Confession

I woke up. I realised I was actually pleased to find out that the Pakistanis had become ICC World T20 champions. Cricinfo glorified it as a comeback from all the mishaps that Pakistan has been suffering as a nation. Initially, I put my reaction down to the equation that if the Pakistanis have won, the South Africans have not won and the Australians have not won. That is a strange concept. As strange as thanking the Pakistani people for being the ones caught in the crapshoot with the Taliban mullahs, such that the Indian people may be spared a little.

Then I went back a little bit. 1992. Then again, I was surprised by my satisfaction at Pakistan's eventual triumph. I was not carried away by Imran's charismatic captaincy. Perhaps, I felt Aloo did not deserve to be on the losing side after those two amazing innings against New Zealand. Perhaps, I was relieved that the English did not get away with dubiously conspiring against Brian McMillan, with the help of the rain-gods. Why did I not feel revulsion when the sworn enemy triumphed where we did not?

Steven Pinker says if you put a group of people in the same room for long enough, they'll eventually find themselves in two opposing groups. Or something to that effect. Is that what happened prior to 1947? Like those occasions when you arrive in your hotel room, your reservation says king-size bed, and you find in front of you, two single beds with the obstinate bedstand right in the lane. Was it a bit like that then? That is surely trivialising the catharsis of Partition, the wars that have been fought and the lives that have been lost.

Sachin Tendulkar and Waqar Younis were career debutantes in the same match. Imagine. Not having had to choose between Lightning and Thunderbolt. Blasphemy, some would say. Wishful thinking, I insist.