm.
Riddhiman stopped walking briefly.
Then slowly shadowed a batting movement using badminton grip reflex.
His wrists snapped faster naturally now.
The imaginary shot changed direction later than before.
His eyes widened slightly.
Late adjustment.
Important.
Very important.
Future cricket would reward late decision-making enormously.
And badminton strengthened exactly that skill.
Excitement spread through him rapidly.
Another evolution path discovered.
That night on rooftop, while rain struck surrounding buildings endlessly, Riddhiman practiced shadow batting again.
Only now—
his movements looked different.
Sharper.
More reactive.
Less rigid.
His feet adjusted faster.
Wrists reacted later.
Balance recovered quicker.
And somewhere during those endless repetitions, a terrifying realization settled fully into his mind:
Cricket players trained cricket.
But he—
he was building an athlete capable of controlling cricket itself.