As I queue up to sign in for the qualifying draw at Khar Gymkhana, I'm feeling a bit embarrassed. Everyone around me is a teenager or a 20-something old. No one else around me is an out of shape corporate executive or a 30 year old trying to live out his fantasy of being a professional tennis player.

Khar April '10 is my third attempt at playing the qualifying draw of an All India Tennis Association ranking tournament. Some of my friends think I'm crazy for trying. I think I'm crazy for not having tried earlier. Pune Feb '09 was my first attempt'; a short-lived one at that. A first round loss 4-7 to a Sikh player on the clay (felt like sand) courts. For anyone who's not played on clay-sand courts, its like playing on a trampoline - at times, the ball goes dead on bounce; at others, it springs to life and over your head. I can now empathize with the Spanish players who didn't think it was worth traveling to Wimbledon in the days when grass courts were tailored for serve-n-volleyers and weren't the quasi-hard courts they are today.

Juhu Vile Parle Gymkhana Feb '10 was my second attempt. This time, I won my first match in qualifying 9-6 against a certain Mr. Jadhav. I was ecstatic. My first win in a national level tournament. The fact that it was in the qualifying draw didn't dampen my pride. The next day, I lost in the second round 3-9 to another Sikh – Deepender Singh Bains, who has a cannonball of a serve and a good forehand to go with it. I took comfort in the fact that he was ranked around 160 in India. I took greater comfort when I learnt that he had won a small (in terms of prize money) AITA tournament the week prior and as a result would move to no. 69 in the AITA rankings.

So back to Khar. My first round on Saturday morning was at the Willingdon Catholic Gymkhana (used for extra courts needed to complete the qualifying draw) against a player named Gaikwad. Under 20 and a pretty average game... but a below-average match temperament. In five service games, he served up 12 double faults and I manged to win 8-2. The highlight for me was a screaming forehand winner down the line. My idol Steffi Graf would have been proud. I even heard two people (among the 8 officials and other players hanging around) say “What a Shot!!”

My second round match I learn is 6 hours later against a player named Ganesh Acharye. I come back home, shower, eat, relax and try to look him up on the AITA site. No mention of him... means he's unranked like me. My confidence is bolstered. I get back to Khar in time and watch as two players take to Court 1 to begin their match while I wait for mine (they have 2 courts here and mine is the next scheduled one on the adjacent court). One of the players involved in that match is Awasthi, seeded 15th in the qualifying draw. The match is peppered with amazing rallies, the kinds I've seen on TV at the ATP tournaments. My match is soon called and I look around for my opponent. As we start our warm up with worn out balls, I begin to dissect his game. Good serve if he gets it in. Average groundstrokes. I feel I can win this one too. As our match is about to start, I ask the umpire if we can get new balls to play with. He says sorry you need to play with these. I begin well and soon am leading 2-0. My opponent is having a hard time keeping the ball in play. At 4-0, I notice that Awasthi and opponent get a new can of balls opened for themselves mid-way through their set. I have half a mind to go up to the umpire and complain about the discriminatory treatment. I hold back thinking I'm leading, so why interrupt a winning streak. I'm also thinking thank god I didn't draw Awasthi or his opponent who are still scorching the adjacent court. I would have surely lost. I'm sure they were wondering why they didn't draw me or my opponent. Either of them would have surely beaten either of us. Luck of the draw I guess. I soon win 8-1. Highlights include a serve-n-cheeky-half-volley winner and a two-handed backhand that would have made Mr. Graf proud.

My next match is on Sunday at noon at Khar Gymkhana itself against Prashant Sawant. A quick check online reveals he is a year older to me and currently ranked no. 113 in the AITA rankings. Suddenly I'm not feeling so confident but what the heck. I've won two matches and there's no shame in losing to the 113th best player in India. Basil chicken and rice at Cafe Basilico, a squabble with brother regarding airport duties and a boring movie later, I head to bed with my mind full of possibilities.

I wake up at 9 am, feeling a bit run down.. tired and not in the most confident frame of mind.. I get my dose of the morning papers and IPLgate; and start getting ready to leave home. Winning makes you superstitious I realize... I go for the same clothes, cap, socks and wristbands (all being washed mind you). In the train, I listen to some high-tempo music to pump me up. Madonna screaming in my ears “I'm out of time and all I got is 4 minutes” and Black Eyed Peas telling me “ I gotta feeling.. Tonight's gonna be a good night.”

I reach Khar gym and discover my match would probably start only post 1 pm. Time to lounge around. I pull up a chair, get myself a chicken jungli sandwich, eavesdrop on those around me and watch some of the tennis going on. I overhear someone mention my opponent's name. They refer to him as the big fat guy from Maharashtra. My confidence is bolstered again. If he's as big as they suggest, maybe I can move him around and try to capitalize on his movement. I don't have the prototype body of a tennis player.. Far from it... Diametrically opposite it maybe. But one thing I can do is cover the court pretty well and run around.

I notice a pretty middle-aged woman talking to some of the players and the parents. My imagination goes into overdrive. Perhaps she's a sports reporter from one of the city newspapers looking out for an interesting sports story. She gives me a couple of curious glances. I can imagine a story on myself in one of the papers.. about a 30 year old corporate executive and his passion for tennis. I'm thinking what the headline would be – THE FOURTH IDIOT perhaps. My thoughts are interrupted by a cheer for a winning shot by one of the players. I watch the tennis for a while. I look around again; my eyes searching for the pretty lady. No sign of her. The rest of Mumbai will have to wait to get to know me. Until then, you guys have the privilege courtesy blogosphere.

My match is finally called. I look for my opponent. I see him. If he's the big fat guy from Maharashtra, I know what my nickname in the locker room is going to be; the bigger fatter guy from Maharashtra. We warm up; as usual, I try to size up my opponent's game. Good heavy forehand, hits it deep; Decent serve. One-handed topspin backhand which he tends to spray and shank. The backhand, I decide, will be my target. I win the toss (my third straight toss win) and I elect to serve as usual.

I don't start well. I'm soon down 0-2. I'm unable to keep the ball in play long enough to get to his backhand and Prashant's forehand seems to be working well. The third game is a marathon one. 4 breakpoints for him and 4 game-points for me later, we're still at deuce. The heat is oppressive and I'm sweating profusely. I begin to wonder if I would be able to complete the set. I finally hold serve on my fifth game point to get on the scoreboard. I'm relieved as I sit down on the changeover. I think about the game that just went by. My two drop shot winners; the one forehand down the line winner and the few serves I hit which were from the start of the doubles alley on the ad court wide out to his backhand.. really wide out.. won me at least 4 points in the game.

I start walking to the baseline which is next to the players waiting area to receive serve. I'm hoping the guys there aren't having a good laugh at my expense. The game goes by pretty quickly. Its 3-1 Prashant. I manage to hold serve to love as well ending it with an ace down the line. I'm sure they're not laughing now.

Change of ends; no change in luck. Prashant holds for 4-2 and breaks me again for 5-2. As I wait to receive his next serve, I decide to try something different. Stand a couple of feet inside the baseline on his second serve and chip-n-charge. The first time I try it, he hits his second serve into the net. Feeling the pressure eh, Mr. Sawant? Getting a wee-bit nervous?? The next point, a slice chip from me, a decent forehand from him, and an easy volley from me to end the point. I'm feeling like Edberg. I'm shouting Commmmoonnn like Hewitt. Could this be the winning strategy?? I attack his second serve for the rest of the game and finally break his serve for the first time. Its 3-5; only one break of serve I tell myself. The points are not as long now and I'm feeling better.

I might have been feeling like Edberg but I'm not serving anything like him. A double fault and some unforced errors give Prashant the break back. Change of ends at 6-3 (in qualifying here, its best of 15 games, so you need to reach 8 to win). I notice Awasthi is back on the adjacent court as I'm trying to strategise on the changeover. Keep chipping-n-charging I tell myself. Prashant gets a couple of first serves in this time. I hit one chip into the net and he passes me with a forehand on another. Its 7-3 and I'm one game away from losing. I tell myself to go all out with my serve now since it probably would be my last game. I walk up to the baseline to hit my first serve. And I go all out. ALL OUT indeed. The first serve is long by a good 10 feet. Its quickly triple match point against me. Keep going I tell myself, you never know. Maybe he'll fall over and roll his ankle on the next point. Or maybe he'll hit an exquisite drop shot that I don't even attempt to retrieve. 8-3. Game set match Prashant Sawant.

I walk up to the net for the customary handshake. He smiles at me and says well played. I wonder if he really means it. I wish him all the best for his matches ahead. Handshakes with the umpire over, I start packing away the rackets into my bag. The ball boy tells me well played. I say thanks. I walk out the court and head to the canteen to drink a cold beverage. I hail a cab to take me home (I'm too tired to do the rickshaw-train-cab routine again). I look back on my weekend while I get on to the sea link. I won two matches in the qualifying draw of a national level tournament and lost to the no. 113 player in the country. I'm wondering if I'm a better player than I think or if the competition at this level is not as tough as I thought. I'd like to think its a bit of both. I'm wondering what to do to keep improving my game. Maybe lose some weight. Maybe take some formal coaching. Maybe a bit of both. I'm thinking what the weeks ahead hold for me. Desk job at the bank. Evening tennis with brother and Siddharth. SURELY, lots of both. Back home, well-fed and showered, I sit down to write this blog but not before checking the AITA site for their next event in Mumbai. Nothing on schedule for the rest of 2010 but I'm hoping they have a couple more after the monsoons. My dream of winning four matches to qualify for an AITA event will have to wait. Until then, it's back to life!!