India took the cricket cup yesterday and you didn't have to be watching the match to know that. For the past couple of weeks, I have seen people dropping what they were doing on the streets to stand outside of various coffee shops and stores and watch the match. Out for a walk near my place, I see 12 men standing outside of a closed hair salon. I don't have to get closer to know that the owner has left the television on.
This country is cricket crazy.
Yesterday the match was hours of tension. At Radio Club, we were all gathered around a large screen, and for a few hours I don't like Sri Lanka anymore. Since when do I care about watching sports? Maybe it was the DJ who inspired dancing at every goal. Maybe it was the fireworks in the background marking the 4 and 6 pointers towards the end of the game. Maybe it's the fact that I am truly feeling like I belong here.
[People love their fireworks and firecrackers out here. On my first night spent in India, the neighbours were celebrating a wedding, and firecrackers went all night. They sounded like gun shots. My roommate and I were freaking out. Dear God, please don't let me die my first night in India.]
The final few points came from an epic 6 pointer, and hundreds of bodies jumped out of their chairs. "This is a proud day, not only for the Indian team, but for all of India," said the British sports announcer at the match. Proud seems like an understatement.
Passion and joy ran and drove through the streets: standing on motorcycles, through sun roofs and dangling out of passenger windows, with fists in the air, Indian flags on their backs and painted on their faces.
I get home near 1 a.m. I don't mind the extra 15 minutes it takes to flag down a cab. I quietly approach the gates to my building and the watchman steps out of the darkness. He doesn't speak English, and has barely said a word to me since I moved into the flat five weeks ago. He stops, has a beautiful smile on his face, and quietly says, "India."
Yes, India.
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