Jitesh has been around for years now. You probably don’t even remember that it was in the same match as Rinku Singh and Kuldeep Yadav.
He started on a high note too. A fifty. But after that, the next few matches didn’t quite click. Only about a hundred runs in four games. Enough to be noticed, not enough to be remembered.
Over time, he became that guy who could hit big sometimes, then disappear the next game. The highs never stuck around for everyone to remember. The dips came fast enough to shadow it.
Over the years, he kept showing up. Different jersey. Same story. Always around, but never quite in the spotlight.Some days, he chipped in, but never really had a story for himself, at least not in the IPL.
He is like that contact you would never delete. You know he exists. You trust he will pick up if you ever call, but you just don’t. Not unless you absolutely have to. That’s been Jitesh Sharma for the longest time.
Don’t get me wrong, he always had the talent. He has shown glimpses before. That’s why you don’t delete him. You know he would pick up when you call.
Teams treated him the same. MI picked him, didn’t play him. PBKS made him vice-captain, didn’t trust him enough to lead but he had chances to do his bit. Everyone wanted him around, but nobody really gave him the mic.
When the big run-fest happens, he doesn’t always get an invite. He usually walks in when the lights are dim, the music is almost off, and the main act is done. He had to do more finishing acts than give a concert. And most people had already left their seats by then because he wasn’t the act you came to see.
Because he bats low now. Because someone else is always the main act. He was the keeper who can hit. A finisher who didn’t always get to finish.
Then came the night.
That night was chaos. Pressure was real. Trouble at the top. And when he came in, everything was ready to fall apart. For a while, it looked like he was about to throw it too. He tried everything to get out. He flirted with his wicket not once but thrice. A run-out that didn’t happen, a catch that was called a no-ball, and absolute drama when Digvesh Rathi almost ran him out at the non-striker’s end. He survived every single time. Maybe that’s how fairytales begin. Because what happened after that was magic.
When the weight of IPL fifty was finally lifted from his shoulders, He was ready to stand up again. The shots came out. The nerves stayed in. The shoulders were more relaxed. The bat spoke. It wasn’t brute power. It was like a magician working with his wand. Whatever he touched kissed the sweet spot, raced to the boundary. Every boundary felt like an overdue.
Like he had waited ten years just to have one night where everything finally went right.
Finally, he got invited to the run-fest party. On that night, they gave him the mic. And boy, he sang his song. A song that none of us saw coming, even though we knew he could sing.
It may not be a song he sings again. He might not even get the mic tomorrow.But that one night, he owned it. It belonged to him. And even if he never shows up, we’re gonna carry that tune for a long, long time.
