If you ever visit Nadiad, a small city in Gujarat, you’ll likely hear the same question when someone brings up Axar Patel: “Have you seen the canal?”

This winding waterway, cutting through the heart of Nadiad, offers a rare respite from the dry, dusty terrain. Right along its edge sits Bharat Bhai’s humble tea stall. Over cups of strong, spiced chai and plates of lasaniya daabla (deep-fried potato snacks with a spicy garlic filling), he shares stories of a young Axar.

“He’d sit right there,” Bharat Bhai says, pointing to the parapet lining the canal, “with his tea—less water, some ginger, a little sugar, and a touch of cardamom. For nearly 20 years, he’s been drinking it the same way.”

Mornings at the tea stall, afternoons at the cricket ground inside his college campus just 500 meters away, and evenings back at the canal, unwinding with Thums Up and sing bhujia—this routine shaped Axar’s early years.

Keval Patel, his childhood friend, still laughs at the irony. “One of India’s fittest cricketers survived on snacks and soda.” But when Axar returns home, nothing changes. “To the world, he’s ‘Axar.’ For us, he’s still ‘Akshar.’”

The name—altered due to a clerical error in school—may be different, but the person remains unchanged. A fun-loving prankster among friends, a devoted son at home, and a fierce competitor on the cricket field.

While India celebrates Axar’s game-changing performances in tournaments like the T20 World Cup and Champions Trophy, Nadiad takes quiet pride in its homegrown star.

A railway junction between Anand, the milk capital, and Ahmedabad, a bustling trade hub, Nadiad has long been overshadowed. Known as the birthplace of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, the city boasts revered temples and top educational institutions but never had a deep-rooted cricketing legacy like Baroda or Saurashtra.

Axar himself might have followed a different path if not for his father, Rajeshbhai. Initially sent to the cricket ground for fitness—rather than weight loss, since he was always lean—Axar found himself drawn to the game.

Keval recalls their first meeting at the ground. “Like all newcomers, we had to run laps. Axar got bored and started skipping practice. He’d leave home in cricket whites but sneak off to play tennis-ball cricket elsewhere.”

That didn’t last long. One day, Rajeshbhai dropped by unexpectedly. “Proper padi hati (he got scolded properly),” Keval chuckles. From that moment, Axar never skipped practice again.

Today, fans marvel at Axar’s ability to bat at No. 5, a move initiated by Gautam Gambhir to strengthen India's batting depth. But to those who grew up watching him, this isn’t new.

His childhood coach, Amrish Patel, remembers an Axar who started as a pace bowler in school tournaments. “He was tall and had a long stride, but his leg strength wasn’t enough. Sometimes, he’d lose balance while releasing the ball. When tired, he’d switch to spin—and that’s when he started taking wickets.”

Despite being groomed into a spin-bowling all-rounder, Axar always saw himself as a batsman first. “He loved playing lofted shots,” says former Gujarat selector Bharat Mistry. “But in an Under-16 tournament, he got out twice playing them recklessly. Some wanted to drop him, but we backed him and told him to be smarter with his shot selection.”

The faith paid off. Retained for the final match against Saurashtra, Axar responded with a century—and never looked back.

During a rough phase in his career, when game time was scarce, he returned to his roots, training at his old ground for hours daily. “The first half-hour, he’d only defend,” says Vishal Jayswal, a Gujarat Ranji player. “Then he’d go big—every day, we lost at least two or three balls to his shots.”

That training reignited his favourite stroke—the slog sweep. First, it resurfaced in India’s T20 World Cup final against South Africa. Then, in the Champions Trophy against New Zealand, it helped propel India to victory.

Axar’s influence extends beyond cricket. Manish Desai, president of the Kheda District Cricket Association, doesn’t just measure his success in trophies but in the impact he’s had on Nadiad.

When Axar first played in the IPL, the city held a grand roadshow to honour him. A similar celebration was planned after India’s T20 World Cup victory. But Axar had a different request.

“He delayed his return home,” Desai shares, “and when he did come back, he refused any function. Instead, he asked us to gather academy trainees at the ground for an informal session.”

That meeting left a lasting impression, especially on young girls in the city. Previously, cricket in Nadiad had been a male-dominated sport. Now, families are encouraging their daughters to play.

Ami Patel, who started cricket just two years ago, recalls, “There used to be just one or two girls playing among hundreds of boys. But after seeing Axar’s journey, more girls have joined. Last summer camp, there were 40 of us!”

For Ami and many others, what stands out most about Axar isn’t just his success—it’s his humility.

“Whenever he’s here, he acts like one of us. He doesn’t carry himself like a star,” she says. “It’s as if he’s saying, This is my ground, my people, my Nadiad. I’ll play, relax, and just be myself.”

The 2 km stretch between his home, college, and the cricket ground shaped Axar Patel. Now, he’s doing the same for Nadiad—putting his city on the cricketing map and inspiring a new generation.

For all his accolades, the man remains unchanged. He’ll still be found sitting by the canal, sipping his usual tea, reminiscing with childhood friends. To the world, he’s ‘Axar.’

To Nadiad, he’ll always be ‘Akshar.’