The India-Pakistan World Cup 2011 semi-final match on March 30 was an electrifying affair. In the stands, Surajeet Das Gupta was witness to the hysteria.
The “sold out” sign hung outside every hotel, big and small, in Chandigarh and Mohali. And for those like me who thought that they would beat the crowd by checking into a resort many kilometres away in the hills, the smart moves came to naught. Not just the Timber Trail resort but all hotels were fully booked in Kasauli (65 km from Chandigarh), Chail (110 km) and Shimla (120 km). It was only at the last moment that I could get a hotel room.
On the day of the match, the excitement in the air was palpable. After all, India was taking on Pakistan in the semi-final of the World Cup. My daughter and I, along with an over-enthusiastic friend from the US, decided to reach the field early in the morning, though the match was to start only in the afternoon. It was chaotic, the Punjab Police cops clearly hadn’t seen crowds of this size before.
For the next few hours all we did was count the number of aircraft that passed over Mohali — private jets, chartered flights, small and big planes, helicopters et cetera. All air corridors led to Mohali that day.
The Mohali stadium is compact, so the players at the boundary line were close enough to shake hands with. When the Pakistani players came out to field first, the tension mounted and the audience threw barbed comments at them. So when Umar Gul dropped a catch, the audience shouted, “Yeh raaz ki baat hai, Gul hamare saath hai” (the secret is that Gul is with us). And later, when Adbul Razzak too dropped a catch, the attack was even stronger: “Gali gali mein shor hai……….”
Patriotism was in full show, from sunglasses with the national emblem to young men with the Indian flag painted on their chest. The chants of “India, India” interspersed with “Vande Mataram” made it look like a war front.
There was entertainment too. Well-known pop singer Mika, in black glasses, came in with his entourage and started singing patriotic songs in Punjabi. But as a large crowd gathered around him the cops had to tell them to go.
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A Canadian couple, the wife in a skirt with the Indian flag which she had stitched especially for the occasion, said they were jetsetting from one stadium to another across the country and had not missed a single India match.
As the heat got worse, and throats turned hoarse from shouting, most people realised they were hungry. But the food had run out within hours that day, and even cold drinks were being rationed for the VIPs. So, like many others, we lived on ice-cream — I had eight to keep going and compensate for lunch and high tea. But as the thrill of an Indian victory got closer everything came to a standstill. The large contingent of policemen and commandoes, who were spread across the stadium to guard the VIPs, were all glued to the match.
As India won, Mohali exploded. The walk to the car park took ages as everyone was shaking hands with everyone else. Strangers hugged. Those who lived nearby had come out of their homes and greeted everybody with rum in paper cups. A Punjab Police constable too offered us a swig from his bottle. Restaurants, of course, were full. And the roads were clogged with young men in cars with liquor bottles in one hand and the Indian flag on the other, shouting “India, India”.
It took us one-and-a-half hours to get back to our hotel. There were some cold sandwiches greeting us in our rooms. But when you are starved and happy, who cares?
Attention at India’s first F1 race on October 18 was divided equally between the cars, the pit girls and the glamorous set gathered, reports Bhupesh Bhandari
Work on the expressway to Agra had not yet finished, but the signboards claimed it was just 165 km away. There were armies of policemen directing the traffic. It was, after all, Uttar Pradesh’s moment of glory. The slightest glitch could result in instant transfer to the other corner of the state. The racetrack was like a sliver of the West transported to India. The waiters at the Paddock Club were all white. The food, with minimal Indian fare thrown in, had been prepared, guests were told, by chefs from abroad. Champagne was on tap. There were multiple layers of security. The bandobast was pucca. But there was no F1 merchandise on sale. For that, one would have to go to the lesser stands. Nobody was tempted.
The club was infested with celebrities. Businessmen such as Analjit Singh, Rajan Mittal, Atul Punj, Sunil Kant Munjal, Raghupati Singhania, Shivinder Singh and many more were in the crowd. Vijay Mallya came with his son, Siddharth, and walked straight into the Force India pit. Robert Vadra was there in style.
The world of glamour was represented by Shah Rukh Khan, Sonam Kapoor in glasses the size of saucers, Gulshan Grover in a cream suit, Arjun Rampal, Preity Zinta in a short skirt and hat, Imran Khan and Chunky Pandey (the superhero of Bangladeshi films) in shorts. Rowan Atkinson was there too, minus the funny act. Sachin Tendulkar was there in denims and white shirt, Harbhajan Singh in a tight Abercrombie T-shirt and Virender Sehwag in a shiny grey suit with open collars.
The teams lauded the arrangements but grumbled privately about the drainage et cetera. You could photograph the cars but not from behind because that would give away the engine configuration. The Force India pit had three models in skimpy clothes. They were the most photographed people around. A tall Westerner, with all the curves of a model, was also chased for photographs by the men, though nobody seemed to know who she was. She didn’t seem to mind the attention. More skin-show was expected when the pit girls came on. But most were disappointed to see that the skirts weren’t short enough. Before the race, the F1 drivers were taken round the track in vintage cars. Some cars couldn’t find drivers but still rolled on.
Then the race began. Two helicopters began to circle overhead. For emergency evacuation, we were told. But soon they began to relay television signals. The spectators took out their cameras. It was futile because the cars moved so fast. The shot most people got was “road after the F1 car had passed”. Tyres got changed in less than six seconds. The acoustics were bad but the commentary was riveting; it was probably in English. The drivers did almost 350 km in an hour and 20 minutes — that made Greater Noida the fastest F1 track in the world. Sebastian Vettel won the race. Chief Minister Mayawati gave away the cup. No speeches, no chest-thumping. Vettel drank champagne straight from the cup. In another age, this would have caused national shame. Not in present-day Greater Noida. And then it was over. People worth billions of dollars rushed to the car park. Chunky Pandey was still lunching inside.
Outside, there was the most expensive traffic jam of India — Jaguars, Bentleys and Porsches jostled for space. You felt small if you came in anything less, and then sneaked out before anybody could see you in your humble 30-lakh sedan. On the way out were the three Force India glamour girls. Were they waiting for their car or were they looking for a lift? All they had to do was ask.