Sarah Waris was at Feroz Shah Kotla to witness Afghanistan beat England in the 2023 World Cup, and learned just what it meant for them when the last wicket was taken.

As I crossed the quaint and serene Feroz Shah Kotla at 4 a.m. on my way to the airport on Monday morning, a few hours after the ground had been the scene of the hubbub of history, I reflected on what I had witnessed. One of the four floodlights shone dimly, the light bursting through the leaves of the innumerable trees that line the ground. The night before, they had beamed brightly on Afghanistan.

Upsets in World Cups aren’t ordinary. Since the start of the Men’s ICC ODI World Cup in 1975, there have been roughly 15 major underdog wins in 458 games that have left the cricketing world shocked. An upset in the sporting world is defined as an unpredictable win by a lower-ranked team against a significantly stronger side on paper, and the Delhi faithful would hardly have thought their Sunday would turn out as it did when they thronged the Kotla, braving the sweltering heat.

The majority were England supporters, eager to watch the defending champions in action with jerseys of ‘Stoke’ and ‘Butler’ adorning spectators. The spelling errors were not intentional, but the identity of the players they referred to was not a surprise, and odd fans wearing ‘Harmison’ tees were spotted as well. The allegiance wasn’t one-sided, though, as a number of Afghans, who have relocated to India over the years, came with the national flag wrapped firmly around their shoulders.

That stood out for me. My attempts at catching an Afghanistan fan in a national jersey were unsuccessful, an uncommon sight in matches. Purchasing kits, of which the author is guilty ahead of an India game she will be attending, is the norm, and getting custom-made kits inscribed with the names of players you have followed does not raise eyebrows.

Conspicuous by the absence of Afghans in their team kits, I made my way to a fan who had his face painted with the flag colours. He had come with his young son and later told me it was the first match he was watching from a stadium. A cricket fanatic, in his own words, he had made his way to India last year, setting up a dry fruits shop in Lajpat Nagar, a bustling bazaar in central Delhi that is a must-visit whenever you are in the capital.

For every north Indian, the arrival of winter is synonymous with the sudden influx of Afghans, who make their way to different cities. They come equipped from their country with pashmina shawls along with a wide array of teas, seeds and fruits, with many eventually deciding to settle down in India. The present-day ‘Kabuliwallahs’ have an endearing sincerity towards their new homeland, winning over the Indians with their large-heartedness, which greets you when you make your way to one of the many Afghan restaurants around.

Their hearts, though, continue beating for Afghanistan, constantly remembering their friends who do not have it as easy.

“I was on a video call with my family when Afghanistan won against England. It means everything to the people of my country,” the Afghan fan says, choking up as he does so. “I have been a huge cricket fan, but never been to a stadium before. I just wanted to watch my boys in action, and never in my wildest dreams did I think Afghanistan would win against a stronger England. My son is here with me, and the biggest takeaway for him should be to never be intimidated.”

On being prodded further about how much this win will matter to people in Afghanistan, with the country ravaged by a massive earthquake last week, along with economic and political crises over the years, he says, “I cannot tell you how much joy this will give us. I don’t have words.”

As the deluge of people takes over at the exit gate, I have a final question for him. “Who is your favourite player?” As he began to answer, I knew I should have asked him something better, half expecting him to say, Rashid Khan. Rashid is one of those rare overseas cricketers who has developed a huge fan following in India, with Delhi chanting his name every time he was shown on the screen or whenever he came to field near the stands. The spinner obliged each time with a wave, sending the crowd into a bigger frenzy.

When he finished answering, I was glad of my question. “This Afghanistan team is my whole heart. How do you expect me to pick one ‘dil ka tukda’ (piece of my heart) and tell you which one is my favourite?”

I asked him again. “How about Rashid?” Nope. The same answer again.

Belonging to a country where cricket can be more about warring fandoms than it is about the on-field action, his answer stayed with me. As I made my way to a famous eatery in Old Delhi following the match, I had another regret, having failed to ask him his name.

But, just like earlier, I realised I was better off without it, for he embodied how the entirety of Afghanistan must have felt at the moment. The words were his, but the feelings of every citizen would have been the same. No over-the-top jingoism, preferring to soak in the moment instead, and feeling emotions that can never be truly understood by you or me. If for just one day, his heart was not divided into different ‘tukdes’ (parts) as he coped with his daily existence, then he deserved the win.

Jonathan Trott, Afghanistan’s head coach, later asked his boys to savour the win, and, from afar, surrounded by screams of “Naveen, Naveen”, Delhi’s new favourite after Virat Kohli’s gesture, or the song ‘Afghan Jalebi’ that suddenly became the unofficial anthem of the night, I did too, as I dug into the many layers of why this result mattered.

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