Where faith met fearlessness: The Abhishek Sharma story

When Abhishek Sharma brought home his first paycheck, he was 13 years old. Two thousand rupees. He didn't keep it, didn't even think of buying himself a new bat or a new pair of shoes. He placed it all in the hands of his grandmother, touched her feet and said: "Daadi, isse prasad chadha do." (Grandma, make an offering to the Gods with this).

Abhishek's grandmother, with whom he was very close, would often tell his father, Raj Kumar Sharma, that one day his son would make a name for himself in the world. "She's no longer with us," Raj Kumar reminisces in a chat with Cricbuzz, "but her words have stayed with me and I think about them everyday."

The signs had been there from the start. Born in Amritsar, a city where the Golden Temple glitters in the centre and faith shapes routine, Abhishek treated cricket the same way. His bats were always kept in a small temple at home. They still are, whenever he returns, only now the temple is larger and grander, a reflection of how far Abhishek himself has come.

And even today, he bows his head before stepping onto the ground. "I told him once, this isn't just a stadium," Raj Kumar says. "It is a Temple, it is a Gurudwara. Respect it, and it will respect you back."

The respect was there, but so was a streak of mischief. He was four when his father, a cricketer himself and a coach, gave him his first "thaapi" (bat in Punjabi). From then on, his two sisters never knew peace. "He didn't let them sleep," Raj Kumar says, laughing. "He always wanted his sisters or his mother to bowl at him." The eldest sister, eight years older, even taught in his school for a while, which meant there was no escaping Abhishek at home or outside.

Raj Kumar, at one point in time, had his own academy and his son wanted to be part of it before he was ready. "Maine bhi khelna hai," (I also want to play) Abhishek declared one day, tugging at his father's hand and crying to be taken along. Soon he was there every evening, running among older boys, copying their drills. Someone would come pick him up after school and off he'd go to the ground again.

The small colony park became his stage. There was no space for nets at home. He would bat for hours, clearing boundaries, sending other kids into mutiny. "Humse out hi nahi hota," (We can't get him out) they would complain. "We keep bowling to him all day. When are we going to bat?!"

His father, half coach and half parent, had to tend to two voices in his head. One was professional. He saw the numbers: 1200 runs and 60 wickets in a single Vijay Merchant season at under-16 level and reckoned that what he was seeing was "India material". The other voice, that of a father, was protective.

Everyone around told him the same thing: Arun Bedi, who had coached Punjab's under-12s, under-14s, under-16s, once said, "One day both Abhishek and Shubman [Gill] will open for India. Write it and keep it in your pocket." Desh Prem Azad, Kapil Dev's coach, told him, "He is a zabardast player. He will play for India. He makes matches one-sided."

Raj Kumar could allow himself those thoughts as a coach. But as a father, he stayed nervous.

That hunger Abhishek showed as a child stayed with him. One day, when he was not even a teenager, he asked his father, "Papa, sabhi ladke ball rokte kyun hain? Jab maar sakte hain toh kyun nahi maarte?" (Papa, why does everyone block the ball? If you can hit it, why don't they hit it?)

It came after an under-13 game in Amritsar, one of those matches where Abhishek's instinct was to keep swinging while the rest of the boys were learning to defend. Raj Kumar understood where his son was coming from. He felt the same with a bat in hand. "Ball bani hi hai maarne ke liye, beta. Mujhe bhi nahi pata log maarne wali ball ko kyun nahi maarte," (The ball is meant to be hit, son. Even I don't know why people don't hit balls that are there to be hit), he told him, before explaining that not everyone had the same skill set, that people play what comes naturally to them.

Abhishek listened, but the philosophy stuck. If ball was there to be hit, it would be hit. A decade later, opening for India, he still lives by that same idea. During IPL 2024, when Abhishek finally got a consistent run at the top for Sunrisers Hyderabad and lit up the season, Rashid Khan came to Raj Kumar with a chuckle: "Paaji, isne toh duniya mein meri dehshat khatam kar di!" (He has ended my fear among the batters).

The mischief, the appetite, the early striking, they all found shape because mentors kept arriving. Rahul Dravid in the Under-19s and VVS Laxman later. Ricky Ponting at Delhi Capitals, Brian Lara at Sunrisers Hyderabad. And Yuvraj Singh most of all, during the lockdown years. Abhishek had grown up watching Yuvraj and wanting to be like him. To train under him was overwhelming. "When Yuvraj came and offered to coach him, he was so overwhelmed. Very few people have their heroes as their gurus," Raj Kumar says.

Yuvraj worked on his stance, his shoulder position, his golf-swing arc. "After training with him, my son's batting opened up completely," Raj Kumar adds.

Through it all, there was his mother. She wanted him to study and he did, always among the top students, scoring over 90 percent. She cooked what he liked, washed and ironed his clothes, kept his world in order. "Maa ka sthan koi nahi le sakta," (Nobody can take a mother's place) Raj Kumar says. "Whatever Abhishek is, a lot of it is her."

And there was Abhishek's own instinct to give. During this year's floods in Amritsar, he sent a truck filled with food, dal, ration and drinking water to his friends working as relief volunteers, with strict instructions that they shouldn't use his name. "Dayalu Pundit hai mera beta," (My son is a kind priest), Raj Kumar says with a smile.

When the India call finally came, Raj Kumar was in Amritsar. He hadn't heard it from his son about his chances of being picked. It flashed on TV. Neighbours came rushing. Later, when Abhishek returned, he found his parents giving interviews before he had even given one himself.

And perhaps, in that moment, with neighbours crowding and cameras rolling, his grandmother's words echoed loudest: "Tera beta duniya mein naam karega." (Your son will make a name for himself in the world).

For Abhishek Sharma, that is where the story perhaps began and that is where it continues to return.