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This is an excerpt from my diary on how I was introduced to cricket, a sport which now runs through my veins
Cricket on the border
I always thought that partition was the only bone of contention between the two nations of India and Pakistan. That was until I saw the highlights of the 1986 Australasia cup final years later, when Javed Miandad had smashed Chetan Sharma for a last-ball six in Sharjah.
That is when I realised that it is just not the partition and political stigma. There’s a whole lot of emotions, hopes, faith and drama attached to the India-Pakistan game. And since then I became a part of the tantrum and anticipation of the Indo-Pak matches.
This was a time in the late 90s and early 2000 when Sharjah had gained a lot of popularity, and then some bilateral tours between the two countries paved way for more cricket. Still, even after witnessing the last over thriller at Karachi in 2004 or at Mohali in 2007, the freak in me always thought of something should happen, something as exciting as the 1986 finals.
Both the teams entered in another ICC tournament, where India has a clean sweep track record over Pakistan.
Drafted in same group, the men in blue and the men in green could not be separated in front of the frenzied crowd at Wanderers, who witnessed the first bowl out.
Subsequently, both the teams after that game went onto record some great victories against tough opposition and raced towards the finals at Johannesburg, where fate collided once again.
It was India versus Pakistan in the inaugural T-20 World Cup final. Being 16 years old, I was already vibrating with physical energy and that final was the perfect setting for my adrenaline to touch the sky.
It was during the holy month of Ramdan, I was waiting – not for the sun to set so that I could break my fast – but for the match to begin. The Iftaar (feast) was shifted into our hall room.
The match began and I was furious to see Virendra Sehwag missing out in the final only to be replaced by an unknown youngster called Yusuf Pathan, who straightaway opened his account with a six on Mohammad Asif. He however soon perished after miscuing.
I was happy as India progressed thanks to an anchor innings from Gautam Gambhir. Then came Yuvraj Singh. I wished that he repeated his England feat, but he soon followed the others in pavilion.
I started to fear Pakistan’s bowling, which had variety and did a great job in containing India to 157.
I thought “is this a score in a final? C’mon Pakistan can chase it so easily” and then someone shouted at me from behind.
It was my mum, “Enough of cricket, who will break the fast?” and what she said after this was a music to my ears, “Pray that India wins while you break the fast, it will be answered, Inshallah”.
I didn’t know whether to smile or to take it as a joke.
After a short while, as I had broken my fast, India came out to defend and R.P. Singh eased my nervousness after knocking two down early on. There was then a flurry of wickets, and my leg room increased and comfort level grew.
Then came an old guy named Misbah, with 54 needed off 24 balls with three wickets in hand, the old guard started changing the course of the match.
I started to feel nervous again. I was biting my nails and spewing them on sofa, my heartbeat started to grow. I stood up and with sweaty folded palms rubbing on my jeans, I folded them started walking in the room, as fast as I could, looking at the TV and then looking out in the sky.
Maybe I would feel the signal to connect with God more clearly when near the window.
It was down to last over, 13 needed from 6 balls. Then came the question: “who is Joginder Sharma?” The situation became even more desperate when Misbah smashed a full toss for a long six.
Then came a moment which nearly stopped my breath. Misbah did an unusual dance on the pitch, scooping and miscuing before Sreesanth held onto the catch – just
I breathed a sigh of relief, cried in my heart, thought of how the emotions would have been in 1986. A wicket can turn everything around.
I watched the fireworks and the partying on the street from my window.
Uzair Hasan Rizvi is a freelance journalist and journalism student at AJK Mass Communication Research Centre at Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, India. He tweets @rizviuzair
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