No April's joke this!

For years as I can remember, especially when we were all still in the joyous shade of school trees, half of the conversations revolved around cricket. Be it the 1996 WC (when I was too naive to understand our autowallah's tirade against Waqar Younis and Eden garden), the 1999 WC, when Ganguly's displayed his heroics at Taunton, including the ferocious strike that pummeled Sri Lanka literally as he sent the ball soaring to the river flowing nearby, the euphoria surrounding the World cup never used to subside for weeks after the event. It would appear as if we were the perennial second-best, never comfortable in foreign conditions and of course, always ready to self-destruct.

This was also a period when India made it a habit of losing in the finals of ODI tournaments, and the followers gradually mellowed to the team's impetuous drubbing in the finals. Ganguly was rebuilding the squad on the advice of John Wright after a tumultuous match fixing era which shocked all and sundry, and for the first time, fresh blood from the cricketing backwaters of UP and the upper reaches was infused into the team. In came the likes of Mohammed Kaif, Yuvraj Singh and Reetender Singh Sodhi, all members of the U-21 world cup winning squad. The dreaded situation of saving the two's slowly became a regularity, and team India rode into the 2003 world cup on the back of success in the Natwest trophy. In the middle of final exams, lakhs of nervous youngsters and their equally nervous parents stayed up late and held their breath as the Men in Blue (which is still better than the sleazy Bleed Blue) came close, and then stuttered as India was crushed in the finals at the hands of a rampaging Ricky Ponting and Damien Martyn. Heads hung low, spirits battered, we went back to the same old- Yes, we are probably destined to be second-best!

I will not talk about the 2007 world cup, because I did not follow it at all (more than one reason apart from India crashing out early on). What did happen around this time was the advent of trust and confidence in the abilities of the team. Greg Chappell's shadow on Indian cricket disappeared, along with the shaky leadership of Rahul Dravid. A new guy stepped up, unheralded, unheard of until recently, and from the most unlikely of Cricket's nurseries in India. Mahendra Singh Dhoni, a long-haired bike-loving dude, from a family of modest means, was suddenly the captain of Team India. For weeks, pundits on TV talked about how this was a rash decision on part of the Vengsarkar-led selection committee, how Dhoni lacked the technique to even serve as the wicket-keeper, leave aside the captaincy. How this move would isolate the seniors of the team and disrupt its unity. How Dhoni would be burdened with the pressure of keeping everybody happy in a team of superstars. When I think about it now, Dhoni seemed immature yet exciting, for he walloped the ball under any circumstance, and actually used the Helicopter shot on the field during his early days. But could he replace Dravid, in front of guys like Sehwag and Yuvraj, who were richer in experience. Sure, Kumble could've easily taken on the responsibility of ODI captaincy just like he did in the tests, but Kumble, the commander of Indian bowling, was in the twilight of his cricketing career. The choice was made, new blood it was, and new blood it shall remain had Dhoni failed and gone on to be prosecuted under the guillotine of the Indian cricket fan's expectations.

Yet, things started getting better. Comebacks were suddenly in the vogue. The team dug deep, chased down the biggest of totals. Tendulkar regained his miraculous touch after a short dry spell, Ganguly came back looking for blood, Zaheer took over the mantle of India's leading bowler. The reason was apparent and obvious, nobody was a sure-pick anymore, of course, apart from the little master. Along came the inaugural T20 championship, and India beat Pakistan in a dream final, a match which made Joginder Sharma and his entire clan (in)famous, where Yusuf Pathan first bared his claws when he hammered a six of the first ball he faced. The progress was well underway. Team India was now matching its rivals on their turf, be it Australia, South Africa or England, all traditional weak links in our own ride of the valkyries.

One year later, we were the premier test-playing nation in the world. Tendulkar had breached landmark after landmark in his second coming. Dhoni was now Mr. Cool, the new wall, who now played and kept wickets with the assuredness of Dravid. The bowling was weak in places, but Zaheer became good at masking the deficiencies with his measured yorkers and slower ones. The final bastion to be conquered was here- the 2011 Cricket world cup. Will Tendulkar finally win the last medal missing from his cabinet? Will Dhoni accomplish what another small town boy, Kapil Dev, did 28 years back? More importantly, can we overcome the sinking feeling of being the perennial second-best at the big stage? 42 days later, India is the new world champion of the ODIs. Today, we can stand up and be counted, as having being born in the generation of winners. Today, all doubts have evaporated. What remains is the sweet smell of victory, the intoxication of conquest, the pride of being a nation united in the spirit of cricket!