Introduction

Two months ago I was lazing around in my room going over a contract which would have me write a cricket column for a website I’m not particularly fond of and doesn’t respond in time when it comes to making payments. Like everything else, I had to give my “unique, fun and out of the box” (that’s what EVERY magazine or newspaper representative I’ve ever spoken to wants. Sort of like Bollywood producers who want the script to be thoda “hatke”) perspective on the ICC Cricket World Cup 2011 – and despite never having seriously written about cricket before, I figured this would be a great opportunity to test myself and get a couple hundred additional Twitter followers. Because really, that’s what it is about isn’t it? It doesn’t matter who wins or loses as long as the follower count keeps increasing. And frankly the Commonwealth Games did a world of good to my follower count so I was looking forward to another sporting event in the country.

This is me making my Bhajji face.


Now I’m not a HUGE cricket fan – the kinds who can rattle all off statistics from a series in 76 where the only camera angle you saw was the batsman’s ass – but a fan nonetheless who enjoys watching Test and One Day cricket, hates the T20 format and would devour many pints of beer while discussing the intricacies of the game on a big screen with air conditioning and masala peanuts. So needless to say, when I got the chance to follow the Indian team through the entire World Cup and watch all their group matches, quarters, semi and final live - whether they made it or not for free; (this especially appealed to my Indian sensibility) I took prompt notice. There was a catch however. Because this was part of Pepsi’s Change the Game campaign – it would involve shooting vignettes with MTV that would air throughout the World Cup between mind-blowingly awesome shows such as Roadies, Splitsvilla and my personal favourite, Roadies. Nonetheless, after thinking about it for a few days I made a quick assessment in my head that no one in the intellectual circle I hang out in watches those shows and I shall thus be saved from peer group embarrassment and being labeled a sell out. Thus, after deciding that this would be great opportunity to burn those people on Facebook who keep talking about how cool their lives are, and making peace with the opportunity cost of cutting down on stand up, writing and Twitter followers, I decided I would go all out and submit myself to this once in a lifetime opportunity. I mean it’s not like India is going to win or anything right? Might as well see Sachin one last time.

I can tell you right now – I’m lucky to get a chance to work on a lot of cool projects thanks to blogging, tweeting and other things that classify one as unemployed – but this was the best decision I ever made in my life (And not just because some girls in Ludhiana who I grew up with saw me on MTV and are now willing to offer me their bodies and a BMW X5) I was thinking long and hard if I wanted to do a post on this – or how to do one if I did decide to – and I’ve come to the conclusion instead of writing about the matches I’m just going to talk about my own experiences and things that stood out for me and share some pictures from all the matches.
  
Stylists make me miserable: 

Before we even get to the matches, I should talk to you about my first ever shoot at MTV Studios and dealing with stylists. You will instantly realise how wrong that statement is because it involves 1) Shooting 2) MTV 3) Stylists and 4) Me. But ok, if Libya could be on the UN Human Rights Council I guess it wasn’t that bad. Now I was incredibly curious as to how the process works and being the studio all day and being able to observe was a great learning experience – but holy fuck what is wrong with stylists?! It’s like they have a singular set perception of youth and what it means to be hep and stylish nowadays and anything to the contrary is just unacceptable. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t think it is stylish to wear jeans that choke a mans testicles so much that his face turns pale and thus requires four more layers of foundation. Luckily I managed to save my testicles at the cost of dignity by finding a shiny spandex pair of stretch jeans which allowed my ballsack to breathe when I made a Sachin movement. And can someone tell me why the fuck do these ugly ass designer clothes that no one would wear in real life cost as much as a kidney on eBay? Who are these people who buy this shit? When did tramp wear become Haute Couture? Maybe I’m too middle class to understand this shit – but I don’t get how people spend 10 grand on a transparent white party shirt. Bhen cho 25 rupaye aur leke thoda kapda hi lagaa dete. And if you want to show your nipples to the world why spend 10 grand instead of going bare chested anyway? 

Dhoni's got nothing on me. Except painted nipples.


And I didn’t know before that day that a VJ never repeats clothes on TV. So channels have warehouses where all these clothes are kept and maybe given to extras in some later shoot. But for all practical purposes they’re useless. For some strange reason I kept thinking what would happen if a channel donated their post-shooting warehouse clothes to a community after a natural disaster. There would be page 3 reports on the most stylish post-tsunami community in Sri Lanka or something with kids wearing arm sleeves, spiking their hair and wearing sleeveless bomber jackets with shorts in the bloody summer the next day hailing it as a great CSR initiative that boosted a community’s self esteem.

And why are make-up men the ugliest people in the world? Why can’t they ever put foundation on their own faces? 15 minutes and they turned my face into Peach Melba. All you had to do was put some fruit on my head and I’d look like Tooti Frooti. I wonder if VJs look at their stylists and go – Are you fucking kidding me? Or do they have no option but to get used to it after a while till they become big enough to wear whatever the hell they want. But shooting at the MTV Studios was great fun and most importantly for me a great learning experience – including the fact that I will likely never strip for a stylist again. This brings me to my next point:
                                                                        
New respect for the act of VJing:

Another aspect of the MTV association was to get to meet VJs like Jose, Gaelyn and Anusha who were with us through the matches. Now personally, I’ve never really felt anything towards VJs. I mean I’ve felt I’m funnier than some of them, I’ve admired some of them (back when Cyrus Broacha did Bakra for example) but mostly I’ve just not cared because it has been outside my purview. And maybe it’s just me – but I don’t feel in awe of “celebrities”; (a word thrown around rather loosely nowadays) instead preferring to sit back and observe. It’s also the reason why throughout the World Cup while I’ve seen and met almost every ex and current Indian/foreign player imaginable, I’m the only one who doesn’t have a single picture with any of them while my team mates do. Maybe it’s just me – but I find it wrong to violate their space especially when they look hassled and need time to themselves. Much the same way, it was interesting to see how VJs work up close and personal.

VJ Jose getting his ass whooped by Dhoni. 


Generate fake/real enthusiasm about something you might not give a fuck about in life, dealing with people like me who are like logs and indifferent towards being on MTV and the “fame” it brings and thus should make us be excitable, the deliberate exaggeration, being present and applying oneself to make things look better than they are and be completely uninhibited about people hounding you for pictures and autographs and what not. I always knew it wasn’t easy, but the multiple layers of a seemingly minor shoot as they unraveled were interesting to observe. Credit to Rahul Sarangi who entertained all my daft and intelligent questions about the process, but to do it day in day out looking and feeling good - saying great stuff about rival brands within 24 hours and making people believe you totally mean it – I would just be an ethical and emotional mess. This is not a job for angry people.

The funniest moment was when during the semi-final in Mohali, full blooded Punjabi boys started taking off their sweaty shirts and giving them to me so I could give them to Anusha for signing / keeps. She literally got hounded by some 40 guys who all wanted to take a picture – almost intimidating – and to see someone handle it with poise was very cool. The most fun however by far was Jose whose brains I picked on everything from radio to the TV industry and how they handle it. Again, great learning.

Mirpur - Bangladesh:

My first few hours in Dhaka were probably some of the scariest of my life. Not because they mistook me for a BSF jawan or started talking to me in English – but because as one of the 50 odd people who were inside Mirpur Stadium the night before the opening match of the World Cup 2011, I had to walk through a crowd of approximately 1 lakh Bangladeshi supporters who had surrounded the entire stadium in hopes to catch a glimpse of what was going inside. The only difference was however that this wasn’t Rio or New Orleans – these were incredibly aggressive fans doing stunts on motorbikes, breathing fire through their nostrils (literally!), blowing their vuvuzelas in passer by’s ears, running around carrying large national flags and randomly taking off their sweaty vests like Ganguly and flinging them over their head in an attempt to start a twister. Did I mention how I was the ONLY person in this crowd wearing an India jersey and the special attention I got because of it? I have never seen a crowd as charged and in such numbers ever before – like Kumbh Mela on crack only at night with Dhaka looking like it had been decorated by a local tent house that didn’t get a cheque on time. The passion, excitement and quite frankly madness was pee in your pants worthy. So much so that after being in the stadium for an hour, us and Pepsi officials had to come out in police vans with escorts so that the crowd didn’t kill them for tickets or turn their cars over.

The view from inside an auto-rickshaw in Dhaka
Did I tell you btw that autorickshaws in Bangladesh are sort of like chicken coups and completely caged in the back? The driver locks you inside that cage from the outside and you mostly can’t do shit till the driver decides it is time for you to go. Can you imagine what auto drivers in Delhi would do to get their hands on those?

In our hotel we wanted to try out some "authentic Bangladeshi cuisine". The head chef responded, "Sir kya khaaoge, sab Indian hi toh hai".

Match day however was even more fun. Not only did Sehwag absolutely demolish the Bangladesh attack – I realised how lovely it felt to watch cricket without Ravi Shastri’s voice blaring in your ears – though for some strange reason everytime he hit a four the words tracer bullet would ring through my ear drums subconsciously. The crowd was mostly friendly, though by mid-innings when we finished at 375, it started getting hostile. Apparently a solitary Indian in the next stand got into fisticuffs with Bangladesh fans and got his ass kicked – so we moved into the ICC Hospitality box. This was a unique experience since ICC Hospitality boxes usually feature corporate honchos, politicians and old cricket experts – half of whom need a pacemaker to even lift their arms – let alone applaud a six. Sitting in front of us was Boria Majumdar –  who my colleague mistook for being Mihir Bose and took out his book called the History of Indian Cricket to get it signed – only to realise and retract it later. His face = priceless.


Bangalore - England:

What is it about an India – England cricket encounter that leaves us so conflicted?

The Chinnaswamy Stadium.


Because let’s be honest – despite Ganguly’s taking his shirt off like it was colonial baggage – our nations quite like each other. We gave them the Kohinoor, they gave us the chance to host the Commonwealth Games. We gave them Bhangra and Bally Sagoo, they gave us Boyzone, Spice Girls and A.R. Rahman a chance to win an Oscar in one of their movies. We gave them raw materials, cotton, spices and steel – they gave us Pakistan – thus creating the greatest ever cricketing and potentially nuclear armed conflict. We gave them Chicken Tikka Masala – they gave us – the realization that we have much better taste. But at the Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore – both teams gave us something special – one of those rare moments in history when you step outside your boundaries as a national supporter and truly appreciate the game in all its glory. And what a beautiful moment it was. For me it is still the best and most tense game this World Cup. While the batting collapse was utterly disgusting and the team showed signs of complacency, it was the game where I saw what a huge difference home support makes. We had all but given up hope when Zaheer scalped two quick wickets and the momentum suddenly shifted towards India. By the end it seemed no one wanted to win and were saying “Pehle aap, nahi, pehle aap”. But a tie was bloody fantastic.

The India – England match was also the one where I did my first post match interview with Gautam Bhimani. I had just pre recorded the shoot while India was struggling having spoken about both possibilities but quickly had to run back onto the pitch given that the match was a tie and the whole equation changed.

Sachin's superfan in Chinnaswamy getting the crowd pumped up.


Bangalore - Ireland:

I’ve always felt that associate nations got treated somewhat like office interns by the ICC. A meager stipend and high expectations without much training that inevitably led to disappointment because of the lack of results. I could almost imagine an administrator meeting officials from associate nations and saying “Don’t call us, we’ll call you”. Except that one team that pulls off an upset every four years against all odds – which in this years tournament was Ireland.

I knew absolutely nothing about the Irish cricket team except that it had defeated England (made sweeter because like everything else in history, the British kept poaching the Irish team’s Kohinoors and make them part of their own – case and point Eoin Morgan) and that they wore a green jersey – which as a cricket fan automatically incited feeling of mass rage and the need to win big.

The match was a bit boring so people started entertaining themselves by practicing mating calls.


Before I continue to talk about my match experience, I would like to clarify a few things:

- North Indians are not tanned descendants of the Irish people. While Irish names may include surnames like O’Keefe and O’Brien, they have nothing to do with commonly used words like O’Ben Cho, O’Terimaaki and O’Saaletujaantahaimeinkaunhoon

-  Contrary to popular Indian belief, just because Irish cricketers colour their hair red and pink doesn’t mean they are “not serious” in life. If anything, colouring their head of hair in entirely shows conviction unlike our TV soap actors who show maturity and old age through two perfectly coloured streaks of grey hair. Infact Zaheer Khan, who has only coloured the front side of his head blonde is a great example of being nervous and unsure of one self

-  If you mix the Irish accent with the English speaking ability of some Pakistani cricketers, you can create a new language that if taught to our youngsters will destroy our call centre industry and make our GDP growth rate plummet

- When you exit Delhi’s domestic airport terminal – you are greeted by a big hoarding of a basmati rice brand “Welcoming Madhuri Dixit to the city”. This had absolutely nothing to do with the India and Ireland match – but it is to prove how interesting the match really was

India won the toss and decided to field – much to the crowd’s chagrin who had to spend time posing for pictures with Irish women instead of focusing on the only thing they are taught to care about since gali cricket – batting. Luckily, Virat Kohli and Dhoni affected a critical run out while Yuvraj showed how through skilful flight and boredom inducing pace one could hypnotise batsmen into falling asleep and roll over a team’s entire line up. We luckily managed to chase them down through Yuvraj and Pathan’s heroics, but the match was sort of boring.

A bunch of Irish supporters behind us in the stands.


Pity the ICC didn’t convert that internship into a permanent contract and fired them instead. Those Irish airlines that started special tourism packages for English citizens titled Ireland: Home of cricket must be mighty pissed.

Nagpur - South Africa:

I should have known the match would be a train wreck for India when a Nagpur Municipal Corporation truck slammed into the artificially constructed gates outside the stadium before the match started – but for me it wasn’t all bad. Why? Because I got to meet the whole South African team post match on the field when they went to congratulate their supporters. I can tell you right now, Hashim Amla looks so shareef and innocent that it reminds you of the boy in the library whose ass you kicked only because you could. You would never do that with anyone else in the team because they’re three times my size. If you put a toothpick to one of the South African team players, they’d probably spit out a Rajesh Chauhan.

Nagpur reminded me of the Commonwealth Games all over again.
But Jamtha is a fantastic stadium – built on the backs of thousands of starving farmers in the middle of nowhere – but with some of the best facilities a stadium could offer. I instantly liked it for the simple reason you could carry food inside the stands unlike Bangalore (which I also liked. I hated Chepauk which I will come to later) The game itself was fun to watch because I was sitting on top of the Pepsi can. Now for those of you who don’t know, this was a 20 foot high structure in the shape of a can placed in between two stands. I’ll be honest – I was more than a little skeptical about watching the game from on top of a can – but I can assure you – by fat the best bloody seat in the house. Not only do you have enough personal space and a great viewing angle despite being a part of the overall atmosphere, you don’t have to stick in between hundreds of other people sweating and crying and babies shitting all over themselves like in a regular stand. And because the structure is so imposing, every cricketer who fields at the boundary in front of you looks up at you with a “WTF is this” expression. I don’t even remember how much I bitched out Morne Morkel while our openers were taking him to the cleaners – and thankfully he didn’t completely recognize me at the end of the match.

It was a sad loss for India – one which led to a massive spike in traffic on the I hate Ashish Nehra Facebook page – but for me it wasn’t his fault. The fault was most definitely in the batting and inability to negotiate the batting Powerplay – but atleast they got a kick up their bum at the right time.

For me, I blame Bollywood. I hate it when Bollywood lands up to promote their shit at every god damn event in the country – and Abhishek/Deepika promoting their movie mid innings is probably the reason why we lost. Notice how we tied the game in England when Deepika came to watch. Coincidence? I think not.






Chennai - West Indies:

Chepauk was the worst experience during the entire World Cup – purely because the stadium administration was on a massive ego trip. When you get your ICC accreditation, it has the levels of access mentioned on the side. For example, 1 = General Venue Access throughout the stadium | 2 =  Hospitality | 4 = Media and Press Centres | 6 = Pitch Access and my accreditation was till number 2, which is the same as any event sponsor and allows you to move around and access every facility with ease. 

Chepauk. Nice stadium, hated the staff.


However, stadium administration is also given accreditation cards a few days before the match which only have Level 1 but mention “All Gates” below. For some reason the stadium staff wouldn’t let me out of my stand simply because it didn’t say All Gates. Did I mention how like autorickshaws in Chennai they refused to talk to me in English despite doing the same with foreigners and other locals? Not only did I miss a lot of overs trying to get them to communicate, my stand also ran out of food and coffee (how do you run out of filter coffee in Chennai?) – because of which I figured I would go eat at hospitality like at every other stadium – except ofcourse I couldn’t thanks to the highly efficient and alert stadium administration not letting me out. But the worst bit again – was them willingly not talking to me despite talking to other people in English.  

Thankfully the West Indian team stayed true to their reputation and rolled over quickly, otherwise I would have slapped someone. The same happened at our hotel – where reception called me at 6 in the morning post match telling me about an outstanding bill for Chili Chicken and Bissi Bhel Bhath which I apparently ordered at 3 in the morning. I was half asleep so I don’t really remember what I said – but it was something along the lines of “WTFBHENISTHISATIMETOCALLLSOMEONETELLINGTHEMTOPAYTHEIRBILLWTFISBISSIBHELBHATHANYWAYIDONTEVENKNOWWHATTHATISSHOVESOMERICEUPYOURASS”.

I was happy to get out.

Ahmedabad - Australia:

Stumpy - the worst job in the world - got his ass whooped in Motera.


For all the talk about Gujarat’s development – I really thought they would have pumped some money into Motera. I walked into the stadium and got jarred because it looked like god had photoshopped one side of the stadium which had no upper stand! I might also add that I was sad that with all that investment coming in they couldn’t build atleast one toilet that flushed. The quality of toilets at every stadium had been uniformally rubbish (except Mohali and Wankhede) but Motera really took the dung cake. What am I supposed to do after all that Vadilal? The match itself was incredibly intense – I walked away once Dhoni walked into the pavilion because I thought we were going to lose – only to reach the dinner area where everyone on the serving staff was busy watching the match on the telly and basically told me to shove it when I asked for a freshly made tandoori roti. Bringing Raina in turned out to be a masterstroke as even he could handle the Aussie bounce on that slow, low dustbowl of a track and watching Yuvraj in flow is even more breathtaking than a vintage Sachin straight drive. The highlights of the Motera match for me:
  • The constant asshole reminders by people around me in the stadium that this might be Sachin’s last World Cup match and the rage that followed
  • Ricky Ponting getting booed at the stadium everytime was rather sad. A man of his class and caliber – one of the true legends of the game whether you like him or not – deserves better
  • The loud boo Dhoni got after he got out trying to cut the ball. The same crowd would then cheer Dhoni at the presentation ceremony as if he was their favourite son. Fickle
  • A naked Gujrati man in the stands who I was observing from the boundary rope trying to cuss out Brett Lee. After struggling for 15 minutes he could only come up with “Aeee…yo..you…you lose…remember….you loose”. Brett Lee had changed ends and was fielding on the other side by the time that gentleman finished. Ofcourse, Brett Lee injured his forehead a few minutes later and naked man was convinced it was because of his prayers to Maa Durga that it had happened
  • The reaction Narendra Modi got inside the stadium. Every politician so far had stuck to the usual behind the glass panel where every BCCI official came to seek their blessing approach. Modi came and walked right in and sat with the crowd without a care in the world. I’m not a fan boy, but I can see how he makes it work
  • There were a lot of Indians wearing Australia jerseys before the start of the match – I figured they were kids to went there to study and wanted to look different. (You might ask me how I know, but I know because many were Sikh) I noticed by the time Yuvraj and Raina were batting they had changed into India jerseys after having purchased some from the ICC merchandise store
  • Finding Sabeer Bhatia flying SpiceJet out of Ahmedabad. Blew that Microsoft money rather quickly

Discussing Yuvraj's batting performance behind the boundary rope while being protected by Gujarat cops.


Mohali - Pakistan:

I would like to believe I broke the news about rainfall in Mohali the night before the match. I tweeted it before NDTV so you can give me credit – but I was freaking out once the rain started. Partly because it might postpone the match – but mostly because I was afraid at the manic swing the likes of Akhtar and Gul might get in those conditions. There was also the statistic of India never having beaten Pakistan in Mohali to counter our unbeaten World Cup record – so the rainfall was starting to fuck with my head. Thankfully the whisky in our hotel was only 40 rs so I had my moment of clarity soon enough.

Getting my face painted before the start of the match. I felt like Aishwarya Rai.


Maybe I’m biased here, but Mohali had the prettiest women and best DJ of all the World Cup matches. I mean what better way to pump up the Indian team than by playing “Chakk lo revolver, kabzaa lena hai”?
  • Only in Mohali will fans come to the stadium wearing Barcelona t-shirts. Even spotted one guy wearing a Respol Honda SBK Championship jersey. These were the only neutral spectators in the audience
  • That after the national anthem and boundaries the camera kept switching to Rahul Gandhi instead of Manmohan Singh on the big screen – almost like it was a Psy Ops operation aimed at preparing the junta for the next twenty year
  • There was 4th grader sitting next to me while at the point boundary for a bit and he was the biggest trash talker I have ever met in my life. The Pakistani team was practicing in front of us and he was saying stuff like “Oye Akmal, 500 doonga party badal le abhi bhi time hai”. This while his father looked on proudly
  • Wahab Riaz kissing the ground after taking five wickets and not being declared a traitor in Pakistan. HOW CAN YOU KISS INDIAN SOIL LIKE THAT?!
  • Vijay Mallya asking Anusha who was with us on the Pepsi Can whether he could jump from his balcony to come watch. Had to bite me tongue and not let one rip. Though later Siddhartha Mallya and Rahul Bose came over to watch with us for a bit. So much money, so little time for Mallya Jr. to get his teeth cleaned.
  • Two friends getting their picture taken with Rajeev Laxman from MTV and one asking the other “Arre Lekin yeh kaunse waala ganja tha?”
  • The general bonhomie between the crowd and spirit of friendship between fans of both countries. From where I was all that I saw was friendly banter in Punjabi. Despite the child trash talker and some random fans, the environment was very positive. People were giving up their seats willingly, getting tonnes of pictures clicked
  • The guy behind me when Sachin got out “Thank god he didn’t make a hundred nahi toh haar jaate”
Peace brothers.



I got to watch the first 15 overs of the Pakistan run chase from next to the Pakistan dugout since I was supposed to go on the pitch during the first drinks break. The team looked quite jovial, especially Misbah Ul Haq – who alongwith Umar Akmal seemed very relaxed with how the game was shaping up. I was unfortunately not allowed to click pictures – probably because my entire face was painted in India colours and I started looking somewhat monstrous as the paint dried up. The crowd was still on edge till the time Afridi walked into bat but once his wicket fell the whole stadium erupted into renditions of Vande Mataram – possibly the most bone chillingly patriotic moment in the entire WC given how emotions had peaked before this match and this was the be-all end-all for every fan at the stadium.

Though I could still not get over the irony of how Chak De India, a hockey song was played everytime the team did something worth applauding. And this was through every game.

Look who's standing in front of me while I chill next to the Pakistan dugout.


Mumbai - The Finals:

I’ll be honest – there is no other team in the world I detest more than the Sri Lankan team. I don’t know why – maybe it is because of what happened in the 96 semi finals, because of the orgasm face Murali makes while bowling, the radioactive pubic hair passing off as a dead animal hairdo on Lasith Malinga’s head or because it is painful to lose to a country most people forget to add in a world map. I don’t know. I envy them for the kind of talented cricketers they’ve produced – I absolutely loved watching Jayasuriya and Kalu on song – but not this lot. Cocky that I am, my brain was also going “How DARE they come in the way of Sachin holding the World Cup”. Basically, I was being a complete jingoistic douchebag except this time it was allowed. Encouraged even.

After Dhoni hit the winning runs and the presentation ceremony started to get underway.


Now I had been told by many people that the Wankhede crowd is the most partisan in the entire country and that the stadium is shit. I found that to be far from the truth. The renovated stadium looked quite nice and the crowd wasn’t even 1/4th of the kind of booing one saw in Motera. Except the collective Teri Maa Ki which reverberated across the stadium when people saw Sreesanth’s name on the playing eleven. I also found out later that Vivian Richards’ daughter was sitting in front of me. Had I known earlier I would have made some Kamzor Kadi Kaun jokes. Ah well.

The match started, and to be honest I was very worried after the Sri Lankans pounded Zaheer in the last five. 275 seemed somewhat impossible on that pitch – and when the illegal slinger took Sehwag out on the second delivery, I was about to cry. Ok not really, but about to hit the man in the stands walking around with a poster thanking Sharad Pawar. And then the resurgence. I don’t want to get into how we won it because everyone has written about it already – but wow what a feeling. I was standing watching Dhoni clobber the bowling with his punchy shots of yore and reminding myself of how I almost never got involved with this project. And here we were, a couple of runs away from winning the World Cup. (Which in my head Ofcourse was all thanks to the same boxers, t shirt and shorts I’ve been wearing to every game since Chepauk).

Sachin's victory lap from in front of us.
I then made my way to the boundary rope in front of the Garware pavilion. Again, how does one describe the feeling of being amongst the handful of 30-40 people who were on the field of play watching M.S. Dhoni hit the winning six? I really, truly cannot explain the feeling in words –the shot and our reaction is etched in my head. It was the collective release of a nation waiting for 28 years to see this spectacular sight having to deal with nothing but shit all day from our mundane lives. And what a feeling.

But you know an even better feeling? Running next to the team from the Garware to the Divecha Pavillion while they took the lap of honour carrying Sachin on their shoulders. It was, without a doubt, the best moment of my entire life. To be able to see the joy on the players faces and everyone around us – till the time I kissed a security guard on the cheek who didn’t take it kindly – knowing everything they had worked for for years and years finally bearing fruit. Priceless.

Everything from then on is just a blur. Shouting, screaming, squealing – watching the team lift the cup. Watching the team invite Sachin’s superfan into the dressing room so that he could lift the trophy for the world to see, Piyush Chawla coming out and signing my India cap, watching policemen go insane trying to control the pitch invasion that had taken place, final goodbyes to Gautam Bhimani and the crowd that awaited the team outside the stadium. NSG commandos wanting to celebrate and party with the crowd but having to stay focused and serious. Holy shit we won. It still hasn’t sunk in.

I’ve lived in Mumbai before and visited many, many times – but I have never seen Marine Drive like it was that night. Men with traffic cones pretending as if it was the World Cup and doing a parade inside the truck, boys running naked (yes!) with the India flag down the entire stretch, people standing on top of their cars and hanging outside their windows waiting for an accident, motorcyclists, people with dhols – blocking the entire route because they didn’t want to let the team go without being able to see them. It was – well – Sparta. And perhaps one of those few occasions in history when people’s socio-economic distinction all came crashing down with everyone rallying behind one cause – Team India.

The crowd blocking the route of our bus on Marine Drive - as far as the eye can see. Pardon the hazy image quality.



What a glorious, glorious night.


Overheard at the World Cup:

Bangladeshi fans. Pre Windies bus stoning.
Here’s some of the best things I overheard through the World Cup.

Guy to Sachin’s superfan: Toh aap kaunsi team ko support karte ho?

A woman in front of me after getting her picture taking with Kris Srikanth: Waise who is he? Some anchor na? Kaafi crowd tha so meine bhi photo le li

Me: Kris Srikanth. He’s not an anchor – was in the 83 WC winning squad and is chief BCCI selector.

A woman in front of me 2 hours later talking to friends at Nagpur: Guess who I just met at the airport! Srikanth Maurya!

Two guys talking to each other in the stands at Mohali. One asks the other – Yaar yeh bowled aur stumped mein kya difference hota hai?

Watching the matches in style:

The view from on top of the can.
I had ICC access through the World Cup which meant I could pretty much goto any part of the stadium and its hospitality boxes. Out of the 9 matches I saw I went on the pitch 6 times because I had pitch access (Post match and mid innings for in-stadium activities). Watching from behind the boundary ropes or through specific boxes is such a unique thrill that I’m wondering if I will ever be able to watch a cricket fan from a regular seat up high in the stands ever again. How can it ever be the same when you’ve seen a match with Tendulkar standing 4 steps away from you?


The Pepsi Bus:

The way we traveled to all the matches, including the first one in Bangladesh was in the Pepsi Bus. The reason I’m dedicating this space specifically for the bus is because of the hilarious situations it put us in.

First, in Dhaka, the Bangladeshi fans thought it was the Indian team bus as we made our way inside Mirpur Stadium. This led to a lathi charge on the fans who wanted to get a glimpse of Sachin and Dhoni. These lathi charged fans then had to see the sight of the likes of me and 10 other random people getting off then got even more enraged leading to another mild lathi charge. I would hereby like to apologise to the fans who came out for the opening match – it was not intended.

And that's a wrap.
And in the final, after Dhoni hitting the winning six and twirled his bat for the world to see – Marine Drive went totally beserk with fans blocking every possible exit hoping to somehow catch a glimpse of the Indian team on their way out. Again, as expected, while the team was stuck inside Wankhede, we walked a kilometer to get on the bus and make our way back to the hotel only to have fans lie down in front of the bus and thinking they could stop it with their bare hands thinking that the Indian team was inside. Now that I think about it – this is not funny at all and we might just have gotten killed – but there was always a moment of whoa – who are these guys when we got off the bus. Quite cool.