Only Time Will Tell

 “Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.”  

The earliest that I can recall of an Indo-Pak tie was the quarter-final of the '96 world cup. I had cut out the fixture from the local newspaper and marched off to show it to my pakistani neighbour. Neither of us knew nor cared about the bad blood that existed across the border. We weren't part of the separation in 1947, and so didn't give a rat's backside to the diplomatic stance of the two countries. Our knowledge of cricket was restricted to the annual whipping in the arid deserts of Sharjah. It seemed that it was the scenario since the time Miandad despatched a lolly to the nearest oasis. Coming back to the point, my friend Mehaboob smirked at my excitement. He expected a routine thrashing; the message was loud and clear, how would India cope with the mighty Pakistan endowed with an abundance of talent?

Disheartened, I ran to a corner of our playground and crumpled the piece of paper that I held (that was the ctrl+delete action of those days). I swore to myself that if India lost, I'd never back the underdogs again (as fate would have it, I've been left to do the same with the gunners at the end of every season). The rest as they say is history. India beat Pakistan in Bangalore, and within a month beat them again in Sharjah. The former reminds me of a young Ajay Jadeja (not his hapless namesake, Ravindra) carting a fiery Waqar straight over his head and Prasad providing a perfect send-off for Aamir Sohail. At Sharjah, a match that was a classic from the moment the masterly Tendulkar and twinkling toes, Sidhu got India to their first total of over 300. Pakistan fell short of the target and the balance of power was set and it was there to stay. We wouldn't remain the punching bag of our neighbours (meanwhile the lankans politely demolished us at every possible opportunity).
     Indian cricket has come a long way since those days, while Pakistan have had internal conflicts ruling the roost. They've had their moments but consistently over-promise and under-deliver in the big-match situations. For them beating India and winning the world cup would mean way lot more than it would to India. I might be hanged for treason, but this match isn't vendetta (as Harsha Bhogle rightly mentioned post India's quarterfinal victory). It's about the greater good connected with a few young men who have their careers on the line, in the hands of a radical nation. We Indians would crib, but we forget and forgive our beacons on the cricket field; our bleeding blue who have another shot at redemption and mode of distraction with the IPL that follows. It might affect our economy with the loss that might befall advertisers and media, but would surely lead to an introspection of the way the game has been monetized (my only fear is that if India lose, the cries of match fixing might arise).

     Mohali will be a colosseum and the Pakistani gladiators would have to face the ire of the Indian crowd. Surprisingly, neither the media nor the players have started the verbal feud so far. Rather its disturbing, because it plainly depicts the nervousness on both sides.

     Let bygones be bygones. Everything is on a clean slate when the match begins at 02.30 PM on Wednesday, 30th April 2011. I’d be watching expectantly, rooting for India but my mind would go back 15 years, to the point where that paper lies. Dusted, crumpled, and forgotten.