Chak De India

When I got a call from my friend Ram in Cupertino about a week back, I thought it was an April Fool's joke. He said he had tickets for the semi-final and final of Cricket World Cup 2011, and wanted me to join him and his three school buddies from Mumbai - Sundar, Kindi, and Visu. Then, recalling that Ram was a cricket nut who flew down all the way to the West Indies to watch one India game during the last world cup, I knew this was serious business. I soon found myself on a plane to Delhi on Tue eve, met the gang at the airport, enjoyed a relaxed dinner at the Radisson, and finally started our five-hour road trip on a cool night to Chandigarh. Our WC expedition had begun!

Now, take a well-laid out residential colony like Jayanagar of the 80s with its hundreds of independent homes and their manicured front-lawns, and criss-crossed by narrow, tree-lined, grid-like streets and lanes. Now pluck out about eight blocks of those homes and plonk in a cricket ground with a small stadium in it's place That is what PCA Stadium, Mohali is...a cute little cricket stadium in the midst of a plush residential colony. The tall stadium walls would have stooped to kiss the beckoning, handkerchief sized green, front lawns of these homes had it not been for the narrow streets that decided to play spoil-sport.

Today, a good 200 yards away from the venue, dozens of smartly dressed, turbaned cops emptied our car of everything that looked like a weapon (bottled water of course looked every bit so), politely asked us to stroll to the gate, and directed our driver to a designated parking lot. Lines formed early, crowd that was initially quiet & friendly, turned raucous and finally restive as time wore on and gates remained closed. Cops were crawling all over, black cat commando snipers were perched on roof tops, and the air was rent with the continuous roar of executive jets bringing its VIP guests over. The monotony of the wait was periodically broken by the XL sized jeers from the crowd each time a group of Pak fans walked past. Sharp at noon, we found ourselves inching towards the gate, periodically confronted by menacing looking mounted cops on their steed, and closer to the gate, by at least seven separate body searches...cigarettes, lighters, pens, books, flag poles, food, bags were all consigned to nearby bins before being let in. And before I knew it, I found myself inside one of the cutest cricket stadiums I've been to. The stadium has only two covered 'pavilions' - one each on the north and south ends. And the rest were stands ... really small..25 shallow rows, open and welcoming. A thoughtfully built moat replaces the traditional tall fence- a smart way to restrain the adventurous spectator from attempting a sprint across to the playing area.

Unlike KSCA, Bangalore, you have fixed bucket seats. Of course, like KSCA, they forgot to clean the stadium of litter and dirt. Dead leaves and overnight rain left a soggy mess everywhere. But bad facility and cumbersome access cannot easily kill a cricket fan's spirit... the monumental nature of the game was lost on none- Ind-Pak is more than just any WC semi-final!

Enough and more has been written by experts about the game itself; so let me shun that. But the experience of being in the midst of it all was enthralling. The very partisan crowd boxed in the small contingent of Pak fans - the lone ranger in our stand who was incessantly waving the 'wrong flag' was tolerated for a while, and then silenced the Indian way!

A 'leader' in our stand had decided well ahead of the game that if India had to win, every Indian bowler had to be cheered - irrespective of how he performed..and the crowd vehemently agreed.. And the bowlers responded gratefully by giving off their very best. Munaf was entertaining...he was stationed at fine leg right where we sat and he constantly goaded the crowd to use it's lung power and the latter enthusiastically obliged. Anyway...the win was sweet, and being there, special. But I had not contended for the after-match experience. It was special, and I never had goose-bumps the way I had it that day.

As we squeezed out of the narrow barriers and got into the street, every home near the stadium had it's residents standing outside, on the street - greeting and embracing the spectators, shouting out war cries - as if we guys had won it for India! They distributed sweets for all and sundry! The air was rent with "Vande Mataram", "Chak De India", and "Bharat Mata Ki Jai". As we drove out into the main street, it was as crazy a scene as New Year Eve at Juhu..hundreds of cars were crawling, with every man, woman and child bar driver on the roof, or jutting out of windows, screaming incoherently, waving flags, giving hi-fives and passing on mithais. Bare bodied men, quite drunk I suppose, were dancing wild in the middle of main thoroughfares, bringing an already crawling traffic to a complete standstill, but no one was complaining. Street corners were adorned with thousands of people generally jumping around as if they were in some trance..it was unbelievable. The only sad sight was that of a lone Pajero, ferrying a bunch of sad-faced Pak fans...I locked eyes with of them and winked..his morose face at once lit up, the rest smiled widely, waved V-signs or shot a thumbs-up...and then slowly wiggled their way into the anonymity of darkness. What's that saying.. If you can't beat em, join em?

After crawling for an hour and foraging for food, we found one restaurant that was willing to serve us food, and more importantly, quench our thirst. Coincidentally, it happened to be Pa-Ji Kapil's restaurant. An hour later, with belly full, and head happily swirling a wee bit from the after effects of some mild brew, we got out once again into the car ... to the chant of more Jai Ho, more Vande Mataram, and hundreds of people. This time, Ram & I also got into the mood, climbed atop our car, flag in hand, and joined the festivities. When we were done with the partying on the streets of C'garh, we raced back to our hotel at 2am, happy at the thought that India now had a decent chance at winning the World Cup. For the rest of Chandigarh, India had already won it.... Wankhede was a mere side show!

We woke up at 4.30AM, showered, shaved, and drove back to Delhi airport. By 3pm, I was back behind my desk at work in Bangalore, confronting reality. Mohali seemed like a happy, distant dream. If it was, then it was one of my best dreams.