I discovered chess by accident. One afternoon, while playing cricket with friends, a powerful shot sent the ball far beyond the ground. As I went searching for it, I noticed two boys sitting beneath a tree, completely absorbed in a game I had never seen before. They were playing chess. The board, the pieces, and the intense silence between them fascinated me. I watched for a few minutes before returning to the cricket match, but something about the game stayed with me. The next day, I found myself returning to the same spot. The two boys were there again, playing another game. They did not know me, and I never asked them to teach me. Day after day, I simply stood nearby and watched. Slowly, by observing their moves, I began to understand the rules. Without realizing it, I was learning a new language—a language spoken on sixty-four squares.

Eventually, I asked my father to buy me a chessboard. He brought home a simple board that cost twenty rupees. Inside the box was a small sheet explaining how each piece moved. That sheet became my first teacher. From that moment, I was captivated. Life, like most lower-middle-class lives, came with its share of worries and limitations. But whenever I sat in front of the board, everything else seemed to disappear. The world grew quiet. Problems faded into the background. For the first time, I found something that demanded my complete attention and rewarded patience, imagination, and discipline. Chess became more than a game. It became a place where I could lose myself and, in doing so, slowly began to find myself.

Not long afterwords, my school organized a chess tournament. I participated without any expectations; I simply wanted to play. To my surprise, I won. The trophy itself was small, but the feeling it created was immense. It was the first time I experienced the joy of succeeding at something I genuinely loved. That victory planted a seed whose roots would grow far deeper than I could have imagined. Looking back, I often think about that cricket ball. Had it not been struck in that direction on that ordinary afternoon, my life might have unfolded very differently. Some journeys begin with a plan. Mine began with a lost cricket ball.