A night from Heaven
31 for two. Sachin Tendulkar, arguably India's greatest ever cricketer was just dismissed. The target of 275 looked like Everest without him at the crease. Surely this was the end of the dream - a billion dreams. It couldn't end this way. It couldn't. It would be too cruel..
I had endured so much heartbreak following this team. I don't think I could have taken another. My first World Cup was '96. We were playing fabulous cricket, well on our way to winning the semi-finals. Then it happened. The great man was dismissed, and the rest of the team duly followed suit.
'99 - well, the less said the better. A one man team was never going to make it all the way.
2003 looked to be our year though. After registering eight fabulous victories on the trot, including a rousing triumph over Pakistan, surely this was our year. But Australia was ready for us, and we all know how that one ended.
The first round exit in 2007 prompted a lot of Indians to pledge allegiance to another sport. But not me. I couldn't bear to stop following this team, not even during those dark days, for this team had also given me far too many moments to cherish. The 2001 Kolkata miracle, the 2002 Natwest Trophy, the '03 World Cup run, '07 Twenty20 championship, Laxman and Ishant against a rampaging Australia, I could go on. Having lived and died with this team, winning a World Cup would have meant everything to me. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to happen in my lifetime.
* * *
Living in North America renders watching a cricket match an arduous exercise. Yet, butchering my sleep schedule for over a month to keep up with this team never once felt like a chore. Cricket is ingrained in my blood far too deeply for sleep to interfere. This still did not stop me from feeling that chilly tingle of tension when I woke up at 3am, minutes before the start of India's biggest cricket match in three decades. Watching the pre-match telecast with crazy Indian supporters making inane, drunken predictions only made my insides churn faster.
Something about Indian cricket's 2011 avatar felt different though. As if destiny was egging it to take what was rightfully theirs. The signs were undeniable. After an ordinary performance in the group stages, the whole team was playing on a completely different level the moment the knockout stages commenced. The younger guard of the team was on a rampage, lifting the fielding standards to levels unheard of in Indian cricket circles. The defending champions were sent packing all the way to Sydney International Airport. The old enemy was vanquished in the "mother of all matches" after a week of unbridled hype. All this despite a nervy show from the Master. Surely, this Cup was ours.The machine was well oiled. With just one match to go and every cog in the team firing as a unit, there was no way this nation would be denied after a twenty eight year wait.
Yet on that fateful Mumbai night, watching Sachin fall early felt like the death rattle of yet another crushed dream. Sri Lanka were on the charge, staring us in the face, daring us to make the next move. I couldn't bare to watch, silently hoping that my illegal online stream would crash and relieve me from a harrowing nightmare. It didn't. In hindsight, it would have been tragic if it had.
Inch by inch, over by over, we clawed our way back in the midst of extreme pressure. Words would not do justice to the sheer exhilaration of watching Gambhir and Kohli craft a game changing partnership, a billion hopes hinged precariously on the blades of their bats. Following another jolt, Dhoni joined in, resulting in the collective heart rates of a nation settling down for a bit. We would not be denied. Not this time. That last six off Dhoni's bat must certainly have reverberated around the globe. If the earth shook that moment, a billion people on the subcontinent were to blame. It was madness. A happy madness. A joy that knew no boundaries and which had no more obstacles to overcome. Number one in the world is an extraordinary feeling - and that moment will be etched forever in every Indian's heart.
It was Heaven.
I had endured so much heartbreak following this team. I don't think I could have taken another. My first World Cup was '96. We were playing fabulous cricket, well on our way to winning the semi-finals. Then it happened. The great man was dismissed, and the rest of the team duly followed suit.
'99 - well, the less said the better. A one man team was never going to make it all the way.
2003 looked to be our year though. After registering eight fabulous victories on the trot, including a rousing triumph over Pakistan, surely this was our year. But Australia was ready for us, and we all know how that one ended.
The first round exit in 2007 prompted a lot of Indians to pledge allegiance to another sport. But not me. I couldn't bear to stop following this team, not even during those dark days, for this team had also given me far too many moments to cherish. The 2001 Kolkata miracle, the 2002 Natwest Trophy, the '03 World Cup run, '07 Twenty20 championship, Laxman and Ishant against a rampaging Australia, I could go on. Having lived and died with this team, winning a World Cup would have meant everything to me. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to happen in my lifetime.
* * *
Living in North America renders watching a cricket match an arduous exercise. Yet, butchering my sleep schedule for over a month to keep up with this team never once felt like a chore. Cricket is ingrained in my blood far too deeply for sleep to interfere. This still did not stop me from feeling that chilly tingle of tension when I woke up at 3am, minutes before the start of India's biggest cricket match in three decades. Watching the pre-match telecast with crazy Indian supporters making inane, drunken predictions only made my insides churn faster.
Something about Indian cricket's 2011 avatar felt different though. As if destiny was egging it to take what was rightfully theirs. The signs were undeniable. After an ordinary performance in the group stages, the whole team was playing on a completely different level the moment the knockout stages commenced. The younger guard of the team was on a rampage, lifting the fielding standards to levels unheard of in Indian cricket circles. The defending champions were sent packing all the way to Sydney International Airport. The old enemy was vanquished in the "mother of all matches" after a week of unbridled hype. All this despite a nervy show from the Master. Surely, this Cup was ours.The machine was well oiled. With just one match to go and every cog in the team firing as a unit, there was no way this nation would be denied after a twenty eight year wait.
Yet on that fateful Mumbai night, watching Sachin fall early felt like the death rattle of yet another crushed dream. Sri Lanka were on the charge, staring us in the face, daring us to make the next move. I couldn't bare to watch, silently hoping that my illegal online stream would crash and relieve me from a harrowing nightmare. It didn't. In hindsight, it would have been tragic if it had.
Inch by inch, over by over, we clawed our way back in the midst of extreme pressure. Words would not do justice to the sheer exhilaration of watching Gambhir and Kohli craft a game changing partnership, a billion hopes hinged precariously on the blades of their bats. Following another jolt, Dhoni joined in, resulting in the collective heart rates of a nation settling down for a bit. We would not be denied. Not this time. That last six off Dhoni's bat must certainly have reverberated around the globe. If the earth shook that moment, a billion people on the subcontinent were to blame. It was madness. A happy madness. A joy that knew no boundaries and which had no more obstacles to overcome. Number one in the world is an extraordinary feeling - and that moment will be etched forever in every Indian's heart.
It was Heaven.
posted by Jose Parakkat at
2:47 PM
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