Make your own kind of Music | A Shubman Gill x Ishan Kishan Fanfiction

The Under-19 seniors

PAST

January 2018

The funny thing was, almost everyone in their Under-19 squad complained of suffering from imposter syndrome, which Shubman was not, and yet they were all more confident than Shubman.

The day they gathered for the camp and were addressed by the BCCI Head, Shubman felt his knees trembling. The day they first met their coach, the legendary Rahul Dravid, Shubman felt near faint. And the day before they were about to leave for New Zealand, when a few members of the previous Under-19 squad dropped by their camp...technically, their seniors...and asked for introductions, Shubman actually forgot his own name.

Prithvi's predecessor, Ishan Kishan, and his own, Rishabh Pant, looked at him curiously when he began, "I'm, uh-" and froze.

"He's Shubman Gill from Punjab," Prithvi put in, clearly under the impression he was being helpful.

"Yes, but can't he speak?" Ishan asked Prithvi, sounding honestly curious.

Shubman went red to the roots of his hair and wished he could disappear.

"He can," said Prithvi. "But he gets tongue-tied in front of, um, a lot of people."

"Isn't he the vice captain?" Rishabh joined in. "Isn't he required to speak to, um, those lot of people? I know I was."

"But Prithvi is mostly always around," Abhishek said, snickering. "So he can do the whole talking part, like he's doing now."

"Shut up," Shubman told Abhishek, in a low voice, but at least he could talk again.

Ishan and Rishabh noticed that with great pleasure from their wide grins.

"See, you can talk," said Ishan with a most patronizing air.

"Yes, I-" Shubman paused. 'I can talk' seemed a really stupid thing to say. With that realization, of course, he got tongue-tied again.

Their coach Rahul bhai coming and calling them for practice felt nothing short of life-saving to Shubman. Their seniors hung around to watch. After practice, both Ishan and Rishabh caught up with Shubman, who had been trying to sneak out of the grounds as quietly as possible.

"Are you running away?" Rishabh asked.

His eyes were twinkling, but Shubman still felt cornered.

"No," he mumbled. "I was just..."

"But you play like there's magic in your bat, Shubman," said Ishan unexpectedly. "What exactly are you scared of?"

Shubman felt himself flushing again at the idea of a senior watching him play and praising his batting. Though it was definitely not the first time, he still had trouble reacting to people talking about his batting. Unless it was his father.

"I'm not...scared," he managed to say.

"You're worried you'll make a fool of yourself if you open your mouth?" asked Rishabh.

The irony, since he was already doing that, even without opening his mouth much.

"M-maybe," he stammered.

"Who is your idol?" asked Ishan.

"Virat Kohli," said Shubman without a single thought.

"And you're scared to open your mouth in front of strangers?"

Shubman was by then seriously considering making a run for it.

"Look, the two of us are pissing you off," said Ishan, starting to grin. "Virat Kohli would never back off if people were having a go at him. He'd give it right back to anyone who has a go at him or anyone close to him."

Yes, but I'm not Virat Kohli.

"I-I know."

"Come on, then." Rishabh was also grinning. "Give it back to us."

Shubman considered the running option again.

Another of the seniors, Washington Sundar, Shubman thought, took pity on him and intervened. "Don't bother the poor kid."

Shubman thought he should be insulted at being called the poor kid, but he was too relieved to feel insulted.

"Don't mind them," Washington told him. "They're born troublemakers."

"We were just-"

"-having a bit of fun-"

"At the expense of someone," said Washington sternly. "They're our juniors, we should be encouraging them, not frightening them off."

Shubman thought he could do very well indeed without the encouragement of seniors like Ishan Kishan and Rishabh Pant.

***

That evening, Shubman was walking along the sidelines of the grounds, lost in thoughts.

"Catch!"

Shubman started and looked up to find a medal flying at him. He caught it by the strap and turned to Ishan, bemused.

"That's our silver medal," said Ishan. "I've been looking to dump it on someone, because it's a constant reminder of a failure, you know?"

"But you were runners up," said Shubman. "That's not so bad-"

"Someone said there are only two types of people in the world." Ishan grinned. "Winners and losers. If you're not the winner, you're the loser."

"Oh!"

"Go and convert it to gold, Shubi."

"Oh. Okay. I'll, um, try."

"That's the best we can do."

Ishan's smile was the first thing that made Shubman believe they would hit the gold.

***

Scoring three fifties and one hundred in five innings, the hundred in the semi finals against Pakistan amidst intense sledging, Shubman remembered Ishan's words every time.

Go and convert it to gold, Shubi.

"These are not Bangladeshi bowlers," quipped the Pakistani wicketkeeper while Shubman was batting, referring to India beating Bangladesh in the quarter finals. 

Shubman waited till the innings was over, till he had stayed not out and taken India to a good total.

Give it back to them.

"We're not Pakistani batsmen, either," he told the wicketkeeper.

He knew Ishan would be proud if he ever screwed up the courage to tell him what he had said, which he probably would never.

Maybe the encouragement from the seniors, or at least one of them, had done him good.

So when they finally lifted the Under-19 World Cup after six years, two people flashed in front of Shubman's eyes: his father, and Ishan.