Hey kiddo,

I wonder if cricket is still big in India in your time, or if football or basketball has usurped its place. Anyway, in this short letter you'll learn about a historic moment for the game, how I lived through it and simply how it felt.

Growing up, we all heard about 1983 and Kapil's devils, and photos of a grinning, mustached Kapil lifting the cup were immortalized often. We're talking about the cricket World Cup, held once every four years. 1983 was before my time, but after I'd turned 10 or so, I used to watch every World Cup, and watch India lose. Sri Lanka won under chubby Ranatunga's captaincy, and even Pakistan (oh, Pakistan) won it one year. Australia - those arrogant men, as I often considered them then - won it twice too. India would get kicked out miserably, unceremoniously, and I used to watch my grandfather switch off the TV, disappointed and retire into his bedroom. Then in 2003, magic happened - we got into the Finals. Against Australia. Twenty years after we'd won previously, and the whole nation was on tenterhooks. All until we bowled our way terribly out of any hope for victory. 2007 was disastrous, let's not even get into it - you can search online if you want to know more about it.

Then 2011 arrived. We worked our way into the Quarter Finals, with some hiccoughs along the way... drawing a match with England, losing to South Africa, but pulled off awesome wins against Australia and Pakistan.

And bloody hell, we were in the final. Against Sri Lanka. So I ended up at the same place I'd watched India beat Pakistan, at the same table, with the same people. Endless baskets of fried potatoes in various forms, towers of beer, stuffed-with-cheese pizzas went around, and we watched Sri Lanka struggle to get a good start. Until this guy called Mahela Jayawardane started getting consistent and steadily moved from 50 to 60 to (before we knew it), 100. We watched in shock as every ball in the last few overs was sent to the boundary, and ended with a target of 275 to win the World Cup.

Shocked as we were, oh well, we thought, we have Sachin and Sehwag. Sehwag then got out on the second ball. Sachin, please stay, we implored. He smashed some balls to the boundary, and then got out too. A hush fell around the pub. Then new players came in and we successfully brought the score to 30 to win from 30 balls. 27 from 24. And before we knew it, it was 15 from 12. A six, a couple of fours, and we were going deaf - party horns, cheering, whistles abounded as we finally brought it to 4 runs needed. We held our breath as Dhoni lifted the ball to the air, and the whole place exploded. People had climbed onto the bar tables, random people were hugging each other, and despite all the screaming, some idiot of a man asked me if I was Sri Lankan and if that was why I was not happy - I gave him a look of utter disbelief until I waved him off and said 'Whatever!' 28 years we had waited, and it had happened.

Anyway, we left the place we'd hogged for nearly 9 hours, ordering endless plates of food and drink. A place where we saw kids a few years younger than us - a whole batch of bimbotic (would you even know what that means, I wonder...) girls and boys who made me feel old and incredibly mature. Boys who were saying the lamest of things, and girls who were extremely unintelligent - generally and when it come to cricket (they cheered for replays of wickets without realizing they were replays; and sample 'Oh I wait for the umpire to lift his forefinger in the air before I cheer for a wicket' - please, don't ever be like this).

I wish I could tell you how it was, but imagine me, the tricolour painted on my right cheek, hands up in the air, screaming my head off, my voice breaking, jumping. I wonder if you'll ever live through the excitement of waiting for years for a win and savouring it, and whether sportsmanship is the same as it was that day (although my own parents used to tell me that it was already on the decline then). Would you ever experience  cricket like we did, the way it brought the fans, the non-fans, the seldom-watch-it-ers together, and the agony, anguish, grief and debilitating joy that it brings?

Oh well. Writing this while grinning excitedly was draining enough. And anyway, here is the gist of this story in case it didn't clearly come through given the late hour and incredible excitement: I WATCHED INDIA WIN THE WORLD CUP!!!!

HE WON THE OSCAR!
I'm mad with joy!!!! Speechless, grinning from ear to ear with everyone around me wondering why I"m maniacally grinning..
Gosh I can't type.
Just wanted to remember this moment of extreme happiness. That I"m an insane fan of this genius!
More later, but thanks to dearest amma for letting me know the news.

The exhilaration, the sheer joy, the shivering hands, the excitement, the fast heartbeat, and the weak threat of tears in my eyes when I saw him go up on stage to collect the Golden Globe - oh my, it's been months since I was this high on joy.

Congrats, Rahman. You ARE the best we have ever had. Any of the rest who thought otherwise... like... shut up! :)

4 years came to an end yesterday. As I woke up this morning and realized I have NO studying/course work to do, I felt weird, but I wanted to jump up and down! Which means, I am probably happy - of course lah, coz now I'm a GRADUATE!
Whhhopppppppppeeeeeee!!!!!!!

The blog's THREE! She's growing :D

During her first year, she was a place where I dumped random thoughts - reading them now, I feel like an immature kid excited about a space where others could read her.

Second year was when I realized I could probably put up my stories!

Third year became just a place for me to rant about things that worked - and those that didn't.

And now, hmm.. a sudden thought.. this being my last semester in university, if I have the mood and time and everything else, maybe I might put up things about the university that were so important to me in the four years here. Let's see.

My hands shiver. My head pounds. I look around at the people around me, at the posters of the Tennis greats punching the air in victory. I’m here to watch a Tennis match played by my favourite sportsperson in the world. I pinch myself hard to see if I actually am here. I want to scream out loud, in joyous rapture, as the guy starts to talk. And I just did. Scream my heart out. I’m here, I’m going to watch them play, my first favourite with my second. God bless, one of my dreams is just coming trues.

So I wrote at the stadium, hands shivering as I wrote on the backside of the ticket of the ‘Clash of Times’, Pete Sampras vs Roger Federer. ‘Clash of Titans’ would have been better.
I’m back, my throat hurts and my head spins. I’m giddy with happiness from watching Sampras play, and even though he lost, to me, he was the clear winner yesterday – after all, the whole stadium gaped in awe at his play, at his tenacity to hold on against someone reigning today, 10 years younger than him.

After a plethora of shows of Malaysian culture, I screamed my head off as Sampras entered the stadium and spoke. Bloody hell, I’m seeing him and I’m hearing him talk. Live. Sampras, visibly older (what with the bald patch and the receding hairline!), still exuding unimaginable charm. He chose to serve first after winning the toss, and I held my breath to see it – this was it, Sampras’s absolutely-brilliant-out-of-the-world-unbeatable serve. As the game moved on and I sat at the edge of the seat in danger of falling off, watching the ball simply glide off his racquet and go straight into Federer’s court, I simply couldn’t speak. Many a time, Federer was simply struggling to return his serve (ACE!), or returning it awkwardly in a failed attempt to prevent an Ace, (OUT!) and sometimes, managing to hit it. What I initially thought was a horrible side to sit in (where I thought I would only be able to watch one of the player’s back), was a brilliant one too – though I was only 5 rows away from the last, I could watch the game beautifully.

Sampras, Sampras – he was in a mood for fun. Be it the celebratory jig when he won a difficult point, or the comical slap on his forehead thrice, or the wanton funny miscommunication between him and ball boys, or even the silly fight with the line umpire for a point – he was a person whose mannerisms I have never seen on court from him before. Charming, absolutely.

And the strength of his serves, goodness! While Sampras regularly topped at 210 kph and over (peaking at 218 kph), Federer’s best was just 200 over. And the grace, oh, I could just fall on Sampras’s feet.

Sampras was calm, cool and easy, and so was Federer, playing a natural game. Guess both knew they were here for fun, just that at the end of the day, it looked like Sampras had had all the fun, and Federer, the winner, a serious game.

Of course, needless to say, FedEx was great too, managing to win the tie-breaker both the times. As Sampras said later, he saw Federer use volleys that he had never seen or used before – and this, from a player who is said to be the king of Serve and Volley! I’m still bloody surprised Federer didn’t manage to break Sampras’s serve .. Sampras wouldn’t let him, haha. And for Sampras, that speaks volumes of his quality of play. Why Federer won yesterday, according to me, was the sheer strength and stamina his age afforded him. I don’t know if he wasn’t taking the game seriously and that’s why he didn’t play an aggressive game, and God forbid, no, the match wouldn’t have been fixed. It wasn’t exactly a game where Federer particularly had to display much class – all of it was clearly stolen by Pete. I have to admit that as much as I love Pete, I expected he would lose earlier (and easily) to Federer – thank God, that wasn’t bound to happen on a day I watched him play. Sampras, is truly a class apart. Federer might just beat Sampras’s record in less than 6 months, but it’ll be years before there will be another Sampras. Or perhaps, there might never be. Thanking God a million times for giving me a chance to watch them play, to watch a demigod I’ve known ever since I was 5 give his best against the reigning champion.