Watching Vaibhav Sooryavanshi fills me with awe, but talking about him is scary. It’s the kind of fear I feel whenever I hold my friend’s baby. If I hold him too tight, my arms will hurt him; too loose and he’ll wiggle out of my grip with his worm-like movements and fall. I felt something similar the one time a butterfly sat on my palm. It was the most beautiful thing, watching this delicate, alive origami art twitch around the highways of my palmlines, but I couldn’t move. Screw moving, I was scared to breathe around it.
I’ve seen teenage superstars aplenty. I have faint memories of staying up past midnight and watching Michael Owen wiggle past two, maybe three, Argentina defenders in ‘98. Yuvraj Singh against Australia is a memory I’ll never forget. Wayne Rooney then, at 18, setting alight the European Championships. Messi, somewhere between 18 and 19, moving like an eel on the rain-soaked London mud, leaving Chelsea’s hard-bodied defenders slapping thin air.
But, 15? Isn’t that the age for discovering if you’re any good at all? Not everyone can be Ian Thorpe, Michael Phelps, or Simone Biles.
I have heard stories of Tendulkar at 15, disappointed for not making the India squad for a tour to the West Indies—at the time, the scariest trip in cricket. The selectors were convinced about his talent, but wanted to protect him. He was adamant he didn’t need any protection. Mithali Raj was a newspaper headline at 14, for making it to the brink of India’s World Cup squad. But I didn’t watch them bloom.
Last year, when Vaibhav Sooryavanshi hit Shardul Thakur and Aavesh Khan for sixes within ten minutes of starting life under the bright floodlights, I was astonished by his audacity. When he scored that 35-ball century against a bowling lineup of Rashid Khan, Mohammed Siraj, Prasidh Krishna, and Ishant Sharma, I was in a cafe, standing because one couldn’t watch this stuff sitting down.
This February, he hit 175 in 80 balls at the Under-19 World Cup final. Ex-cricketers from England and Australia were cooing on their podcasts. Some wanted him catapulted into the senior team, age be damned. Except, he was still below the age threshold for playing senior cricket for India.
He passed it one day before the first match of IPL 2026. Sooryavanshi’s turn came on Monday evening. His first six was a slog, a full-forced heave, the kind that’s become staple in the early overs of a T20 innings. It travelled far into the ground seating, but we’ve seen enough of that, even from this kid, that it didn’t evoke exclamation. His second six—a ferocious cut off a delivery that most batters leave in Test cricket, block in ODIs, and dab for singles in T20s—had Dale Steyn hooting in the commentary box. Steyn has watched enough cricket to know the wheat from the chaff. Sooryavanshi had played that shot with an arched back, weight going backwards, and yet, the ball flew off his bat into the digital hoardings. He was doing all this to Matt Henry, one of the world’s leading fast bowlers.
52 off 17 would be the only talking point on our social media timelines if that knock came off Virat Kohli’s bat. We’d be talking up his fitness, experience, and hitting range. That knock, by a 15-year-old kid, after all we’ve seen from him over the last 12-15 months, is beginning to say things I’m not sure I’m ready to hear just yet.
I’m scared of having that conversation. But if such a day comes when I’m left with no choice but to acknowledge it, I’ll recall the time when he hit that six off Shardul, when he made Rashid look clueless, and laugh at myself for not having the audacity he did.
🎼 Score
Last week, while trawling through Twitter’s muck, I found this rare lotus floating around. It’s a clip from a movie many of us can recite in our sleep—the dinosaur reveal from Jurassic Park.
I want to talk about John Williams’ background score in this scene, but before that, watch this clip in full. We’ll come back.
Alright, now. What does Steven Spielberg’s camera show us? The first twenty seconds catch Dr. Alan Grant in shock. He stands up in the jeep and takes off his sunglasses, his eyes widening, as Dr. Ellie Grant is reading from a notebook.
Notice how the score is a series of ominous low notes, question marks without a resolving cadence. The shrill, quick clarinet lines behind the cello give the music a layer of subconscious chaos.
Dr. Ellie gets her head turned around the twentieth second, and the strings swell into a wide, chordal line. It’s Williams telling you that whatever these two scientists are seeing, it’s of massive scale.
Next: 00:24 - 00:40. The brachiosaurus is revealed, walking in heavy, earth-moving steps a few metres to the right of the jeep. The background music moves into an emotional and uplifting mood. But, notice how the strings play long, stable lines and there is nothing too loud jumping out just yet. Usually, major reveals like this are prime spots for introducing something heavy or expansive. Maybe a soaring brass melody or some percussion. All things considered, this is a pretty explosive moment.
So, why doesn’t the music go nuts here? Because Jurassic Park isn’t a movie about dinosaurs, but humans navigating their presence amongst themselves. The two doctors are spellbound. This, right here, is the object of their lifelong obsession, something they’ve only traced on paper, something they’ve never even considered seeing alive, walking in front of them. They are gasping, unable to find words. Williams’ score moves with them.
Next: 00:40 - 00:50. “It’s... it’s a dinosaur.” Dr. Alan finally finds his voice, and you hear the horns slide in with the first pass of the unforgettable melody. We’re here and it’s glorious.
Dr. Malcolm offers his sagely commentary from the jeep: “You did it, you crazy son of a bitch, you did it!” The melody plays once more, the harmony is building, but still in steps instead of leaps. And then, when Dr. Grant starts talking, in rushed words scrambling to come out of his mouth, you hear the melody soaring, every repeat richer and higher. The tempo goes up a notch; the violins are playing at a high pitch, with flutes contouring their trembling voice.
The crescendo lands with the brachiosaurus’ front feet. After a few mellow seconds, the music swells again when Dr. Hammond confirms that they also have a T-Rex in their compound.
The next page-turn comes when Dr. Grant looks to his left and sees a herd of dinosaurs walking through a pond. This frame is the high point of the movie, and, to be honest, the entire Jurassic Park franchise. The score also reaches its highest pitch, the entire soprano and tenor section of the orchestra—the high instruments—playing the melody line and its closest harmony. If the score was an opera group, this would be the moment where the lead singer truly lets fly.
Here’s a trivia: John Williams won the Oscar for the Best Background Score in 1993. But he won it for Schindler’s List. He wasn’t even nominated for Jurassic Park. 🤷
🔖 Bookmarks
Some things that caught my eye over the past week. And a podcast episode.
Imagine growing up as a kid of revolutionary parents who declared a war against the government. Imagine spending your childhood constantly on the run, having your identity changed, your friends left behind. Zayd Ahers Dohrn was born “underground”, and grew up underground. Here’s his story.
Anand Vasu speaks to Mohammad Kheir—co-founder of the Alsama Project, which provides education to refugees in West Asia. Within the project exists a cricket programme with more than 800 players and 30 coaches.
Kenneth Ho, a Hong Kong-based pilot, has a Pokemon card collection worth more than $1.5 million. That collection is now an investment he’s looking forward to encash.
Here’s one for the writing nerds. Amitava Kumar has been re-reading and discussing VS Naipaul’s The Enigma of Arrival on A Public Space. The newsletters focus on Naipaul’s prose, style, and storytelling.
Finally, I joined the folks at BhaJaPod for an episode last week. We discussed scientific temperament, some famous podcasts and famous hosts, and the abyss intellectual discourse in India finds itself in.
That’s all from this edition of The Jukebox. See you soon!
That opening paragraph is beautiful. Reading Shashank Kishore’s “boy monster” piece has put my fears to rest about him getting lost in the fluff and losing his way.
Beautiful post, Sarthak. You have voiced many of our vague thoughts and concerns about witnessing precociously young talent, with such clarity.