Champions Trophy final saw Indians and Pakistanis share many heartwarming moments
Unbeknownst to themselves, most cricket fans from the subcontinent lurch between two literary cliches: they either behave boorishly in line with George Orwell's dictum about sports being war minus the shooting, or they comport themselves with an equanimity recommended by Rudyard Kipling in his poem "If", which enjoins us to treat those two imposters, triumph and disaster, with serene detachment. Being canny people, we hew closer to Orwell when we win and to Kipling when we lose.
The Champions Trophy final at the Oval delivered many heartwarming moments of fraternity between Indians and Pakistanis. Cameras panned crowds for shots of fans from both countries in joyous, joint celebrations, and reports spoke of friendly banter in the long lines to enter the Oval and at tube stations before and after the match.
The players laughed and joked with each other after the game. A victorious Shoaib Malik (our very own damaad) duly thanked Indian fans for their support for Pakistan when they played England in the semi-finals - thereby adding another layer of complexity to baffle the likes of Norman Tebbit and his silly tests. ("Wait, you won't support England though you were born and live here, and you won't even support us against a country you've been fighting for seven decades?!")
Naans and paranthas were exchanged for pav bhaji in the stands, and even glum-faced bhakts in colourful turbans brightened up a bit as they realised a victor from the subcontinent was preferable to one from outside it.
The match itself showed yet again that one top-class bowler is worth a boatload of good batsmen when it really matters, and that, at least in sporting encounters, all the meticulous planning and research materialised into solid and stable habits can be undone by fearless youth and impetuous genius.
Fakhar Zaman played with an innocent freedom that he will probably never again have now that his anonymity has exploded into stardom. And what can one say about that prodigal son and dead-ringer for Freddie Mercury right down to the gap front-tooth, Mohammed Amir? "Welcome back, we've missed you," might be a good start.
To get the best batsman in the world out not once but twice in succession tells you all you need to know about Amir. Virat Kohli and his men did everything right until the final and victory would have been well deserved. Yet, had they won we would probably forget this Champions Trophy in a few months. Eighth-seeded Pakistan's improbable win ensures we'll remember it for a bit longer.
And finally, that namaaz by the entire Pakistan team at the end of the match. Watching with a group of desis most of whom had probably first picked up a cricket bat around the time "Chacha" Nehru lay dying in New Delhi, I sensed the discomfort in the room.
As an unapologetic secularist myself, I wished the players had done their namaaz off-screen. And yet, the more I thought about it, the more sympathetic I became. It was obvious during the post-match interviews that much of this Pakistani team is not from an urbane, middle - or upper - class milieu, one that is comfortable in English and knows why there are two forks beside each plate at the Oval's lunch table.
Religion is probably an important part of their lives, and the namaaz was a genuine expression of faith and gratitude for any divine help that propelled them from abysmal defeat in the first league match against India to the crowning glory of the finals.
In an England roiled by Brexit, attacks against minorities, rising Islamophobia, and with even Jeremy Corbyn's Labour pandering to fears about immigration, the namaaz was a timely reminder that one of the wages of empire is that you become a postcolonial, polyglot space - and that you, and the world, are all the better and richer for it.
(Courtesy of India Today magazine.)