The memory is 26 years young...

They say memories fade with time, become sepia tinted and the edges get blurred, the details arent quite there...there is one memory though of a 13-14 year old, energetic kid that refuses to do any of those - the memory of India winning the 1983 cricket world cup. My childhood days in Calcutta were full of intellectual discussions - whether Zico should or should not have taken THAT penalty shot, whether Paolo Rossi was indeed the great striker he came to be in the '82 Football world cup or whether a Maradona can ever become the all round great Pele was...however all the sport centric discussions centered around football, often about the local matches but occasionally on the global scale - typically a few months prior to the world cup. All this changed through one thrilling week in June when India went through to the last four and then the finals of the Cricket world cup. I was always more than a decent cricket player and played for my class and club as a studious opening batsman till I was about 12 years old, and a considerably better cricketer than a footballer but we all - as Calcuttans - loved our soccer. Thus even though I was known to be a good cricketer, I never got the recognition that the good football players in my class got - I was merely an appendage but the footballers were the REAL thing. Those couple of weeks changed the way we kids lived, breathed and most importantly played -suddenly I was more popular than the footballers and classmates and neighbouring kids suddenly wanted to be seen with me and discuss THAT square drive the ebullient Srikanth (he had a single K in his name those days) played to a rampaging Roberts and whether Viswanath would have hit the same shot behind square as opposed to in front of...it was a game changer not just for India, but also for one of its insignificant kids in a Calcutta moffussil. The best memories for me are of the match itself. My uncle took a day off from work, my grandfather - then recently retired said he retired at the right time & for a change didn't ask me to study for my Class 9 exams, my grandmother was wide eyed with wonder that her country was in the FINALS of the world cup - a festive atmosphere reigned for the hours leading the finals. We had our usual share of neighbours, friends, relatives - all crammed into the 12 feet by 12 feet living room with us small kids being banished to squat right in front of the television while the elders occupied the pride of places on the sofas and the chairs. However, all discomfort - perceived and otherwise - disappeared the moment the match started. For me and my memories, there are 3 incidents that stand out - the square drive from Srikant that hit the boundary boards at point even before the fielder at point completed twisting around, the inswinger that got rid of Greenidge and the easy Lloyd catch by Kapil at mid off off a swinging Binny delivery. I am not mentioning about the the defining moment here - that catch of Viv - not because of sepia tints but because I only saw the replay - I was answering nature's call then the live images were beamed and I only heard the eruption of noise from the toilet which told me a key wicket had fallen. Time has passed and while India has moved on to become the most serious force in commercial cricket, it still hasn't won the world cup, it still hasn't beaten Australia in Australia and SA in SA - till those happen, I lie content with the non-sepia tinted memories as a 14 year old - & for a change, recollect the win over Pak in Pak five years back...more on that one in another post perhaps.