As someone who enjoys spending time outdoors, learning new things, and playing sports, I knew I’d eventually encounter the game of cricket in India. The only problem was that I had no clue how to play.
Initially, finding a game proved more challenging than I expected. I saw kids carrying bats, but I hadn’t come across an actual match. Then one evening, after moving into my apartment, I heard it, the sharp crack of a bat, flip-flops slapping the pavement, and the shouts of kids echoing through the narrow streets of Kotdwar. I knew this was my opportunity. I threw on my sneakers and ran outside.
The children on my street greeted me with excitement. I told them I wanted to join, and it quickly became clear that these games were no casual pastime; they were competitive. Despite the fact that some of the kids called me Mr. Ben and I was twice their age, I was nervous about being able to pull my weight on the team.
I asked someone to explain the rules. The oldest kid, Devesh, gave me a one-minute crash course, and between his broken English and my nonexistent Hindi, I understood about half of what he said. Nevertheless, the game began.
They told me to stand somewhere in the field where I assumed the ball wouldn’t come often. I was very wrong. Within minutes, it felt like the cricket ball was magnetically drawn to me. After a rocky start chasing the ball as it bounced off parked cars and the walls of our makeshift pitch, I knew I had to step up my game. But then, during an intense moment of play, I caught the ball. For a brief, glorious moment, I was the neighborhood’s best fielder. My teammates cheered and high-fived me, and I was thrilled that I wasn’t just “playing,” I was actually helping.
A few minutes later, I heard my name in a quick exchange in Hindi, and suddenly the ball was in my hands. The kids asked me to try bowling. I proceeded to throw one no-ball after another (for context, a no-ball is a “pitch” that doesn’t count). My bowling career ended quickly. When it came time to bat, not only did I score zero runs, but I got out every time.
The next day, they waved me over again for another match. I had dropped catches and bowled no-balls, but they still wanted me there. The kids knew I could carry my weight when fielding, but my batting and bowling were still a work in progress. The kids offered to help me practice and have been my personal coaches ever since. The best part is that in the past few games, I’ve started to hit the ball — though I’ve yet to score any runs.
What stood out to me throughout this experience wasn’t my poor performance, but their openness. Despite my questionable skills, they gave me the space to try. They put me in the path of the ball, asked me to bowl, and let me bat, knowing full well I might mess up.
I earned their trust in the field, and I have some work to do when it comes to my time at bat and bowling. But what mattered was that they gave me the space to earn — and occasionally lose — that trust.
In my work, getting the chance to move beyond the sidelines and start making an impact proved to be a difficult task.
When I first sat down with my supervisor and coworkers at SAHELI, I shared my eagerness to help develop a digital market linkage to strengthen livelihoods, update education content, and support the creation of success stories. I was excited to contribute.
Then a coworker asked, directly, “How can we give you this work if we don’t know what you’re good at?”
It was a fair question. Just like the kids on my street, my colleagues didn’t yet know where my skills would be best utilized, what tasks I’d handle smoothly, like fielding, and which might turn out more like my time at bat.
The problem was, I hadn’t been given the opportunity to show them either.
I had spent the previous month and a half seeking to understand the organization, how it functioned, the challenges it was facing, and the opportunities for growth. I’ve always believed in the importance of seeking to understand before seeking to be understood.
However, it became clear that my approach to building a successful partnership wasn’t working. In my efforts to listen, I had forgotten the importance of using my own voice. Seeking to understand doesn’t mean staying silent.
So, I spoke up and told my coworker that I understood his concerns about my ability to complete specific tasks. But I also shared that for them to understand my skills, I needed the chance to demonstrate them. It was a small moment, but it changed things.
Since then, I’ve been working on multiple projects, some that play to my strengths and others that push me to grow. Just like in cricket, where each game teaches me something new about timing, teamwork, and humility, every task at SAHELI has become part of learning how to find my footing in a new field. As I complete work, my organization and I are able to have honest conversations about what worked and what needs improvement.
As I continue to attend the evening cricket matches and participate in the daily collaborative work at SAHELI, I’m reminded of how both experiences have shaped my understanding of trust.
In cricket, I didn’t have the full opportunity to understand the environment around me, the rules, the strategy, or even half the instructions being shouted in Hindi. However, I was given the space to try, make an impact, and learn by doing.
At my organization, it was the opposite. I had the time to observe, understand how things worked, and study the field from the sidelines. But when it came time to step in and contribute, I needed to advocate for the opportunity.
In both cases, trust, whether given or earned, required a leap. The kids had trusted me enough to hand me the ball, and I had to trust myself enough to throw it. My colleagues needed to see my work before trusting me with more responsibility, and I needed to trust that speaking up respectfully was part of collaboration, not a disruption of it.
Reflecting on these experiences, I have gained a deeper understanding of how to navigate the complexities of joining a new organization in a different cultural and linguistic context. Building trust takes both patience and initiative, the willingness to listen deeply, and the courage to step forward when the moment comes.
Whether on the cricket pitch or in the workplace, you can’t build trust from the sidelines. You have to step onto the field, ready to listen, ready to learn, and ready to play the next ball, wherever it comes.
