Right on Time for the Abuse!!

This post is a day late for Friendship Day. Not because I forgot. Well... mostly because I forgot. Somewhere between back-to-back meetings this morning it struck me that we spend a lot of our lives taking the best things for granted. This cricket group we've had for the last seven years probably tops that list.

Before you continue, a disclaimer. This isn't a cricket post. There are enough of those. This is about friendship—or whatever highly dysfunctional version of it we've managed to perfect.

In a world where everyone is walking on eggshells, finding a group where you can say exactly what's on your mind—whether it's insightful, nonsensical, or purely designed to irritate someone—is a luxury.

The number of arguments we've had could comfortably fit the length of an Odyssean adventure :-) . What's even more fascinating is how quickly sworn enemies become opening partners, and vice versa. One week your teammate is the reason civilization is collapsing. The next week he's "an absolute legend" because he took a catch.

Stockholm Syndrome, but with tennis balls.

They say there's a fine line between humour and being offensive.

We didn't find the line.

We bulldozed straight through it sometime around 2019.

At the maidaan, insults are the primary currency. If your own teammates aren't roasting you, they're probably worried about your health. Some of us are permanent punchbags. The survival strategies are simple: laugh along, fire back, or pretend you have something more important to do while secretly planning revenge for next Saturday.

Every ecosystem has its apex predators.

**Vicky** is the Godfather. Even his compliments come with a sting in the tail. You walk away wondering whether you were appreciated or subtly disowned.

**Vikram** possesses the rare gift of taking abuse and giving it back with the same smile. It's almost artistic.

**Mohanty** looks like he could fold you into a suitcase if he wanted to. Thankfully he's usually the gentle giant. Until Motor Mouth Mode activates. Then nobody gets a turn.

**HK** never sounds like he improvises. Every one-liner feels peer-reviewed, fact-checked and cross-referenced against Encyclopaedia Britannica before release. Yet somehow, they land.

**Chaitanya** carries the aura of a published author. The joke is never where you think it is. Three hours later you'll suddenly realise you were the punchline.

**Manoj** can be spectacularly offensive. The best part? He knows it. Ever since becoming MC, he's started behaving like HR policies don't apply to him.

**KG** barely says a word on the ground. Put him on WhatsApp, though, and he transforms into a keyboard assassin with unlimited data.

The wildcards are **Raj** and **Dushyant**. They spend most of their existence looking like bears interrupted during hibernation. Then, without warning, they'll deliver one perfectly timed sentence that ruins your entire day.

Every circus needs nice people too.

**Satya**, **Hari**, **Kishore**, and **Kings** somehow manage to sound kind even while disagreeing with you. If emojis were Olympic medals, they'd sweep the podium.

And then there's **Dhruv** and **Apoorv**.

They're trying. That's all I'll say.

Their all round skills and their sledging averages are surprisingly similar. Potential exists. Results pending.

Affection. Attrition. Affirmation. Affliction.

Call it whatever you like.

Somehow, beneath all the insults, fake outrage, questionable captaincy, dodgy umpiring, and character assassinations, we've built something that has survived seven years.

That's not because we play cricket.

It's because we've become part of each other's lives beyond the boundary rope.

And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.