Yesterday night, I joined the usual group for our regular cricket session. The air was crisp, and the energy was high as we warmed up and exchanged the familiar banter that always sets the tone for a good game. We’ve played together for years now, and there’s a comfort in the routine—each of us knowing our strengths, quirks, and preferred fielding positions.
But today was different. During one of the overs, a ball was lofted in my direction, just out of comfortable reach. Instinctively, I dove for it—arms outstretched, body parallel to the ground—and to my own surprise, I managed to hold onto the catch. For a moment, I just lay there, feeling the grass and the rush of adrenaline, before the cheers and laughter of my friends brought me back to my feet.
What made this moment truly special was the flood of memories it brought back. As kids, we used to practice diving catches endlessly, turning every patch of ground into our own stadium. We’d throw ourselves around with abandon, competing to see who could make the most dramatic catch, barely noticing the scrapes and bruises. It’s been nearly 20 years since those carefree days, and I honestly didn’t think I’d ever pull off a proper dive again—let alone land without injury!
There’s something deeply satisfying about reconnecting with those childhood skills, even if just for a moment. It’s a reminder that some joys never really fade, and that the spirit of play can still surprise us, no matter how much time has passed. Today’s catch was more than just a highlight of the match—it was a small celebration of the past, and a nod to the enduring fun of the game.