Mix and match

Finally, India and Pakistan are bonded in true brotherhood. The 'let-any-random-team-saunter-over-and-beat-us' brotherhood. I did not watch the match but I heard enough about it from the very upset man who I live with. When we started watching the match, he was excited, I was ho-hum. When India had wasted many many overs and made only about 100 runs, I asked Viv, "Yeh kya ho raha hai yaar? I think I wanna go to sleep."

"Hmmm..." He said, and suddenly out of the blue asked, "How many will India make?"

Him asking me that was really weird. I know less than 1% of the cricket he knows. But he looked really serious, as if he really expected me to come up with the magic number. But then he does believe that I can be freakily intuitive at times, which is a lot of pressure, I admit.

"192." I took a deep breath and answered fearlessly.

"Hmmm..."

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Hmmm... maybe around 210?" He said.

"Hmmm okay. Good night."

"You're really going to sleep?"

"Jeet jayenge yaar. Aise hi karte hain yeh log. Phir end mein jeet jaate hain." I said and went inside.

The next I heard from him was around 5 in the morning. "Waat lag gayi yaar." He said as he got into bed. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming so I did not reply. At a more usual morning hour, he gave me the details. So one of my predictions had turned out true (well almost, missed by only one run) and the other didn't quite make it.

It was called the day of upsets. And I had to deal with a very upset man in the house. You know the man is upset when he calls up his father-in-law and says, "I'm very upset." I'm sure my Dad must have freaked out thinking Viv had broken another hand or something, but when he found out what the upsetting news was, he found himself unable to console the chap. You see, my Dad is the kind of person who thinks that a wide ball is a ball that has a manufacturing defect, and a no ball happens when the ball is hit for a six so far they never really find it.

Viv also went to great lengths to describe how badly we played and how badly the teenagers from Bangladesh whacked us, and how badly in need of fitness our team is. I also had to hear in great detail how the layer of fat in Sehwag's belly bounced higher than the ball when he jumped after taking a catch.

And as the upset man described all this to me, I had a guilty feeling. The guilt of not feeling. And then it struck me - how detached I had become. Even though I still supported India, I would always support India, and would never be able to support any other team, even if India was knocked out. Not even countries that are close to my heart like Pakistan and New Zealand. And well, Cambodia doesn't play cricket so that's easy. But this time, I seemed to not even care about how India played. And that guilt was trickling in.

The last world cup had been so different. Viv and I were neighbours then. He lived in the flat opposite mine with two guys and I lived with two girls. We were all good friends and would gather in his flat to watch the world cup matches. On the days that India played, the guys would wear the team India T-shirts (I really wanted one, but they were too big. Besides, I hate T-shirts with collars. I wanted the team India cap very badly (still do) but somehow couldn't get my hands on one) and I'd either wear something Indian or wear something that had any of the tricolours. Even though I didn't know (still don't!) all the terms and rules of the game, I could sustain myself on the emotion that I felt for my team.

I remember applying for half-day leave for a match once, and my boss (who was also one of my closest friends at work) said, "I'd have suspected you're going to attend an interview with the competitors, but looking at your weird costume today, I think not." I grinned sheepishly. It was true - I was wearing a bright saffron T-shirt with some white text on it, and an army green short skirt. And dark blue shoes. But in those days, cricket made you so superstitious you lost all sense of fashion. I had put together all the colours of the Indian flag and I did not bother if they went together well or not. And hell, it was not even casual friday. And yet, somehow I did not care. You never know what could work with India (anyone remember the 'Whenever I wear a pink dupatta, Jadeja makes a century' ad from the ye olde days?). Even in school days, my sister and I would be watching the matches and if we played really badly, she'd say "Ok if we switch off the TV for 5 minutes, things will improve." And we would actually do it, and yes, things did improve!

During the last World Cup, India was playing rather badly in some match and just as I went to the toilet, Sachin hit a six. I still remember how Viv's flatmates insisted that I stay in the toilet for the next two overs. And I did. Only for one over though. The moment I stepped out, Sachin got out. Yeah, I got scolded as if it really was my fault. The freakiest part is - a part of me actually believed it was my fault.

And I guess that is why I got detached over the four years leading to this world cup. The superstitions, the suspense, the predictions, the heartbreaks - they were really getting to me. Not to mention the tears at the 2003 finals. I still remember the multiple face-washing sessions. It took me a very very very long time to get over the finals. And that's when I decided perhaps it was time for me to gently move away. All this was not good. It was exhausting and emotionally draining because that's all the mind could think of. Did I say mind? Cricket is not exactly a sport in which the mind has a say - it's a game of the heart. A game of heartbeats. A game of heartbreak. At times I actually wished it was simple, logical, practical. But it wasn't. I decided that I did not have to break away completely - perhaps I could just objectively watch a match or two (only those featuring India of course) but not get too involved especially during the World Cup.

And so I thought I could get by this World Cup without the madness of the last one. I was totally prepared for this year's World Cup - I was not going to get all upset no matter what happened to the Indian team.

But I guess my preparation was not enough. One match is all it took. One match which should have strengthened my decision to not get too emotionally involved, but the opposite happened. One match is all it took to bring out all the mixed feelings in me, to make me realise that cricket can never be about only one type of feeling - it's always a mix. The highs will be too high and the lows will be too low. That's how it is. Just one match, and I want to go over to the other side already. The side of upset people. The side of Viv and the likes of him. I think I belong there.

And sometimes being upset is not all that bad if you have someone to be upset with, nahin?