I must admit that, before yesterday (24-Oct-22), I had lost my mojo of watching sport. Life hits you a little differently in your twenties. When you are navigating your life, trying to make a career — struggling too in that, losing friends and relationships to work and life, the ghost of productivity continuously haunts you, as it reminds you, ceaselessly, that you cannot afford to waste any more time, or you will lag further behind in this race of life. We know the end of this life but we run anyway. We strive to become ideal for others — our parents, our families, our friends, our partners, our communities, even maybe, at the end, for ourselves, but in this continuous race, sometimes we lose track of what makes us human — what makes us happy. I certainly did — until, perhaps, yesterday.
I remember the first game of sport that I watched live — Pakistan vs Australia, Melbourne, 2002. It was on TV. Pakistan was bowling first — Wasim Akram to Adam Gilchrist. He charged in, took Gilchrist’s wicket on the very first ball and there it was — ecstasy. A 9-year-old me did not know why my country men on the field were so ecstatic. I knew one thing though — whatever they felt, I felt it too. The great Wasim took Ponting on the third ball of the same over. What’s next to ecstasy? I don’t know. I was a kid. But it was something. That something hooked me to watching sport. Cricket first, football later. But there is no comparison between the two. Green is green.
Then came the 2003 World Cup in South Africa. Our team of the greats of 90s were playing a miserable World Cup and, perhaps, everyone knew that things may never be the same again for our sport. We suffered some bad defeats in that tournament and as a kid, I was now experiencing the opposite of ecstasy. And. Then it came. The high-octane ecstasy. Pakistan vs India — one of the biggest sporting events of the world, definitely the biggest in the world of cricket. We all know how that match went. We just don’t know a 10-year-old me cried for an hour afterwards, hidden from my family. Why could the sport be so cruel as to shatter a kid’s dream, who just wanted to see his team win — is that so much of an ask?
As I grew older, I realized that sport is not just about winning — its about competing and accepting defeats too, whenever they come your way — for they will come at you. My teen years were full of sport addiction — like for most of us, perhaps. We would watch cricket and football for hours and skipping a match would seem like a sin. For me, all of it started to change during my bachelors. I was struggling academically, maybe in life too. Watching sport seemed excessive. I started to skip matches, not all of them, but mostly. I told myself that if I would not watch so frequently, maybe I would get a little hang of my life, as I did not want to waste my life away. So, I gave it up. I didn’t have my life together — perhaps none of us have, and perhaps none of us ever will. In trying to pull my life together, I gave up ecstasy, the excitement, and the joy — all of which that came without any cost and expectations, from sport.
Twenties flew by mostly in disappointments and I came to Australia as a 29-year-old. While there are so many good things about life here, there are some things you experience only when you leave your country for good, when you leave behind “everything.” For “everyone” that was ever connected to you in your whole life — their life is the same, but for you nothing is the same now. And nothing will ever be the same again. You try to hold everything together alone. Some people in your life understand. Some don’t. But you have to fight every day. And you have to grow. No one knows what you are going through, and you cannot afford to tell anyone either — for you have to put on a brave face. But. You can cry alone. As I have. Once in a park as the sun was setting. Once, for fifteen minutes, alone at Glenfield train station when I was waiting for my train at 0145. Life does not stop. The train comes. And you have to board it.
Amidst all that, sport comes to your new country. I had never watched anything live in a stadium before. And here it comes — Pakistan vs India, at the mighty MCG. The tickets were all sold out but I managed to buy a resell. And, for the first time, in years, I waited for this game. And then it came. Yesterday, I woke up excitedly with not a fear or worry in this world. I felt like 9 again. All that mattered was ecstasy. Excitement was in the air. You could smell it. As I reached the train station, I saw others like me. All of them Indians. A couple of families and a lot of guys just standing alone. But. Wearing blue. I did not know any of them. They did not know me. But we all nodded to each other with a smile. I don’t even know why. Then that train came — which would take all of us to the cathedral of cricket. It was full. I had never seen that train this full before; I have to be honest. Not yesterday though. Yesterday was different. The train was all blue with a little shade of green.
We changed the train from Flinders Street and the second train dropped us at the MCG station. It was a festival. I have not experienced anything like it. The culture, the mood, the vibe, the dances — everything was surreal. When I first glimpsed the pitch and the MCG ground from my enclosure, once I had entered the stadium — it felt magical. The match happened the way it happened. But for 4 hours, nothing else mattered to those 90000 people in that cathedral yesterday and a billion watching worldwide. No other worry. Just cricket. It was wholesome — certainly an experience of a lifetime. In my stand, there were no more than 10 Pakistanis in the whole enclosure and I was perhaps the only one in four lanes. But every Indian around me smiled at me and gave occasional taps whenever it was Pakistan’s turn to celebrate. To let go of yourself in those moments and waving your flag with a passion that had been buried for years was ecstasy. And that’s why we watch it, this game of cricket — for ecstasy.