Jiminy cricket

March 31, 2011

Calcutta stretches her legs slowly this morning.

The city was up well past bedtime last night, crackling and humming long after the win against Pakistan in the ICC Cricket World Cup semifinals.

“It’s a big deal that India won, of course,” said Anubhav, my host in the city. “But it’s a really big deal because we beat Pakistan.” Though sports thrives on rivalry, the long history of division and conflict between the two nations turned this into far more than a routine cricket match.

The explosions began the precise moment India triumphed.

“Come,” said Anubhav. “To the roof!”

With bare feet we hopped up a flight of stairs, entering a rooftop terrace that was littered with paper and plants, parchment-thin leaves and splintered wooden beams. From that vantage point we looked out over a leafy side street populated by wooden stalls and buildings that buckled and heaved with decay.

All of it glowed pink, gold, green and luminous in the fizz and sparkle of fireworks. Each rattle and pop shook the roof, and I jumped up and down in delight.

Fans funneled into the street, chanting the name of their country. “Ind-YAH! Ind-YAH!” A spontaneous parade began with some beating on metal buckets and plastic bins. Taxi drivers flattened palms against their car horns, their vehicles erupting in long, continuous honks.

Many fans draped themselves in enormous Indian flags. As they ran down the roads, bubbling with energy and might, the fabric lifted and snapped in the wind, flowing like Superman’s cape.

To top it all off, a brewing storm ushered in gusts of thunderous wind, bringing cool relief to the sweaty night.

I’m not a sports fan, and I don’t know jack about cricket. But it’s hard to escape the kind of excitement that unfurls with shouts, hugs, cheers and tears.

For a brief moment last night, I didn’t just feel like an Indian cricket fan — I felt like I was a part of India.

The celebration continued through a dark and dreamless night, long into the morning. Now the shouts have calmed slightly, the noise has dimmed. But at every chai stall and bhel puri stand, smiles remain on the faces of every sleepless fan.

 

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