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Article by King Cricket -
When Mahendra Singh Dhoni caressed Nuwan Kulasekara for a six to seal India’s victory in the 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup, he immediately immortalized himself and his team in the hearts of the people of a country where cricket is equated with religion and cricketers are treated as demi-Gods.
The World Cup had started on a low note for India. Eden Gardens, one of the most prestigious grounds of the country, was red-signalled by the ICC before the start of the tournament for missing the deadline, serious questions had started to crop up regarding the hosting capabilities of a nation which made a mess of the Commonwealth Games just a few months back. Who knew that the riposte to the critics would come in such an enthralling way? Who knew that for the first time in twenty eight years, the quadrennial showpiece would be bathed in a resplendent blue?
It is difficult to imagine that, just four years ago, this same Indian team had walked out of Queen’s Park Oval with drooping heads and grief-stricken faces, having been crushed and shattered by Sri Lanka and thrown out of the World Cup. It is difficult to imagine that the same country, which has been convulsing with excitement and jubilation ever since the feeling sunk in, had pilloried the players and called for their heads after the humiliation inflicted in 2007. Perhaps, it is only fair that history has arranged for a quaint reversal of roles. The conqueror is now the conquered, the victim is now the victor.
The Indian team had a dream in their eyes. The dream of slipping into history books as the winners of the tenth World Cup, the dream of obliterating the ignominy of 2007 from the minds of their countrymen, of fulfilling the wish of the colossus Sachin Tendulkar and stamping their authority over world cricket. Impediments came in the form of defeat against South Africa, in the form of media backlash against Dhoni’s orthodox captaincy, in the form of poor bowling in the early stages of the tournament. But fortune favoured India’s dauntless new avatar. So, the mighty was brought to the mat by a bunch of indomitable yongsters; four times World Champions, Australia stumbled and collapsed, Pakistan’s castellated resistance was crushed in the semi-finals, even Sri Lanka, who had been invincible throughout,?couldn’t match up against a resuscitated, rejuvenated and revitalized India. It was India’s time to sip from the cup of glory.
What makes this win so special? A motley of reasons perhaps. In India, cricket was never a game. It was a medium which transported the immiserized masses to an alternate reality, a place unassailable by the ennui of life, a place impregnable to despondency, frustration and pangs of unfulfilled ambitions. When India lifted the Cup, exhilaration washed over the length and breadth of the nation. From the scrawny, emaciated beggar importuning for alms in the squalid streets of Kolkata to the cricket enthusiast ensconced in his chair in the posh suburbs of Mumbai, from the children in the slums of Dharavi to the President herself at the Wankhede stadium- everyone indulged in revelry, everyone roared, cheered, celebrated, and exulted in the success. It is as if eleven heroes had taken on their shoulders the daunting task of raining jubilation, albeit transient, on a nation fraught with cynicism, it is as if they are messiahs whom people look upon for the suffusing of malady and melancholy.
The World Cup began with a m?lange?of iridescent hues cascading down fourteen countries. The hues kept on mixing for six weeks till the visage of the tournament turned a cerulean blue. The blueness of it all has seeped into a nation, into the veins and arteries of its people. Sometimes, a tournament stops being just that- it becomes a part of life, a part of our very existence.
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When Mahendra Singh Dhoni caressed Nuwan Kulasekara for a six to seal India’s victory in the 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup, he immediately immortalized himself and his team in the hearts of the people of a country where cricket is equated with religion and cricketers are treated as demi-Gods.
The World Cup had started on a low note for India. Eden Gardens, one of the most prestigious grounds of the country, was red-signalled by the ICC before the start of the tournament for missing the deadline, serious questions had started to crop up regarding the hosting capabilities of a nation which made a mess of the Commonwealth Games just a few months back. Who knew that the riposte to the critics would come in such an enthralling way? Who knew that for the first time in twenty eight years, the quadrennial showpiece would be bathed in a resplendent blue?
It is difficult to imagine that, just four years ago, this same Indian team had walked out of Queen’s Park Oval with drooping heads and grief-stricken faces, having been crushed and shattered by Sri Lanka and thrown out of the World Cup. It is difficult to imagine that the same country, which has been convulsing with excitement and jubilation ever since the feeling sunk in, had pilloried the players and called for their heads after the humiliation inflicted in 2007. Perhaps, it is only fair that history has arranged for a quaint reversal of roles. The conqueror is now the conquered, the victim is now the victor.
The Indian team had a dream in their eyes. The dream of slipping into history books as the winners of the tenth World Cup, the dream of obliterating the ignominy of 2007 from the minds of their countrymen, of fulfilling the wish of the colossus Sachin Tendulkar and stamping their authority over world cricket. Impediments came in the form of defeat against South Africa, in the form of media backlash against Dhoni’s orthodox captaincy, in the form of poor bowling in the early stages of the tournament. But fortune favoured India’s dauntless new avatar. So, the mighty was brought to the mat by a bunch of indomitable yongsters; four times World Champions, Australia stumbled and collapsed, Pakistan’s castellated resistance was crushed in the semi-finals, even Sri Lanka, who had been invincible throughout,?couldn’t match up against a resuscitated, rejuvenated and revitalized India. It was India’s time to sip from the cup of glory.
What makes this win so special? A motley of reasons perhaps. In India, cricket was never a game. It was a medium which transported the immiserized masses to an alternate reality, a place unassailable by the ennui of life, a place impregnable to despondency, frustration and pangs of unfulfilled ambitions. When India lifted the Cup, exhilaration washed over the length and breadth of the nation. From the scrawny, emaciated beggar importuning for alms in the squalid streets of Kolkata to the cricket enthusiast ensconced in his chair in the posh suburbs of Mumbai, from the children in the slums of Dharavi to the President herself at the Wankhede stadium- everyone indulged in revelry, everyone roared, cheered, celebrated, and exulted in the success. It is as if eleven heroes had taken on their shoulders the daunting task of raining jubilation, albeit transient, on a nation fraught with cynicism, it is as if they are messiahs whom people look upon for the suffusing of malady and melancholy.
The World Cup began with a m?lange?of iridescent hues cascading down fourteen countries. The hues kept on mixing for six weeks till the visage of the tournament turned a cerulean blue. The blueness of it all has seeped into a nation, into the veins and arteries of its people. Sometimes, a tournament stops being just that- it becomes a part of life, a part of our very existence.
More...
