No, it isn’t a dream. It isn’t. It is real.
Yes, the cup is ours. It is. I want to pump my fist and say a ‘yay!’ – a quiet one as I write this; following all the euphoric ones that I shouted on the historic night.
It has slowly started sinking in now – exactly a day after our men in blue lifted the most coveted cup of cricket – the most splendid reward for any cricketer – the biggest dream of not just every cricketer but of a billion people. Yes, the world cup is indeed and rightfully ours!
Like one of the newspapers rightly said: ‘a country holds its breath’; we did, didn’t we? We held our breaths and finally let out a loud one and jumped up and down, hugged our families, high-fived with friends and neighbours, burst crackers, danced in the streets, went madly dizzy, forgot the so-called status, shed our inhibitions, tweeted crazily, filled up Facebook with status messages that screamed happiness and most importantly, felt so Indian – so proudly Indian.
A game is a game, we often speak like firm intellectuals. Play it and forget it. Or perhaps, we expect ourselves to go a step further and say, ‘Learn the lessons’. Fine. We could do all that whole-heartedly with something else, but, no not cricket. No way! At least not for India. For in India, cricket melts us, melts our hearts. For us, cricket is a religion. For us, cricket is a spirit that resides within each one of us, well, almost each one of us. For us, cricket is an indescribably crucial identity. For us, no matter who you are, whether you are a politician, or a superstar, or a middle class man, or a street urchin, when you wield the bat or pitch your ball, you imagine you are Sachin Tendulkar or Zaheer Khan. It’s hard to divorce cricket from the diverse Indian mindset. It is one of those beautiful peculiarities that has seeped its way into Indian minds, breaking insurmountable barriers and shattering strange boundaries. It’s an emotional glue that brings people together in happiness and woe.
Change has slowly surfaced, at a personal level too. From not being one of those blue-bat-ball crazy maidens tearing her hair in joy after every match that India has won and sobbing uncontrollably after every match that India has lost, one has over the past few days succumbed to the magic of cricket especially when the team demonstrated an unbelievable improvement in their game. It was a pleasure watching the blooming players of our team rise to the occasion in the crucial matches. Gautam Gambhir, Yuvraj Singh, Zaheer Khan, Virat Kohli and Suresh Raina – the future of Indian cricket rests heavily on their shoulders now.
While the league matches didn’t leave a great impression, the quarterfinals with Australia made one sit up. The guys showed the tough stuff they were made of. And then happened the mother of all games – the phrase we so often came across that it almost ran into the risk of sounding clichéd. India and Pakistan – what a meeting it proved to be! It was moving at all levels – politics, sportsmanship and game. Didn’t we have goose bumps when our National Anthem was played?
Ah, what can one say of the finals! One is at a loss for words. We were in despair; we didn’t quite like the way the toss went; our hearts cried out in pain as Sri Lanka smashed our bowling attack in the last few overs; our hearts sank when Sehwag and Sachin were dismissed; some of us switched off our televisions or flipped channels, only to get back hoping and praying deeply and sincerely that some sort of magic happens. And it did happen, didn’t it? We saw it all with bated breath, bitten fingernails, churning stomachs and with our hearts literally in our mouths – the brilliance of the captain and his team and his match-winning six and the ‘this cup is for Sachin’ talk. We watched with racing hearts the proud Indian team’s utterly moving gesture of carrying the legendary Sachin on their shoulders, around the ground. We witnessed their joy, our joy, their tears of joy and our tears of joy. History. We glimpsed a timeless moment in history.
For us, particularly the people from the 80s and early 90s generation, it is such a big moment of our lives. For all these years, 1983 and a beaming Kapil Dev in a photograph was what winning a World Cup meant. But on 2nd April 2011, M.S.Dhoni and his boys showed to us, what we were dying to see and what so many of us had desperately hoped wouldn’t just dissolve and die as an unrealized dream.
Yes, we watched one of the most unforgettable moments in Indian history, one we would hold so dear and look back with glee, wet eyes and soulful happiness for the rest of our lives.
Thank You Team India, for being so brilliant and getting home the cup – the cup of joy.
Yes, we are bleeding blue, proudly, happily and patriotically.
Jai Ho!