BARAMULLA — Nestled about 40 km west of Uri, close to the Line of Control along the scenic Jhelum Valley road, lies the quiet village of Sheeri. Here, off a narrow lane barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side, stands the unassuming two-storey home of cricketer Auqib Nabi Dar — a house now etched into Indian cricketing history.

On Saturday, while the rest of India buzzed with anticipation over the Ranji Trophy final in distant Hubballi, life in Sheeri slowed. Shops stayed open but business didn’t. Men stood idly on corners; groups of boys huddled together, eyes glued to mobile screens. Behind every blank stare was intense focus — tracking every ball, every wicket, every run that brought Jammu & Kashmir closer to a historic victory.

A Quiet Room, A Thunderous Moment

Inside Auqib’s home, silence wrapped the small living room like a shroud. Family members sat huddled before a modest TV, its speakers echoing commentary from Karnataka. Beside the screen sat an old almirah — packed not with clothes, but with years of cricketing triumphs: medals, trophies, certificates. Each one a symbol of sacrifice, perseverance, and a dream once deemed impractical.

Fazi, Auqib’s elderly grandmother, watched the screen intently, her wrinkled face breaking into a smile every time her grandson appeared. His father, Ghulam Nabi Dar, a government schoolteacher, leaned forward, fingers clasped, whispering player names and scores like prayers. When J&K lifted the trophy, the room didn’t erupt — it exhaled. Smiles were exchanged. Women hugged. And then came the announcement: Auqib Nabi Dar was named Player of the Tournament.

From Rope and Resistance to Redemption

Cricket wasn’t always welcomed in this household. In Kashmir, where medicine and government jobs are seen as secure futures, sports are often viewed as risky distractions. Ghulam Nabi admitted he once tried to stop Auqib from playing. “I locked him in a room,” he recalled. “Even tied him with a rope so he wouldn’t run off to the ground.”

The turning point? Missing a medical seat by two marks. That near-miss became fate’s pivot. “Later, I understood how serious my son was about the game,” Ghulam said. “So I let him follow his heart.” He paused, then added shyly: “I too used to play cricket when I was young.”

Now, his only dream is to see Auqib wear the Indian jersey. “That,” he said, emotion thickening his voice, “is what I pray for.”

No Grounds, No Glory – Just Grit

Sheeri has no proper cricket academy. No turf wickets. No floodlights. To train, Auqib had to travel nearly 5 km across the river to a patchy ground near Lower Jhelum. Bilal Ahmad Dar, his cousin, remembers those days. “No facilities, no support,” he said. “Just raw passion.”

Bilal, who has followed every match since Auqib joined the Ranji team, proudly notes his cousin’s tally: 104 wickets in two years — 44 last season, 60 this. “When senior players like Zaheer Khan tweet about him, it means the world to us,” he said.

A science graduate from the University of Kashmir, Auqib remains grounded. Bilal recalls watching the IPL auction together. “When his name came up and no one bid at first, we held our breath,” he said. Then Delhi Capitals called. The bid rose. Rs 5 crore. Rs 7 crore. Rs 8.40 crore. “We couldn’t believe it. We jumped, screamed — but he just sat there, smiling quietly.”

Villagers soon swarmed the house, beating drums, chanting his name. But Auqib? “He didn’t even come out. Too shy,” Bilal laughed. “But we’re all bursting with pride.”

A Legacy Begins in the Shadow of Conflict

In a region long marked by conflict, Auqib’s story is a beacon. From a boy tied down to pursue studies, to a man tying opposition batsmen in knots; from rejection to redemption; from a village with no cricket pitch to national glory — his journey reflects resilience beyond sport.

As the sun set over Sheeri, the almirah remained full. But now, another space was made — not for a medal, but for hope. The kind that inspires a generation to pick up a bat, despite the odds.