From Sega Genesis to Serve-and-Volley: My Unlikely Tennis Journey

Progression of Tennis Career

Left (1999) Photo Credit: DMTAtennis

Center (2013) Photo Credit: Bryan Hiner

Right (2025)

PART 01

The Beginning: Ages 9–18

Let’s be honest, Tennis is not an easy sport to just pick up and excel at. Unless you’re naturally gifted with exceptional hand-eye coordination, footwork, mental sharpness, and physical control, you’re going to struggle.

And struggle I did.

Tennis wasn’t for me, at least not at first.

I didn’t like it.

I wasn’t good at it.

As a skinny, asthmatic, unathletic Indian kid with little self-confidence, I found the sport intimidating and overwhelmingly difficult.

But my mom had her reasons of starting me in the sport. Two, to be exact:

1. I was becoming far too attached to my Sega Genesis and potato chips at age nine.

2. My cousin was one of the top players in India at the time. He climbed as high as ATP no 412 in singles.

   
   

That second reason lit the spark. My mom saw firsthand the dedication, the travel, the early taste of pro success he experienced. They grew up more like siblings, and when he began knocking on the door of the pro tour, it left an impression that stuck with her and ultimately guided my path.

Full credit to him and his family. He achieved things I could only dream of during my junior years, and more importantly, he inspired an entire generation within our family. My sister went on to have a standout junior career and earned a Division I scholarship. His sister’s two boys followed the path as well. One played D1 college tennis here in the States, the other earned an ATP doubles ranking and now coaches full-time. In total, at least four of us found our way through tennis because of that one spark.

But let’s not get it twisted, he was a legit athlete. At over six feet tall, gifted, with a classical serve-and-volley game that fit his frame and era perfectly, it worked for him. I was... not that. I was the asthmatic underdog who needed a lot more than talent to just stay alive on the court.

Still, we started.And fittingly, I began my tennis journey under the watch of another towering figure, Coach David Matthews. DMTA (David Matthews Tennis Academy) was where I learned the ropes. As a kid, you don’t always realize the moments that will shape you, but Coach David and his legendary circuits, kick serves, and ball machine drills stuck with me long after I left. Many of my tennis and fitness habits still trace back to those early years.

With family support and major lifestyle sacrifices, I began to find my footing. It was never easy, but tennis eventually became fun. It became a purpose. A never-ending challenge to get stronger, fitter, and more skilled.  Ultimately, the goal was to earn a college scholarship and not burden my family with academic debt. That was the only way college would be financially possible. We knew the terms, so we committed.

Thanks to Georgia’s HOPE Scholarship, my college options were geographically limited, which meant staying in-state. Georgia Tech, Georgia State, and UGA were top-tier and highly competitive athletic programs.  If you weren’t top 100 in the Nation, don’t even bother. Eventually, I found my place at Georgia Southwestern. Between HOPE, athletic funding, and academic aid, we pieced together a full ride and just like that, college tennis became real.

PART 02

The Middle: Ages 18–26

The Division II Peach Belt Conference and NAIA were far more competitive than I expected. When I joined Georgia Southwestern for the 2005-06 season, the program was in transition from NAIA to NCAA Division II. By 2006-07, my final year at GSW, we were officially in DII. The Peach Belt was no joke, stacked with powerhouse programs like Valdosta State, Columbus State, North Georgia, and Georgia College & State. Valdosta and Columbus were national champions, while the other schools were solid in their own right.

The NAIA, though not as well-known, was just as intense in its own way. One of its quirks was allowing former professional players (who had stepped away from the tour) to compete on scholarship with partial eligibility, usually two or three years. This rule attracted players who had tested the waters on the Futures or Challenger circuits. These weren’t kids fresh out of high school. These were grown men, often with years of professional-level training under their belts.

I wasn’t a bad tennis player. I was a 3-star recruit with a solid junior record. But I was thrown into the fire right away, starting at no. 1 singles for a program entering the toughest DII conference in the country. My opponents were physically mature, mentally tough, and knew how to exploit every weakness. I was 140 lbs, 5'9", and nowhere near ready for that level mentally or physically. I was overwhelmed by the intensity, the pace, and the pressure.

In my first year, wins were hard to come by. In fact, it took many matches to finally notch my first singles victory. That win meant everything to me. It was a reminder that persistence mattered. Losing so frequently was a humbling experience I hadn’t faced since I was 11. But those losses shaped me. I had to learn to lose to accept it, reflect on it, and move forward.

These opponents weren’t just skilled; they believed in themselves at a level I had never seen. Their conviction was unshakable. It wasn’t that I lacked the desire to win, I absolutely wanted to win. However, their self-belief existed in another stratosphere. I later came to understand why. Many of them had been competing on the ITF Futures and Challengers Circuits from a young age. At the time, I knew nothing about the ITF pathway, except what I slowly uncovered during that first year. Some of the players I faced had already been entering professional qualifying events by the age of 15.

Their games reflected that experience. They hit heavy balls, served big, moved with confidence, and played fearlessly. They weren’t just participating, they were executing with clarity and purpose. I had no roadmap for how to match that level, no guide for closing that gap. But I knew one thing: I could control my effort. So I doubled down physically, just like I did in high school, and committed myself fully to raising my level, one rep, one sprint, one point at a time.

Romain, our assistant coach, was a game-changer. He had helped lead the team to the NAIA National Tournament semifinals and, in my eyes, was one of the best players I’d ever seen. I realized I needed to train with someone better than me, someone who would beat me badly every single day. The rest of my team didn’t push me the way I needed. Romain did. I asked him to train with me after team practices, and he agreed.

My routine changed. Mornings and early afternoons were for class and studying. Late afternoons were team practice. After dinner, Romain and I would hit the courts again. No matter what we did, drills, sets, point play, he crushed me.

Drop-feed points to 10? I'd lose 5–10.

Match play? He'd smoke a cigarette on changeovers and still beat me 6–2.

I was frustrated, but also in awe. He once mentioned growing up playing in tournaments with Gilles Simon in the same draw. A Top 50 ATP player at the time. That helped me understand his level a bit and made my losses to him each day a bit easier to swallow.

Gradually, I started closing the gap. Whether it was my game or just adapting to the level, I can't say. But I like to think I was growing, not just physically, but in tennis IQ and competitive resilience. I was learning a lot from each day we trained together and was never too upset with the results. How could I be? It was exactly what I needed to improve. Over time, I did get better and started to bridge the score gap by a small margin. Whether or not I was improving technically in tennis, I’m unsure. It’s possible my game was simply acclimating to the quality of shots I was up against. Though I’d like to believe I was also elevating my tennis IQ and sharpening my abilities. Either way, the training paid off and it led to the first of two pivotal moments in my college tennis career.

Moment 1:

It Finally Happened

It was my final match as a college athlete in the NAIA. We were playing Berry College in the conference tournament. They had crushed us during the regular season and were expected to do the same again. After losing all the doubles and most singles matches, I found myself locked in a battle with their no. 1 player.

I lost the first set 5–7, but I felt calm and in rhythm. In the second set, something shifted. I entered a state of flow. I started seeing the court differently, like an invisible window opened over the net. I placed shots exactly where I wanted, played without fear, and everything just clicked. I took the second set 6–4. Since the team match was already decided, we played a 10-point tiebreaker for the third set.

During the tiebreak, the surreal feeling continued. My body and mind were able to execute shots that crossed into that window and landed in my opponent’s half of the court with ease. I didn’t miss many and started to feel a sense of calm and tranquility. It was like I was in a dream-state, nothing fazed me. I was absolutely enjoying striking the ball, floating around the court, and hitting freely, as if I was the only person out there. To this day, the memories remain vivid. I can only describe it as a light, airy sensation, almost as if time had slowed down. It was strange, yet beautiful. I was playing without fear, completely at peace, and incredibly happy. I claimed my final college tennis match against a very quality opponent, 10–8 in the tiebreaker.

That was it, my last match for GSW and the final time I stepped on court to represent a college. At the time, I didn't know who I had just beaten. Eighteen years later, while researching this memoir in 2023, I discovered he had been ranked no. 22 in the NAIA. My final college match had been a win over a nationally ranked opponent. That small detail, found so many years later, gave me closure I didn’t know I needed. When I told my wife, she smiled and said, "It’s the small victories that we have." And she was right.

My second year at GSW was a lot better for my tennis, with improved results and a season-ending match I still remember vividly. We had a handful of new recruits who strengthened the team, and I distinctly remember driving back to campus the weekend before classes started and having a conversation with Coach Sewell. I had trained all summer and was excited to return stronger and ready for results. During that conversation, Coach told me he had increased my athletic scholarship. I was shocked and confused. I had never asked for anything, never expected anything, and all my extra training was in silence for the sheer desire to improve my Tennis abilities. I had the utmost respect for him and always tried to represent myself well as a student-athlete.  He explained that he increased my scholarship because he saw how hard I had worked the previous season and recognized the extra time I had put in with Romain. Hearing that was overwhelming. I felt a rush of emotion and validation. Praise and acknowledgment from my coach meant the world to me. No one really knew about the daily running, fitness work, and extra hitting I did on my own. I never spoke about it, I just wanted it to show in my play. I wanted to be the fastest, the fittest, and the most prepared. To be recognized for it was unforgettable.

We had brought in several new players to join the program. It was an inspiring time, especially because one of them was a familiar name to me even though we had never met or played. Brent Bjerregaard, a lefty with a solid junior career and two years of experience at ABAC, joined our roster. When I looked at our junior stats side-by-side, Brent had surpassed me in every category (State, Southern, and National) of rankings. He also had an extra year of college competition under his belt, making this his third season.

From the start, I knew we’d make excellent training partners. He was faster than me in our runs, stronger in our conditioning work, and outperformed me in fitness drills. That was hard to accept, especially since I had been the fastest and strongest on the team the year before. But it was also exciting, I finally had a teammate I could push and be pushed by.

Unfortunately, Brent wasn’t eligible to compete with us that season due to NCAA transfer rules. He couldn’t participate in official team practices or in sanctioned matches. So, we trained outside of team sessions. That wasn’t new to me as I was used to putting in extra work beyond scheduled practices. Brent, Romain, and I often stayed late playing sets and points, doing everything we could to improve and prepare for the upcoming season.

Mentally, I was ready. My plan since high school was to finish two years at GSW, playing tennis on scholarship, then transfer to Georgia Tech to complete my Bachelor of Science in Architecture. That season, 2006–07, was my last and the toughest.

Because we were still in a trial phase for NCAA Division II, we couldn’t compete in the national or conference tournaments. But we had to play the full Peach Belt schedule. That meant facing some of the best teams in the country: Armstrong State, Georgia College & State, Lander, Columbus State, Francis Marion, and USC Aiken. We also had matchups against Berry, ABAC, and the University of North Georgia. Nearly every match was a grind against high quality opponents.

As the no. 1 singles player, I played the top player on every opposing team. The competition was brutal, and while I fought hard, the losses continued to stack up. But something shifted—my attitude. I became more resilient. My match scores were closer. I started winning more points, competing more evenly, and walking off court with confidence, even in defeat.

Moment 2:

The Realization

This moment came during a doubleheader weekend. We were on the road, playing two top-ranked teams back-to-back. I don’t remember the first match well, but the second one stayed with me. We played doubles and singles in the morning, broke for lunch, then returned for our second match. I believe it was against either Valdosta State or Armstrong Atlantic, both national champions at one point.

In the final singles match of the day, I split sets with my opponent. We were the last ones on court. The team match had already been decided, so we played a 10-point tiebreak instead of a full third set. The pressure was intense to say the least. My legs were heavy and adrenaline high. I had a slight lead in the deciding tiebreaker, maybe 7–5.  Mid point, I hit a forehand and felt my racquet nearly fly out of my hand. My fingers had cramped and my forearm seized.

I’d never cramped in a match before. I didn’t know what to say to my coach. I tried to play through it not knowing what it was and ended up losing the breaker. Later, I learned that the opponent I had just lost to was ranked in the Top 10 of the NAIA singles rankings. Despite the loss, that match gave me something invaluable: belief. I could hang with the best. I just needed a little more time.

However, my college tennis journey ended that year.  The more time that I needed, had to come to a stop as that chapter of my Tennis career was officially completed.  In the Fall of 2007, I transferred to Georgia Tech to pursue my Architecture degree.

Georgia Tech was a completely new experience—rigorous, elite, and demanding. The transition was jarring. I commuted 30 miles each day to save money on housing and meals. It was draining, and by my second year, I moved into on-campus housing.

Initially, I wasn’t even sure I liked Architecture. It wasn’t until my final year and a half that things started to click. I found my style, my design voice. I buckled down in the studio and committed.

Around that same time, a high school tennis friend invited me to join a 10K race. I had never run more than three miles at a time in my life.  He beat me by at least five minutes.  This wasn’t an ordinary high school friend.  This was a former tennis training partner whom I competed against week in and week out form the age of 14-16.  So naturally when he beat me in a foot race, my ego took a hit and I responded the only way I knew how: by training.

The very next weekend, I entered another 10K. I ran better but pushed too hard resulting in knee tendonitis. I didn’t know then that logging 20+ miles in a week with no base mileage was a fast track to injury. Once I recovered, I leaned all the way in.

I began racing regularly—5Ks, 10Ks, even three half-marathons over the next year and a half. I trained on the upstairs track of Georgia Tech’s athletics center, often in the evenings after class. My best half-marathon time was 1:28:40. For a tennis player turned runner, I was proud. Trail running became a new love. I began a training program (I created myself) on the upstairs track of the Georgia Tech athletics center. I attended class during the day/afternoon and trained for races in the evening. I was back to an athletic fitness routine in 2009 that I continued till 2013 for distance running.

In 2010, I somehow gained knowledge about entry-level pro events called Futures. These tournaments are the first line of competition you sign up for in hopes of achieving a pro (ATP) ranking. You have to make it through three rounds of qualifying to gain a “qualifier” position into the main draw of the Futures event. I began this journey in 2010 for training, with my first-ever qualifying event in 2011.  It’s at this point that I began the final stages of the most competitive and most refined version of my Tennis career.