Finding My Rhythm: From the Court to the Cradle

I’m now in the fourth month of having the blessed opportunity to be Leela’s father, and I continue to notice how deeply parenting mirrors sport.

This most recent insight came as a consequence of my travel over the past few weeks.

A little context. A few weeks ago, Avantika, Leela, and I flew from Mumbai to Delhi for a wedding. It wasn’t an easy decision. Leela was just two and a half months old and hadn’t travelled beyond the Bombay suburbs. But the people getting married are incredibly dear to us, and so we made the trip.

We arrived in Gurgaon, three humans, all in one piece (at least physically). Given that I was going to be travelling on and off for work, we decided that Avantika and Leela would stay on in Delhi with her parents for some time. 

Part of me was excited. I hadn’t been on my own in Mumbai for as long as I could remember. There was a sense of freedom waiting to be explored.

And yet, there was also a quiet heaviness. A knowing that I would miss out on the daily rhythm of being with Leela and on experiencing this new version of our family, moment by moment.

The wedding ended. I flew back. And since then, it’s been an intense mix of freedom… and a deep longing to be with my posse.

Which brings me to sport.

Over these past few weeks, I haven’t played padel, a sport I’ve fallen in love with over the past year. Not once. This is unusual for me. Not too long ago, I was training twice a week and playing matches on top of that.

Ironically, I had Instagram back on my phone for a bit, and the algorithm knew exactly what I loved. Every other video was padel highlights, coaching clips, pro rallies. I consumed it all, half-hoping that watching the best would somehow make me better.

And when I was playing regularly, I could step onto any court with confidence. My body knew what to do. My mind was quiet. There was memory. There was rhythm.

It reminded me of my football days playing almost every day, sometimes twice a day. School training in the afternoon, club in the evening. I could step onto any pitch and trust myself. Dribble, pass, read space, defend, shoot, it was all there.

Right now, though, whether it’s football or padel, I feel “less than.”

Even imagining stepping onto the court brings a slight jitter. A question mark. Will I find my rhythm again? Will I get into flow? Will my body respond the way it used to?

And I’ve realized sport isn’t quite like riding a bike.

When a game involves constant movement, spatial awareness, coordination with teammates, and reacting to opponents, there’s a complexity that doesn’t just “come back” instantly. It needs to be lived. Repeated. Practised.

So what does this have to do with parenting?

Well, in many ways, I’ve been out of practice.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve only had pockets of time with Leela. A quick trip here, a short visit there. But I’ve been out of the daily rhythm, of waking up at night, of learning the nuances of her cries, of knowing instinctively what will soothe her. The song, the movement, the tone.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I had that confidence.

And now, as I prepare to go back to Delhi, almost like gearing up for a match, I can feel the butterflies. A slight nervousness. A sense that I may be a little out of sync.

But maybe the approach is the same.

Just like before a big (or even small) game, I pause. I breathe. I reconnect with moments when I was in flow. I visualise myself moving with ease on the court, or with Leela in my arms. Letting my body remember. Letting my cells feel it.

Trusting that something deeper than thought will guide me when I step back in.

And I guess that’s the point of daily practice.

It’s not just about performing well in the moment. It’s about building a quiet confidence that carries you into the seconds, minutes, hours, and days before the moment even arrives.

Whether it’s a match…

Or quality time with your wife and daughter.