The World Cup Final Was Like a Bollywood Film – Go INDIA GO!

Picture this:

15 men wearing blue. Some kind of a metaphorical “blue blood” is created out of them. This blue blood travels through air, through dust and through all hanging lust, and it’s a MUST that it reaches first: yes. That is the dream, it’s why people did scream: India needed to win the World Cup Final, now more than ever. For Tendulkar, for the twenty eight years of yearning, burning, churning, for a billion dreams… for all that.

Next, picture this:

A common boy who eats, shits, brushes everyday, bathes (everyday?), and all that, has worked and worked to win the heart of this girl. He’s waited a long time: twenty eight months, he’s tried everything he could to get her attention, but even after all that… he is failing. Something needs to happen.

Now, let us refer to picture number one again.

15 men, still wearing blue. They get an opportunity of a lifetime, to prove to the world, that they’re indeed the ruling Devils, the Maha’s of this big, bad world. A World Cup Final: they made it. Somehow, despite all ups and downs, they made it through Aussies, through Pakis, they fell to those who’re comparably weaklings: but they got through the tough ones. They made it: they made it to the final. People couldn’t believe it: India finally had an opportunity to “create history”… twenty eight years. Twenty eight years.

Picture 2:

Somehow, after all his attempts, he gets one chance at redemption: some miraculous things happen, and he goes through some things, but he has an opportunity: an opportunity to get her. To make her aware that he loves her, and perhaps… to get her to love him too. He tries to play hero, gets two big bad bullies off of her, scraping it through, somehow, but he does it. He has a chance at her, after twenty eight months. Twenty eight months.

Back to picture one, hurry!

Our 11 Men in Blue have an amazing start: they make the Lankans bow down low. They take out their very best in a time that is too scary for the little country below India. There is joy around: 10 overs, and the Lankans have hardly managed anything. Hardly. It’s a perfect win-win scenario: a perfect one. Twenty eight years, someone says… twenty eight years.

Looking at the contemporary picture number two:

Meanwhile, our boy finally gets noticed. This girl thanks him, and of course, as is traditional, makes an attractive “How about a lunch?” proposal. The boy is shy, he looks skeptical: but he says, ‘Yes’. As she turns around and walks out of sight… this boy jumps up high, punches his fist into empty air: it’s done. Finally. Twenty eight months, he says… twenty eight months.

Coming back to the first image, or moving images:

There is a sudden hiccup. Despite taking out two of Sri Lanka’s best, things have started to settle in. Our blue boys are unable to take a wicket for a while. The Lankans have finally gathered courage, and they’re fighting fearlessly. Well, of course there is still fear: now on both sides. As things move on, a lone, one-man army named Jayawardene is taking India’s case left, right, and centre. He kills India’s best: Zaheer Khan, with a single bat. He smashes fours and sixes, and whilst the computer had given Sri Lanka a projected total of around 250 at a magnificent 8 runs per over, Jaya shrugs: his fearlessness takes the Lankans to an unexpected total of 274. India is afraid: it’s been twenty eight years. There’s no way that could become 32. No way. And what of Tendulkar! What of our hero?

Simultaneously, as if it’s happening in a nearby Café Coffee Day in Mumbai… The “date”, as the boy thinks, is going good. She actually came, our boy thinks. Wow. She actually came! As we were saying, the date is going good. Weird conversations, awkward (for the boy) silences. All that. These awkward silences make the boy think that he needs to strike up something. So he strikes up a conversation on the ongoing cricket world cup final: to his utter horror, he finds out that she is not interested in that sport. He makes the mistake of mocking her on that subject. He regrets it instantly. But she does not mind: there’s a sudden phone call that she has had to attend.

At the Final:

India opens with the traditional: Sehwag, and the Hero. Malinga ‘throws’ the first ball: and Sehwag smartly blocks it. Cheers from the crowd. Malinga ‘throws’ the second ball and… Sehwag is LBW’d. He thinks there is hope: but there isn’t. He walks off, dejected. There is some fear in everyone. But they shrug it off: Our Hero is still on the ground. He still holds that wooden thing that he uses to perfection. And yes! Our hero performs. He smashes boundaries, every minute he’s doing something tremendous: it’s a perfect Bollywood film – he is doing everything. India can not lose today. No. He smashes 18 off 12 deliveries. There is joy in the air. But there is a sudden, hushed silence around the ground. Our hero has fallen… it can not be. It can not be. This is not supposed to happen. This can not be happening… no. The Hero walks off, chest up, with pride in his heart and pain in his eyes. The silence around says everything… they are all, broken hearted.

The phone call:

After a few nervous statements on the phone, she ends by saying, ‘I love you too, honey.’ Our boy looks  up, asks, ‘Boyfriend?’ with a feigned smile, and gets the one response he hopes is not: ‘Yes’. There is a weird, hushed silence… what of him? He thinks. What of my dream?

He is broken hearted.

After the hushed silence:

There is contemplating, and skepticism, and criticism: everything. There is doubt, there is fear, there are tears: the India hero has failed. What now? What now?

Out of the ashes, a Gambhir warrior emerges. He makes new moves, and does new things, and it is unexpected: but he puts hope in everyone again. Hope enough to dream again, to scream again. He gives everyone a certain amount of assurance that twenty eight years will not be in vain. There is a brightening light in everyone’s eyes: that of a new dawn. It’s working well. It’s going well. It was not over yet.

Our boy, meanwhile…

Randomly does things to impress the girl. A part of him had given up hope, but there was this obvious incident where he saw, or got to know, of a certain amount of disagreement that was brewing between the love of his life and the love of her life… maybe not of her life, but love none-the-less. It was perfect: hope in his eyes again. He could fight. He would fight. After all… the girl realized that she was also falling for him. It’s just that there were… complications. It was not over… yet.

The light is shining brighter:

As Gambhir reaches an undaunted 97… people pray for his 100, people pray for that beautiful, heavy cup. People pray. But of course, it is supposed to happen: a perfect moment is destroyed by a seemingly impossible mistake, it’s as if the heavens had planned for this to happen, because how is it that perfect moments are always destroyed? How? And that too the middle stump? Along with that middle stick, people’s minds were also smashed away.

But once again, out of the half-burned ashes, rose a New Hero. People always knew he was a hero, it’s just that he never really proved it. Or never got a chance, maybe. ‘I was trying to prove a point to myself,’ this hero would later say. He came, he made that shining light ever brighter. The hope, the faith, the excitement, the drama… it’s now more than ever. More than ever.

They, our blue boys, as they crushed Malinga, the one threat, people could now see the end of the dark tunnel. The hardened their fists, and prepared their throats. They put their souls near their holes: and as our Hero smashed that daring six, people let out everything they had… fear, every tear, doubt, scream, dream… and they just shouted. They shouted it out, they bled out BLUE. Twenty eight years, and here stood our 15 warriors, sweaty, happy, victorious and content. It had happened. It had finally happened.

So why wouldn’t our boy win?

Don’t we all know what happens next? The thing between this boy and that girl get stronger, and they eventually hook up, but not before this girl’s ex-fiance finds out this unacceptable truth. The boy fights, the girl fears, and there is this one point where we all think that there is no chance this boy can win her anymore: the Hero loses. But no, somehow, near the end, things work out perfectly. And it ends the same way… them holding hands, hugging, kissing maybe, or in the case of a film like Yeh Saali Zindagi… there are moans and groans, we all know of what!

I mean… India finally did it! But would it have been so exciting if not for the drama, the ups and downs, the skepticism, the doubts, the OUTS, all the Bollywood masala? Of course not!

I know I’m always critical of this “masala”… but for instances like this… I just can’t help but love Bollywood movies.

Go India!