I'm not sure how long it'll take my heart to start beating normally. My throat is a goner. All that screaming!!! INDIA WON!!!!!!!!! 

     I started watching the match with great expectations. I had no idea who the new opener was. My brother told he was Pathan's brother. I mumbled a few curses about nepotism. The next ball was hit for a six. I congratulated the selectors for their foresight. Then he got out. I cursed the selectors!

     Through the entire match alternate praises and abuses flew at our new plasma TV. Bro scolded Appa for buying a new TV before such an important match. He said that if we lose it would be because of Appa's bad decision! By the time Yuvaraj's wicket fell, everyone involved, from the slick salesman at Vivek's Store to a BPO Bakra who called at a crucial moment for a country club membership to the courier guy who came at a wrong time had been soundly cursed. Both me and bro were mad at ourselves for taking leave to watch what we called a USELESS MATCH.

 

     We watched in disgust when India made only 157 runs. "We have lost the match" said dad. Mom glared at him. Dadi yelled from her room at appa to shut up and not say inauspicious things. She was already angry at him for not getting a TV and "thatha" sky connection, so some curses flew at appa's head too, all the time she was chanting with her tulasi mala. 
 
     We rejoiced at RP's first wicket, cried at Sreesanth's horrendous first over. Appa who had been so vocal about his anger at Sreesanth's sledging in the Australia match was sitting smug. "Evan Gali" (he's gone), he said. Then RP stuck again. Then Nazir was run out. Then they massacred our bowling. Then we took wickets. We got clobbered. Then Pathan stuck.
 

     Then Bajji gave 3 sixes. Then wickets fell. Then came the last over.

     By this time our yelling had ensured a good attendence of a motley crew of neighours in our house (we were one of the few homes in our street with access to ESPN). I was worried about the condition of a few. They were known heart patients. Made sure my Emergency Kit was nearby. The decibel level in my house was high. Abuses were flung at Indian bowlers, fielders, Simon Taefel when he did not give a legitimate LBW, Dhoni, and people who were abusing the cricketeers. Tenors, Altos, Sopranos, all sorts of voices, tones, pitches were filling my ears. The loudest of them was my own heart beat.

     I swear my heart stopped beating when Joginder Sharma gave a wide of the first ball of the last over. Then came a six. By this time, all were silent. A few young ones were crying silently.

     We were all set to sing a requiem to India's chances at winning and condolence speeches were being prepared. Bali ka bakras were being chosen. Appa's name featured on top for bringing an jinxed TV into the house, for refusing to buy a new TV and DTH connection for Dadi's room, for yelling at Sreesanth, for breaking a glass the previous day and the most criminal of all, for not allowing my brother to sit in his lucky chair. We no longer were bothered about the cricketeers.

     Then Misbah hit that scooper. Appa saw Sreesanth running to catch it. He'll drop it, he'll drop it he chanted. And he caught it. It took us a few seconds to stop cursing Dad and realise that we had WON!!! Pandemonium broke in our hall.

 

     Appa claimed it was because of his strategy of reverse psychology. He loftily informed us that we won because her said we'll lose. My bro was convinced that the place on the floor next to the coffee table was HIS lucky spot. He made a note of the clothes he wore for future use during crucial matches. Mom ran to get sweets; she said she always loved cricket. Dadi was yelling that we would have won much easily if only Appa had put "Thatha Sky" in her room. Everyone was espousing why it was because of them that we had won.

     My feelings were mixed. I was worried about the health of some of the oldies in the room, my dadi's rage at not being able to watch the match winning catch, mom's irritation at missing her favorite mega serials. Most of all, I was conscious of my blurring vision,   light-headness and tight chest! I couldn't speak!! I was having a HEART ATTACK!!!

     Bro then asked me why I was crying. He was hugging me tightly and my nose was blocked by his shoulder. My ex-cricket-hating mom was distributing sweets and one big peda was stuffed in my mouth. It dawned on me that I was NOT having a heart-attack.

     I was celebrating. I still am. We still are. Here I am, on the net, blogging at a time when I should have gone to sleep for I have an early posting tomorrow. But who cares? It is not everyday that I escape the Jaws of Life - Cricket, that too the World Cup Final in my case.

I'm the GIRL WHO LIVED!!

Bella