Baskar's life had never been easy. From the moment he opened his eyes to the world, struggles seemed to follow him like a shadow. His mother was his whole world, the only person who gave him unconditional love. But fate was cruel to her. When Baskar was still very young, she was struck by cancer. The disease ate away not just her health but also the little happiness that remained in their family.
For a child who had not even understood what love or comfort truly meant, watching his mother writhe in pain was unbearable. Day after day, he sat by her side, his small hands unable to offer any relief, his young heart breaking a little more every time he saw her suffer. He could do nothing to protect her, and that helplessness carved deep, permanent wounds in his soul.
As the years passed, Baskar tried to live a normal life, but normalcy was never meant for him. He was not interested in studies, and the school system only reminded him of his shortcomings. Teachers scolded him, relatives mocked him, and neighbors whispered that he was good for nothing. Beatings at home and humiliation outside became part of his routine. Every word, every slap, every taunt filled his heart with rage. Slowly, that rage began to twist his path in the wrong direction. Instead of guiding him, life pushed him closer to darkness. That anger, unhealed and untamed, eventually became the reason he stepped inside a jail cell.
But life was not done with him yet. Adding salt to his wounds, his father chose to remarry. To Baskar, who was still grieving his mother, it felt like the ultimate betrayal. He could not accept another woman in his mother's place, nor could he forgive his father for moving on. From that moment on, resentment grew like fire in his chest, and he carried it everywhere he went. His heart hardened, and trust became something he could no longer offer.
In the midst of all this, Baskar made a choice that would shape his youth. At an age when most boys dreamed of a future built on books, Baskar walked away from school forever. Instead, he began working alongside his younger brother in a small mechanical shop. The grease-stained tools, the smell of oil, and the clanging of metal became his classroom. Every rupee he earned was a reminder of how far he had drifted from the childhood he was supposed to have.
Yet, within that hardship, one flame burned bright inside him—Kabaddi. It was not just a game to him; it was an escape, a reason to push forward, and the only thing that gave him pride. The little money he earned at the shop, he saved carefully—not for food, not for clothes, but to strengthen his body and chase his passion. Many nights, he slept inside the workshop itself, curled up in a corner after long hours of labor. He survived on scraps of food bought with the few coins left in his pocket.
Baskar's body grew tougher, his spirit sharper, but his heart remained heavy. Behind his eyes lived the pain of a child who had seen too much, too soon. He was a boy forced to become a man before his time, destined to walk a path carved by struggle, betrayal, and unyielding determination.