Tennis Paradise
Is it truly?
Dearest Reader,
It’s 2:23 am. I have no idea why I’m still awake and why at this specific hour have I logged back onto Instagram. I cannot come up with any logical reason for doing so. This dopamine hit culture is going to ruin us all. It really is that damn phone. I shouldn’t be doing this; I should be in stage 2 of my sleep cycle, in a more subdued state, approaching deep sleep. A reel pops up on my feed and it is one of those loud, machoistic, chest-thumping motivational ones. Ugh. The worst kind. The fast pace, snip-snappy editing, with a flare-up of flashing lights in all colours, makes my head spin, and the cavernous room lighting isn’t doing me any favours.
A wannabe baritone voice booms from the speakers: “Life is meant to be lived, just go live”, or something superfluous along these lines. Thanks random Brad, for your sagacious advice. The screen fades to black, indicating power’s out. I never heard the rest of it and thank goodness I didn’t. (Maybe it’s time to do away with that nefarious app altogether?)
Soon after, the sun rays filtered through and the gentle zephyr of the breeze left a lazy smile on my face. The cool air lightly caressed my face as if to say, “Wake up, Darling, you’re home”. The chirping of the birds is a melodic shift-up from the blares of the hours before. A vast, undulating expanse of purple and yellow wildflowers, palm trees, and desert mountains dominated the horizon. An overly fancy floating breakfast appears out of thin air. I see an orange juice along with god knows what food items, all bunched together. I really can’t make out any of it. I reach for the tray, but the waterbed’s currents are making it increasingly difficult. Whoever thought this was a good idea anyway?
This ephemera is soon shattered by the strong, swirling winds and sweltering heat. In this desert (it still baffles me it’s one), the temperatures soar faster than Petshi-Perricards serves (216kph) and combined with the jaggedly volatile winds, it turns tennis into a survival of the fittest.
Wait, tennis? Where did that come from? I thought I was on a holiday…
It’s a sunny day and a sweat-drenched fest, then suddenly it’s night and chilly and now there’s a racket in my hand; the conditions alternate with every shot. The sky is writing its own story, going from luminous blues to crimsons and purples. I’m frozen in place. I cannot make contact; there’s no sweet sound when the ball hits the middle of the strings. My racquet doesn’t have any strings. I can only hope I don’t get smacked in the face. The balls are flying around me at a ping-pong game pace; some are fluffier, some are new, is it Penn? is it Dunlop? I don’t know. The court is too fast, faster than usual, or maybe I’m just slow.
The wind is gathering speed. I can feel its gale force stinging my face. My unruly, chaotic curls are set loose, caught in this turbulence. It’s one battle after another— the sound system erupts: “Fault. Fault. Foot Fault. Foot fault.” Like a broken record on repeat, its high-pitched voice overwhelms the sparsely populated arena. Maybe now I understand why Ostapenko is always a comically boorish grump when it comes to this technology.
“Video review, Miss DCosta” “Oh but, I never asked for a video review.”
“Yes, you did. You're going to get one.”(I’m getting gaslit in my own dream, wow)
The screen above is glitching, cycling between vibrant technicolors and grayscales. Its pixelated, amorphous self is waiting to spring to life as a deafening silence arrests the crowd’s attention.
R..e…pl…a..y….the…….p…
An ear-shattering alarm jolts me awake; my heart is still pounding from this erratic and unwelcome awakening and a cloud of confusion hovers above me. Once again, I never got to see what happened next. Truth be told, I just want that orange juice and a peaceful swim under the clear skies in what’s meant to be a Paradise.
And all of a sudden, I’m wondering: Was that place really a haven?
Welcome to Indian Wells a.k.a. Tennis Paradise, where the scenery trumps the seesaw temperatures and somehow turns into a magnetic force, roping you in year after year. A place voted as the best Masters 1000 on the ATP and WTA tours for a decade straight till 2024.
There’s always a lot going on at the same time. For this edition, I’ve distilled it to the subtopics that had my thinking cap on, firmly fixated atop my head. A few moments that have stayed with me these past two weeks.
Challenging the duopoly?
Since 2024, Tennis has been swept up by a new dominant wave, one that has broken away from the shadows of the Big 3/4, and carved a name for itself. (Yes, Novak Djokovic is still on top of the world, but let’s keep the dramatisation intact) When the sport has moved on, why haven’t we? We’ve got Jannik Sinner and Carlos ALcaraz breathing life into the game, keeping us fans on the edge of our seats every time they both come together for a showdown. And yet, there are many who are eagerly awaiting the entrance of a third. To that, I wonder: Why?
What the Big 3 did was probably unprecedented in any sport. Rivalries are what carry a sports psychological plane: the emotional tension, the mutual recognition and a shared history. And it’s almost always a one-Vs-one showdown. Out of the blue, Djokovic arrived and the sport jumped stratospheres. With every slam, actually every match out here, the stakes kept rising and we had a lot to look forward to. I think it’s safe to admit that this was perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence and that is alright. It was a choreography that enraptured the world and one that some wished would never see the curtains fall upon.
Instead of searching for a third man to disrupt the Sincaraz harmony, I’d much like to see numerous challengers arising. I think that would definitely be a pleasant breakaway from the past and an even stronger sounding of a new era. Every generation writes its own story—whether you’re able to let go of the nostalgia or not— and this one is already looking promising. The 90s generation is hanging on, finding newer ways to evolve with the changing landscapes (Medvedev, Zverev, Fritz, Paul etc), and the 2000s are coming in waves, motivated by the ones leading and eagerly waiting to join the race (Draper, Shelton, Mensik, Tien, Fonseca etc).
I do find the uncertainty of not knowing who will sweep the win next exciting. For this exact reason, I love the current player field of the WTA. Yes, right now, as I’m typing this, Aryna Sabalenka and Elena Rybakina are fusing a rivalry for themselves. However, Coco Gauff, Iga Swiatek, Jessica Pegula, and Amanda Anisimova are right on their tail. Elina Svitolina, Belinda Bencic, and Naomi Osaka are on their own unrelenting and fierce comeback trails. More than a decade of grinding out on the tour has equipped them with prescient experience in the big matches and it’s heartening to watch them shine. Victoria Mboko and Mirra Andreeva, the young ones, are galloping through the rankings; a few more match play experiences away to claim their stakes on a Major stage.
Everyone’s in this together. At any corner, a slight lapse in concentration and you can be assailed by anyone in the Top 40 at least!! That’s just a testament to the depth of the field soldered by an unerring belief. If you watch these ladies out in their natural habitat, you’ll immediately know what I’m talking about. This is the kind of depth I hope we can see the ATP shape up to, wherein every major tournament kindles a fascinating riddle.
Are you on the lookout for a third man or do you also like the variations?
An Open Camaraderie
I was listening to Alexandra Eala’s interview at the Tennis Channel desk. Eala, exuberant as always, had me hooked at two sentences: “I am happy to say that I have built a lot of really great friendships on tour.” and “one of my best friends not just on Tour but in life, is Zeynep Sonmez, I have grown really close with her. Also, Victori Mboko.” I also heard Zeynep Sonmez’s interview at the “Love.All Podcast” hosted by Kim Clijsters and Blair Henley. “Girlhood forever, we’re in this together, we see each other more than we see our families, basically, so why not be friends?” she confided. “And with Alex [Eala], we’re very close; it’s not like we’re just friends in tennis, we’re friends outside of tennis.
I sometimes come across discourses that use “financial gains” to de-legitimize the feelings of loneliness that an individual sport chalks up. Being away from your loved ones and missing out on “conventional” markers of normalcy, like birthdays, weddings, or just seeing your childhood friends at that one luncheon spot, could sometimes leave you feeling dismayed. Like you are missing out in their life and maybe they in yours. Now add a fraught geopolitical landscape into the mix and your worries are never-ending. You have your teams or entourages with you—or you are out here on your own— but maybe sometimes you cannot shake off that sinking feeling…
Tell me: What is worse than feeling utterly alone in a crowded room?
I can recall Alcaraz, during the 2025 US Open ceremony, jokingly gesturing towards Sinner, “I'm seeing you more than my family." Then the Player’s Box Podcast that came as a surprise with four active players, all compatriots, and clearly incredible friends— Jessica Pegula, Madison Keys, Jennifer Brady and Desirae Krawczyk—taking you around their life on the tour. A few more friendships, I can think of: Eva Lys, Marta Kostyuk and Elena-Gabriela Ruse. Amanda Anisiomova and Priscilla Hon. Aryna Sabalenka and Paula Badosa and ofcourse, Ons Jabeur— but Ons is a tour favourite and a fan favourite and rightly so, I do miss her slices on the Tour and her vivacious self in general. I think Stefanos Tsitispas also mentioned how uplifting the Laver Cup was in that sense, to find a common thread, and shared sense of being, a communal aspect in a sport that can be notoriously alienating and getting to know the ones you see week in, week out and why he loves coming back time and again. (I’m sure there’s more such friendships, I’m blanking on…)
Anyways, I just wanted to hop on here and say: I like the precedent this is setting for anyone watching the sport, and especially for the young ones dreaming and aspiring to be in their shoes. At some point, the terrain won’t daunt you as much, and you’ll find your people along the way. I genuinely think we all do at some point in our lives. I also think the sport is a healthier space when it’s brimming with joy. <3
At Indian Wells, we’ve seen comebacks in motion. Arthur Fils is swiftly catching up on his time away from the tour, revamping himself as a contender on the tour with a quarterfinal run here. Jack Draper, while falling short in his title defence, put on a stellar display until the end, but especially in his match against his idol, Novak Djokovic. A gritty, adrenaline-filled, full-of-heart display and a third set that had everyone waiting with bated breath. Joao Fonseca surprised with his performance against Jannik Sinner, sending his Brazilian fans into a frenzy as he stood toe-to-toe, even overpowering Sinner with his cannonball-like forehand… or should I say ‘fearhand?’
At Indian Wells, we’ve also seen some heartbreaking moments. At least, that is how I’d classify it. I’ll start with Iga Swiatek. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that she went from the biggest threat on tour with her supreme athleticism and defence to a borderline ball-basher, perplexed, like a deer caught in the headlights… but I hope she and her team can work on it soon, because as I’ve written somewhere before, the tour doesn’t wait for anyone. More than her rushed game, it’s the unravelling of the self that worries me a bit, and maybe I’m being dramatic in my assessment or hyperbolic, but it’s like watching someone grasping at straws, and the grip eludes you. At.Every.Attempt.
And lastly, Coco Gauff, in her R2 match against Alexandra Eala, felt like a firework was going off inside her left arm and this led to her retirement. I haven’t seen any update yet on the arm, but I hope it’s nothing too worrying!
It completely slipped my mind that Indian Wells played its third edition of the Mixed Doubles until I saw the winner’s Flavio Cobolli and Belinda Bencic, with their cute miniature trophies, beaming at the cameras and rejoicing in their win as they toppled the top seeds, Gabriela Dabrowski and Lloyd Glasspool 6-3 2-6 [10-7] in what must have been a thrilling final.
I also had my Professor McGonagall moment, this tournament, with, “Oh, Daniil, why is it that whenever some umpire drama is around, it is always you?” Oh, did you see he also beat Alcaraz and refashioned his form to his 2021 self? (More on this in a separate post.)
The final stage is set:
Aryna Sabalenka vs Elena Rybakina (currently on and Rybakina leads 6-3)
Jannik Sinner vs Daniil Medvedev
I’m going to go set my alarms for these match-ups and also for the Academy Awards set to begin in a few hours. I still think of Andrew Garfield losing out to Will Smith, and it makes me roll my eyes. Ever since I was a kid, the glitz and glamour of the red carpets and the outfits have been my yearly drug of choice and this year, too, I’ll happily indulge.
I think Jessie Buckley sweeps it for Hamnet; I hope she does. The rest of the categories I’m not so sure about. But I love the movies! I think everyone does.
A little different to my usual posts, so thank you for reading. (more stream-of-consciousness-esque and slightly less refined)
I hope you enjoyed it.
See you in the next one!
Love,
Areyah
Omg I loved the dream sequence so much!
loved this! felt like being transported right into tennis paradise. such a smooth immersive read🤍