In the present times in this country when it is starved of “HEROES” and accomplishments that would bring pride, the decimation of the oppositions in the ICC World Cup was savoring and delightful. Individual accomplishments in their own spheres are not many that we can boast about, at least in the times from the not so distant past. The magnificence of a Sachin Tendulkar and the team
, the tenacity of Sania Newal, the never say die spirit of Leander Paes, the rise from nothingness of a P.T.Usha are but a few that comes to mind.The country has to eventually harbour on its individuals who excelled in the arena of sports, when all seem to be lost if not going down the abyss else where, be it politics, public or social life. India
I was cocooned in the air-conditioned comfort of the sprawling ball room of Trivandrum Club with a few friends and our families watching with varying emotions and moods the WC final last Saturday on the huge screen that was specially erected. It brought back memories of that June night in 1983, when a dozen of us got together at a friend's house here in
to watch the David vs Goliath finals of the Prudential Cup. Those days only a few house holds had Television sets and in color. Since there were no separate Sports channels then, we had to agonisingly tune into the BBC for the match progression, while Doordarshan enamored itself with the Samachars and News in English. And robbing us off the sensations at Lords! Trivandrum
Tendulkar being scooped by the odd man with odd hair and odd action sent us into almost terminal shock. The gradual but tenacious recouping of the match from then on , the measured but composed frontal assault by the captain M.S.Dhoni and the eventual dispatch of the cricket ball that saw India lift the World Cup was a befitting end if not shall I hope the beginning of a different India, a India that stutters for resurgence?
However standing along with the rest in that room that day and applauding amidst the vociferous yells of “Bharth Mahan” and “Vande Mataram” took away to some extent, the sheen of the win. It was after all a game, a game for civilised people! The hollers and cries of “Vande Mataram” reminded me of the war cries with the very same catchwords by the kar-sevaks atop the Babari Masjid and the sword wielding arsonists in Gujart.
Verbal descriptions of cynic, faultfinder, sceptic and much more if any will not be hurting as the unwarranted and wild invocations that was made after the memorable win.
Driving back home through the revelry on the road I felt that at last we have something rightfully worthy to exult and relish amidst the money laundering and sleaze that this country has come to be known for. And the din of that realization will take a while to settle down or be eclipsed. Until then, “Go