I wasn't born in 1983. As an Indian, I never knew what winning a World Cup was like, pretty much like most of you, I guess. Now that I know what it feels like, given that I was at the Wankhede on April 2, let me also say, it's not yet sunk in. Yes, I went there to cheer for Sri Lanka (not because of a particular hate for the Indian cricket team, but a love affair that began somewhere with the romance of 1996) but came back home as a proud Indian, emotional as ever, witness to one of Indian cricket's tryst with history. Yes, I might have been vocally critical of this Indian team in my previous columns, but this was a win that transcended the best of cricketing skills on a stage which was elephantine, and had a symbolism of its own — the final word in the emergence of a new cricketing order in world cricket.

 
To witness that was nothing short of special, and even as I write this, I am struggling for words to describe that feeling. And, as a responsible and a hungry columnist, I have no