Sohan Maheshwar won the Wisden Writing Competition in 2023. His award-winning piece originally appeared in the 2024 edition of Wisden Cricketer’s Almanack.
My father, like most Indian fathers, is mainly inscrutable. In my 30-plus years of watching cricket with him, I can recall only two instances when I’ve seen him palpably distressed by the result.
It’s 1999, and I’m watching a classic unfold in Chennai. India are facing Pakistan, chasing 270-odd on a tricky fourth-day pitch. Sachin Tendulkar is combating a potent Pakistan bowling attack, sweltering heat – and acute back spasms. The match is suffocatingly tense, in a way only a Test can be. For the first time in my life, my father, a creature of habit, abandons his usual spot at the dining table, and eats his lunch in front of the television. The dal-rice-chicken meal, a Sunday special, is not given the attention it deserves as we consume our food at a pace that mimics the ebbs and flows of the game. As it uncoils to a conclusion, he even skips his precious mid-afternoon nap. For a man who did the nine-to-five routine for 40 years, the Sunday nap was as precious as a drop of water in the desert.
As I witness these household anomalies, the magnitude of the match slowly dawns on 12-year-old me. India inch closer to a famous victory but, alas, Sachin is dismissed and the tail crumble to hand Pakistan a narrow win. I look over at my father, who is deeply disgruntled. The thick moustache on his face curves downwards, but only slightly. He doesn’t say much for the rest of the day, choosing to internalise his disappointment. The events weigh heavily on me as well. My sporting role models faltered at the final hurdle, which affected the other role model in my life. We would not speak about the game ever again.
Eighteen years and countless cricket games later, we’re watching Mithali and Co attempt to overhaul 228 in the women’s World Cup final at Lord’s. I’m in my thirties, married, with a regular nine-to-five job. My dad has eased into his retirement, and is currently seated in his favourite chair, drink in hand. We’re both in good spirits as Punam Raut and Veda Krishnamurthy make short work of the target. Alas! Raut is trapped lbw, and then one wicket suddenly brings two. The tail collapse, and India fall agonisingly short. The disappointment in the room is palpable. We discuss the if-onlys and what-ifs, but some things are left unsaid. My mind immediately harks back to that Sunday in 1999.
I see my old man the next morning. He looks tired and dishevelled, a contrast to his usual immaculate self. We’re both older, maybe wiser, definitely more comfortable talking to each other about how we feel.
“I didn’t sleep at all, thinking of the match,” he says, wistfully.
“Same here, dad. Same here.”
Sohan Maheshwar is a computer engineer in the Netherlands. He has been playing cricket since growing up in Bangalore, where his father still lives.
