I wish I was in hostel at this very moment.Or at least in my office canteen.
It is so boring and pathetic to do all the celebration on the phone while jumping up and down on this solitary bed.
It is not the first time that India is winning a match. It is not the first time that India is going into the finals. But why is it that every time it is a win against Pakistan, we experience such extreme emotions?
After debating much whether to bunk office or not, I finally ran inspite of my injured foot and caught the office bus in time. At 2 o' clock when two of my colleagues and I grabbed three 'highly in-demand' chairs and settled down in the midst of a huge crowd in the office canteen, I credited myself mentally in having made such a good decision.
Misters Prime Minister on the screen. A big round of applause.
The players of both teams walk into the field. Another big round of applause from the blue seas - both inside and outside the TV.
The Pakistan National Anthem. One man stands up. He is in blue jersey. Others wait patiently.
The Pakistan National Anthem ends. All rise up. Nowadays we don't get many chances to sing our National Anthem. Don't know why I feel so proud and emotional whenever I sing 'Jana Gana Mana'. It sounds to be the most melodious of all songs I have heard or sung.
Feeling very content and on a high dose of emotions, we are all set to go.
And then starts the Sehwag-Sachin blow-dry.
One four. A collective 'Wooooooooooo' and claps.
Another four. All up from their seats. Bang the tables.
One group yelling 'Four four four' before every delivery. And it becomes a four!!!!! Imagine the ruckus!
Sehwag is out. A collective 'Oooooooo'. This time without a 'W' and on a lower key.
My colleague Ms. B makes a comment here. "You sit to watch a match in a group and you will hear all forms of human voice modulation." Very observant.
My colleague Ms. G is a very far-sighted lady. She has brought supplies with her, knowing we'll start getting hungry very soon. In the meantime, we have tricked another person and occupied a fourth chair. For resting our feet of course! So there we were, half-lying on the chairs, with food and drink, cheering away to our hearts' content.
I love my office. And as the fours started pouring in and Sachin resurrected again and again, we all started loving Mr. Gul and Mr. K. Akmal.
More than two and a half hours gone. We are sitting tight. We took turns to freshen ourselves. Ms. B went last. Two consecutive wickets gone. Shites! That was the last time Ms. B could get up from her chair. We made her sit tight right there in the fear of losing wickets. What a torture! But then, at such times, even the most progressive becomes the most superstitious.
Sachin still batting. Somebody said, "If he's gonna make a 100, we'll lose".
My Mum called. I asked her who'll win. She said, "India". Her prediction became true the last time also.
We all started getting tired of Sachin's nine lives.
"Out Out Out Out". Now everybody wants him to go. A few who don't want so, glaring around at others.
Then we lose quite a few wickets. We don't know if we'll make a 200. We make it. It is 6 pm. We have a bus to catch. India is still batting. How'll we go? Damn!
The TV screen goes blank.
What? How? Who? There is an uproar. Some plug has got loosened. A quick fix is done. Aaah! We are back in time.
Now we have to wrench ourselves up from the chairs. As we head towards our floor, I hear an ardent Indian telling his buddy, "We'll go to this canteen, okay? The other one is jinxed."
As if wickets are falling only in the other canteen. Fans, I tell you!
There's a live telecast going on in another colleague's computer in the adjacent cubicle. And I thought I would miss the last over! India wraps up at 260 at 6:20 and we all rush to catch the bus.
One hour later, as I get down from the bus, there's a storm coming. I run to home as fast as I can with an injured foot. Ufff! I love rain! I reach home. There's no electricity. Goddamit! I hate rain!
Finally when electricity is restored and the intensity of the storm has died down, two wickets down. I switch on the TV. Eeekss! Lightning! I switch off. I switch on. I switch off. Damn! I switch on.
And after that.....'tis only la-la-land! Yeahhhhhhh!!!
Only one regret. I wish we were able to witness those beautiful sixes by an Indian batsman. But we had a worthy opponent nonetheless. Happy to see those lofty sixes and the beautiful reverse-sweeps.
And now that I cannot make my teeth go inside my mouth, shall I start getting a bit more greedy and ambitious and dream of THAT golden dream tonight?
Fingers crossed.
P.S. - One of my colleagues, Mr. D, had reflected one day, "Imagine if we have a cricket team that comprises of the best players of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Will anybody be able to defeat us?"
I wonder, "Shall I live to see that?"
--- Past Comments since I don't want to lose them ---
It is so boring and pathetic to do all the celebration on the phone while jumping up and down on this solitary bed.
It is not the first time that India is winning a match. It is not the first time that India is going into the finals. But why is it that every time it is a win against Pakistan, we experience such extreme emotions?
After debating much whether to bunk office or not, I finally ran inspite of my injured foot and caught the office bus in time. At 2 o' clock when two of my colleagues and I grabbed three 'highly in-demand' chairs and settled down in the midst of a huge crowd in the office canteen, I credited myself mentally in having made such a good decision.
Misters Prime Minister on the screen. A big round of applause.
The players of both teams walk into the field. Another big round of applause from the blue seas - both inside and outside the TV.
The Pakistan National Anthem. One man stands up. He is in blue jersey. Others wait patiently.
The Pakistan National Anthem ends. All rise up. Nowadays we don't get many chances to sing our National Anthem. Don't know why I feel so proud and emotional whenever I sing 'Jana Gana Mana'. It sounds to be the most melodious of all songs I have heard or sung.
Feeling very content and on a high dose of emotions, we are all set to go.
And then starts the Sehwag-Sachin blow-dry.
One four. A collective 'Wooooooooooo' and claps.
Another four. All up from their seats. Bang the tables.
One group yelling 'Four four four' before every delivery. And it becomes a four!!!!! Imagine the ruckus!
Sehwag is out. A collective 'Oooooooo'. This time without a 'W' and on a lower key.
My colleague Ms. B makes a comment here. "You sit to watch a match in a group and you will hear all forms of human voice modulation." Very observant.
My colleague Ms. G is a very far-sighted lady. She has brought supplies with her, knowing we'll start getting hungry very soon. In the meantime, we have tricked another person and occupied a fourth chair. For resting our feet of course! So there we were, half-lying on the chairs, with food and drink, cheering away to our hearts' content.
I love my office. And as the fours started pouring in and Sachin resurrected again and again, we all started loving Mr. Gul and Mr. K. Akmal.
More than two and a half hours gone. We are sitting tight. We took turns to freshen ourselves. Ms. B went last. Two consecutive wickets gone. Shites! That was the last time Ms. B could get up from her chair. We made her sit tight right there in the fear of losing wickets. What a torture! But then, at such times, even the most progressive becomes the most superstitious.
Sachin still batting. Somebody said, "If he's gonna make a 100, we'll lose".
My Mum called. I asked her who'll win. She said, "India". Her prediction became true the last time also.
We all started getting tired of Sachin's nine lives.
"Out Out Out Out". Now everybody wants him to go. A few who don't want so, glaring around at others.
Then we lose quite a few wickets. We don't know if we'll make a 200. We make it. It is 6 pm. We have a bus to catch. India is still batting. How'll we go? Damn!
The TV screen goes blank.
What? How? Who? There is an uproar. Some plug has got loosened. A quick fix is done. Aaah! We are back in time.
Now we have to wrench ourselves up from the chairs. As we head towards our floor, I hear an ardent Indian telling his buddy, "We'll go to this canteen, okay? The other one is jinxed."
As if wickets are falling only in the other canteen. Fans, I tell you!
There's a live telecast going on in another colleague's computer in the adjacent cubicle. And I thought I would miss the last over! India wraps up at 260 at 6:20 and we all rush to catch the bus.
One hour later, as I get down from the bus, there's a storm coming. I run to home as fast as I can with an injured foot. Ufff! I love rain! I reach home. There's no electricity. Goddamit! I hate rain!
Finally when electricity is restored and the intensity of the storm has died down, two wickets down. I switch on the TV. Eeekss! Lightning! I switch off. I switch on. I switch off. Damn! I switch on.
And after that.....'tis only la-la-land! Yeahhhhhhh!!!
Only one regret. I wish we were able to witness those beautiful sixes by an Indian batsman. But we had a worthy opponent nonetheless. Happy to see those lofty sixes and the beautiful reverse-sweeps.
And now that I cannot make my teeth go inside my mouth, shall I start getting a bit more greedy and ambitious and dream of THAT golden dream tonight?
Fingers crossed.
P.S. - One of my colleagues, Mr. D, had reflected one day, "Imagine if we have a cricket team that comprises of the best players of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Will anybody be able to defeat us?"
I wonder, "Shall I live to see that?"
--- Past Comments since I don't want to lose them ---
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