Directions: Read the passage and answer the questions.

I may never have become a cricketer and this book would certainly not have been written, if an eagle-eyed relation, Mr. Narayan Masurekar, had not come into my life the day I was born (July 10, 1949). It seems that Nan-kaka (as I call him), who had come to see me in hospital on my first day in this world, noticed a little hole near the top of my left ear lobe.
The next day he came again and picked up the baby lying on the crib next to my mother. To his utter horror, he discovered that the baby did not have the hole in the left ear lobe.
A frantic search of all the cribs in the hospital followed, and I was eventually located sleeping blissfully beside a fisherwoman, totally oblivious of the commotion I had caused! The mix-up, it appears, followed after the babies had been given their bath. Providence had helped me to retain my true identity, and in the process, charter the course of my life.
I have often wondered what would have happened if nature had not marked me out, and given me my guard' by giving me that small hole in my left ear lobe and if Nan-kaka had not noticed this abnormality. Perhaps, I would have grown up to be an obscure fisherman, toiling somewhere along the west coast. And, what about the baby who, for a spell, took my place? I do not know if he is interested in cricket, or whether he will ever read this book. I can only hope that, if he does, he will start taking a little more interest in Sunil Gavaskar.
How did Sunil begin playing cricket? Who helped to develop his talent as a cricketer? Let's read on. 
My most vivid recollection of my childhood cricket-playing days is the time I almost broke my mother's nose. She used to bowl with me in the small gallery of our house where we played our daily match' with a tennis ball. Since the area was small she would kneel to bowl, or rather lob the ball to me. I hit one straight back and caught her bang on the nose, which started bleeding. Although it was a tennis ball, the distance between the two of us was very short, which accounts for the force with which the ball hit her. I was frightened but she shrugged it off, washed her face, and as the bleeding stopped, we continued the game. But, for the rest of the day, it was the only forward defense for me.
I restrained myself and played no attacking shot. Cricket, to use a cliché, is 'in my blood'. My father was a good chub cricketer in his days and a keen student of the game. Even now we have interesting discussions on various aspects of the game and I have found his advice invaluable in the development of my career. And, as I have already said. I have had the privilege of having a cricketing mother, who helped me to take the first steps in the game I have come to love.
My uncle, Madhav Mantri, who played for India in four official tests, though not very successfully, was a force to reckon with in first-class games. Whenever I went to my uncle's house my favorite pastime used to be to take out his pullovers and caress them with a sense of longing. I was so attracted by the India test pullovers that once I even dared to ask him if I could take one since he had so many.
My uncle told me that one has to sweat and earn India 'colors' and I too should work hard to earn the distinction. That is a lesson I have never forgotten. Looking back, I am glad that my uncle did not succumb to my childish fancy and instead, taught me that there was no shortcut to the top. I was also fascinated by the many souvenirs he had and a large number of trophies he had won. What I liked most was the stump bearing the autographs of the 1952 India and England teams, and I loved to linger over the autograph of every player. Right from the beginning, I wanted to become a batsman and I hated losing my wicket. This became such an obsession with me that if the rest of the boys ever got me out, I would fight and eventually walk home with the bat and the ball. This would bring the game to an abrupt end since nobody else had a ball or bat.
The boys cursed and called me names, but the tension did not last long and we generally got on very well. Among these early comrades with whom I played were the Ambaye brothers, the Mandrekar brothers, and several others who made up our team. Whenever I batted they would decide beforehand that they would appeal at a particular ball and whether I was out or not, I had to go by the majority verdict! We often played matches against teams made up of boys living in the neighboring building and there was tremendous interest in the trophies as we called them. These trophies were small white-metal cups for which we all contributed and bought for as little as Rs. 1.50.