IF fans invading the Wankhede pitch in droves was the lasting image of India’s 1983 World Cup victory, people lining up the streets in spontaneous victory laps, beer cans and giant flags in tow, will someday come to define 2011.
Conspiracy theories laid to rest, transgressions forgotten, players are demi-Gods again. The euphoria never seems to wear off, even at 4 AM for these 20- and 30-somethings. Most of them weren’t even born or were too young remember 1983. But now it matters not. For the ghosts of 2003 can now be exorcised; 1983 can now be firmly replaced. For this generation was now experiencing something they had only heard of. Winning cricket’s Holy Grail.
Marine Drive turns into an orgy of sights, sounds and the occasional smell. The ever-voluptuous cavalcade of Indian fans are out in the streets – clicking pictures that will inevitably end up on Facebook; lying on the parapet staring exultantly into the starless sky probably making notes for the sake of posterity, to tell their kids ‘I was there when it happened’; waving giant flags, some bigger than their bearers, while perched atop moving cars singing their throats hoarse.
Police vans stand next to the road, happily turning a blind eye. For an era has just begun. The Holy Grail is ours. And the party has just started.
Conspiracy theories laid to rest, transgressions forgotten, players are demi-Gods again. The euphoria never seems to wear off, even at 4 AM for these 20- and 30-somethings. Most of them weren’t even born or were too young remember 1983. But now it matters not. For the ghosts of 2003 can now be exorcised; 1983 can now be firmly replaced. For this generation was now experiencing something they had only heard of. Winning cricket’s Holy Grail.
Marine Drive turns into an orgy of sights, sounds and the occasional smell. The ever-voluptuous cavalcade of Indian fans are out in the streets – clicking pictures that will inevitably end up on Facebook; lying on the parapet staring exultantly into the starless sky probably making notes for the sake of posterity, to tell their kids ‘I was there when it happened’; waving giant flags, some bigger than their bearers, while perched atop moving cars singing their throats hoarse.
Police vans stand next to the road, happily turning a blind eye. For an era has just begun. The Holy Grail is ours. And the party has just started.
