Win or lose, this is a team I wish my forefathers had seen playing
Writing this on the evening before the World Cup final, the cricket fan in me is fidgety. Not completely anxious yet, not at all nervous. In fact, strangely enough, a little hopeful.
Over the past few years, this Indian cricket team has forced me into the habit of hoping. Yes, it does break at times, but it is still better than being absolutely sure about India not being good enough before the big matches.
It started early in my childhood. Somewhere when young Yuvraj Singh and Mohammed Kaif took over England, chasing an unbeatable total after being in an unsalvageable situation, a victory that prompted the unforgettable celebration from the balcony of the Lord’s.
I remember watching the match with my father and grandfather. As I grew up, all three of us struggled to align with each others’ thoughts, but cricket was always something we would watch silently, in unison.
I remember, discussing it with my father, whom I have not had many connecting moments unfortunately, or not that I remember of, about the match late into the night. It was one of those nights when you used to sleep under the sky on your terrace, you are a curious child full of adrenaline, and you have found something you can talk about like the grown-ups do. It was a good night.
I remember Champions Trophy 2013. A match that went late into the night, rain-affected, my bed-ridden grandfather, would stay awake, awaiting a result. Once again it’s England, a relatively young Indian side, and two of us, basking in the win. We both slept happily, at around 2.
I remember the T20 final where Misbah gave the cup away to another young Indian side. I was at my maternal grandfather’s house. A pessimist when it came to Indian cricket. This time, we had given up hope until the ball went into the air. We won, and the whole apartment he stayed in, echoed. It was alive. We both were, too.
I remember the 2016 Kohli. He at Mohali, taking on Faulkner, beginning the end of Australia’s reign that he would script just some years later. I remember that knock a little less, as the other memories of the night would take over. I saw it, once again at my maternal grandfather’s place. We were both in awe, on a high that only the sport could gift you.
I came home, and my grandfather had also seen it, in fact, it was the last thing he would ever see. At the same midnight, I would take him to a hospital never to bring him back, but all that did not happen without us talking about it. He was excited; having seen Kohli play.
Three years later, I would lose my maternal grandfather, too. Just like I had lost my father two years after quietly celebrating the 2011 World Cup win because of my board exams.
Today, I carry the love for the game, for all four of us. Maybe it’s a mechanism developed by not attending to the true grief, or maybe it was the only thing we all four would agree upon.
Sachin tries to play way too many shots way too early, we all would say. Dhoni cannot save you every day, every match, we all would say. After all, it’s the Pakistan bowling attack. Australians, they are unmatched, we all would say.
The last bit, I want to change. Not because of the final tomorrow, but in the last few years, India has done it naturally. Without worries, repetitively, and confidently. It’s the kind of play these men we talked about did not get to see.
In the history of my watching cricket, which is maybe 20–22 years, in the history of my grandfather watching cricket, which may be the inception of the Indian Cricket Team, no generation would be sure about a team, like they are about this one.
As I said, they give me hope.
They would have done the same to these men also. A team that stood up to Australia and England, played better than them, beat them in tests and played a World Cup like it’s a team from 2050. It’s a team playing the way they saw Australia playing.
For them, the dynamics would have been different. My grandfathers would have seen a different India and its cricket team. Post-independence, still looked down upon, fighting for its place. Somewhere in 1983, I think they would have hoped, too.
My father’s generation cannot be represented any better than a combination of Sourav Ganguly, Sachin Tendulkar, and Rahul Dravid. Tactical and ready to take on the world, skilled yet rooted, and understanding of the virtues of patience. They were ready to go global, the Indian way.
Today, at least in cricket, I see India calling shots. It’s an India that India would like to be represented as, outside of sports. A superpower in the true sense. Aiming for the heights their ancestors never did, and making the ladder out of it to get to the next one.
For the way this team has played- Tests in Australia, and England, ruling over Asia for almost a decade now, unchallenged for the most part, they deserve to win tomorrow. And I would love it to the T.
But strangely enough, they are allowed to lose, too. Somehow, it won’t change anything for me.
1983, 2011, 2019, and 2023 (whatever the result). To Kapil Dev, Sunil Gavaskar, MS Dhoni, Sachin Tendulkar, Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma, Yuvraj Singh, Zaheer Khan, and not to forget, Thakor Kayasth, Rohit Kayasth, and Prakash.
Godspeed lads. It’s been a good game.
