Kacha Garhi to the Kensington Oval

On 1 May 2010, at exactly 9.30 am Saint Lucia time, I signed off on my 15 year loyalty to the Indian cricket team. Ever since I was introduced to cricket as a child while visiting my grandparents in Peshawar, I had followed Team India with undying passion. Ironically, my fondness for the team began at a time when they were anything but a powerhouse in the world of cricket. At the time, Pakistan was at the peak of its glory, the great Wasim Akram leading them to victory after victory. Yet there was something indefinable about Team India that immediately spoke to my heart. It was such a powerful attraction that, for the next decade and a half, I remained a faithful supporter.

And what years they were! For almost half that period, I had no idea what the majority of the players on Team India looked like, because I followed the broadcasts on a weak All India Radio signal, magically available in Kabul. When India played the 1999 World Cup in England I listened to the games late into the night. Sleeping in the same room as three of my siblings, I would pull the quilt over my head and hold the radio close to my ear, enjoying every minute of the commentary that switched between Hindi and English. Until 2001, the only pictures of players I ever saw were those printed in Pakistani newspapers that came to Kabul in tomato crates.