T20 World Cup final: A father's quiet vigil as Abhishek Sharma prepares for his biggest night

Ahmedabad, Saturday evening: while most eyes tracked Abhishek Sharma’s blade in the main net, Rajkumar Sharma stationed himself alone beyond the boundary, hospitality-box height, no spectacles, just the crack of ball on willow to guide his gaze. For the first time in weeks the World No. 1 T20 batter was granted a full-throttle 30-minute hit on the eve of the final against New Zealand, throw-down merchants and net bowlers peppering him with off-spin—the flavour opponents have used to blunt him through eight turbulent innings.

Batting coach Sitanshu Kotak and head coach Gautam Gambhir hovered behind the stumps, timing blocks, charting trajectories. Abhishek, starting scratchy, found rhythm; inside-out drives climbed in arc and authority. From his perch Rajkumar nodded at every clean connection, the reassurance of timber meeting leather substituting for the blurred visuals distance and age impose. “Bahut time baad net dekh raha hu, kal sab accha hoga team bhi World Cup jeetegi,” he told this paper, voice steady, hope unbroken.

When the session ended Gambhir motioned the opener over. Twenty minutes of animated gesturing—fingers sweeping across imaginary field placements, shoulders squared, reassurances exchanged—followed. Net bowlers, ground-staff and early-arriving fans swarmed Abhishek for selfies the instant the tutorial finished. Rajkumar hung back, granting space, then threaded through the cordon. “Usko bata to deta hu mai aaya hu,” he laughed, before a brief, cricket-centric huddle with his son—batting cues, reminders of tempo—was truncated by more autograph appeals. Abhishek signed every scrap pushed through the fence, then surrendered his gear to a support staffer and disappeared into the dressing-room tunnel.

The tournament has asked hard questions of the 23-year-old. Three ducks, a stomach bug, hospital IVs and 89 runs across eight outings have turned the man who terrorised attacks in bilateral build-ups into a walking wicket whenever an off-spinner, even a part-timer, appears. Zimbabwe offered a sliver of respite: time in the middle, spin held back in the powerplay, a patient hand that hinted at resurgence. Tomorrow, in front of 132,000 at the Narendra Modi Stadium, he must reboot entirely.

Rajkumar, who once watched from beside the boundary ropes during gully games, will ascend to the third-tier hospitality box, spectacles still forgotten, faith intact. “Dua,” he repeated to well-wishers near the sightscreen, the single-word mantra offered to ICC Chairman Jay Shah, who toured the arena to ratify final preparations. When the ground emptied for Sunday’s rehearsal concerts, the father exited with the same prayer: that the next time he hears that crisp ping, it will signal the return of the son—and the team—to full, cup-lifting song.