ICC World Cup: Smiles turn sullen as Indians wilt

Ahmedabad: Imagine the gravity of the situation if over one lakh Indians cumulatively make as much noise as a solitary church mouse. 

Imagine witnessing something akin to a mourning before someone is actually laid to rest. Now, imagine a jolt of passion and pride piercing nearly everyone there.

Imagine a small township of people letting out a scream as if professionally choreographed. This is the story of how a usually-soulless Narendra Modi stadium became sentient for a few hours on the day of the Sabbath, bathing itself in a vicissitude of raw emotions. 

It began with a sea of blue, sweat-riddled and painted faces, smelling of desperation, walking in hordes towards promised land. 

While the game was slated for 2 pm, these crowds were mid-way through this arduous journey by around 10 am. 

It was prudent because the roads, though wide enough to accommodate four industrial trucks side by side besides service lines, couldn’t hold the traffic headed nearly 18 kilometres from the city centre to Motera. 

It didn’t help that the sun wasn’t kind because while the temperature reading read a mild 28 degrees Celsius, it felt more like 34c for it was sharp, windless and without an iota of humidity. 

“Yeah, it’s hot but we’re glad it won’t rain,” said an Australian fan while sticking his head out of an auto. 

That indomitable spirit was visible in the myriad of faces who were allowed to enter before the designated time of 12 noon. The venue organisers knew well that they’d be a riot if they didn’t step it up and open up the gates. 

Time waded quickly enough, though, as most of them meandered to their seats, and before you knew it, there was a sound of thunder in the distant skies. It was getting closer and closer and all eyes looked skywards. 

The jaw-dropping spectacle of Surya Kiran’s formation was the only thing that would detract the fans from looking at every speck on the move on the field. Once the 15-minute show was over, it was the turn of Sachin Tendulkar to inspire the pious and persistent chanting of his name. 

Done with most of the rituals associated with Indian cricket, the game began. Moods, faces, gestures, sounds, smells, sights, palpable tension, a pointless mid-innings song and dance show which restricted India’s fielding practice before the second innings. 

It was all there for everyone to experience, and you couldn’t restrict yourself from doing so, even if you wanted to avoid the last bit entirely.  

At this point, this wasn’t a cricket match - it had become an instrument and people were musical resonants. This was also a deep dive into the emotions of millions as they bared their souls unabashedly to the rhythm of the venue.

Melting Vadilal ice creams, milky chai, questionable cola, cardboard food, high-priced jerseys, lost children, losing and winning men, free advice, anger, sadness, anxiety, joy… nothing would come in the way of this night playing itself out. 

As the crowd left the stadium, not very many with smiles on their faces for India had lost, an eerie soullessness returned to the venue. 

For one night, cricket wasn’t a way of life. It was life, and you don't always go as you come.