Last evening at the R. Premadasa Stadium, cricket once again reminded us why the game is played with bat and ball — not with press statements, political posturing or television theatrics. India didn’t respond to provocation. It responded to length balls and loose deliveries. And that is precisely why Pakistan, or anyone else for that matter, should never dream — not even in their wildest fantasies — of demoralising Indian cricket or its 140-crore people through hollow rhetoric.
Let me state this responsibly: I do not blame the Pakistani players. Many of them are fine cricketers trying to survive a system that burdens them with expectations far beyond sport. The real problem lies elsewhere — in the structural and political ecosystem governing cricket across the border.
The Pakistan Cricket Board has historically functioned under direct state influence. Chairmen change with governments. Governments shift under pressures far more complex. The shadow of the establishment — particularly the military-intelligence apparatus — is no secret in Pakistan’s public life. When cricket administration becomes an extension of political messaging, the sport suffers.
Contrast that with the Board of Control for Cricket in India. Yes, it has its share of power struggles and personalities with political affiliations. But institutionally, no elected Indian government — irrespective of party — dictates team selection, match tactics, or cricketing strategy. The Indian Army does not decide who opens the batting. That thin line between sport and state is preserved. And that line makes all the difference.
The India–Pakistan rivalry is as old as Partition. Wars were fought in 1947–48, 1965, 1971 and 1999. Tensions deepened through decades of mistrust and, more seriously, cross-border terrorism. As a sportsman, I would prefer to leave geopolitics outside the boundary rope. But reality intrudes. Incidents like the recent Pahalgam killings and India’s military response under Operation Sindhoor inevitably colour public sentiment. That is the subcontinent’s tragic inheritance.
Yet here is the irony: despite all provocation, Indian cricket has grown stronger, not shriller.
During my playing days in the Ranji circuit, India and Pakistan were evenly matched. Home advantage mattered. There were no T20 leagues, no social media wars. The rivalry was intense but not poisonous. We admired Pakistani greats — from Asif Iqbal to Imran Khan to Wasim Akram. Hyderabad itself once celebrated players who crossed borders after Partition. Cricketing respect survived political bitterness.
Today, the equation has shifted — dramatically.
India is the most formidable cricketing ecosystem in the world. Depth in talent, domestic structure, financial stability, sports science, analytics — the gap is structural, not sentimental. Today, world cricket survives on the Indian Cricket Board’s charity. No one can dare deny it as it is a hard fact. Added to that, the Indian bench strength today could field two competitive international sides. The women’s team mirrors the men’s dominance. The IPL has become the sport’s economic engine.
Pakistan, meanwhile, often swings between brilliance and implosion. One day a fiery spell; the next day, administrative chaos. Coaching changes resemble musical chairs. Selection policies look like trial-and-error experiments. And when results falter, external conspiracy theories conveniently fill the vacuum.
If sarcasm is permitted, issuing provocative statements before an ICC clash may win television debates — but it does not help negotiate a yorker from Jasprit Bumrah or read a googly from Varun or Patel, or Yadav. All world-class players in their own right.
Take last evening’s match. India’s batters — Ishant Kishen, Suryakumar Yadav, Rinku Singh, Tilak Varma — played with clarity, not chest-thumping. Hardik Pandya contributed with controlled aggression. The bowling unit operated like a well-drilled machine. There was intensity, yes. But no visible hatred. Just professionalism.
That is the difference.
Hatred is a poor batting partner. It clouds judgment. It rushes footwork. It invites reckless shots. When prestige becomes paranoia, pressure multiplies. Historically, it is often Pakistani players who have faced the harsher backlash at home after defeats. Indian crowds, shaped by a civilisational ethos that values sport as sport, may grumble — but they rarely turn venomous.
Pakistan’s tragedy is not a lack of talent. It is lack of insulation. Cricketers carry the weight of politics, ideology and national insecurity onto the pitch. When sport becomes a proxy war, performance inevitably suffers.
India, on the other hand, plays from strength — institutional strength, cultural confidence and sheer numbers. One hundred and forty crore supporters do not demand hatred; they demand excellence. Cricket here is not merely prestige; it is passion, commerce, aspiration and identity woven together.
And let us speak of legacy. From Sunil Gavaskar to Kapil Dev, from Sachin Tendulkar to MS Dhoni, from Rohit Sharma to Virat Kohli — Indian cricket has produced icons admired globally. Their reputations were built on performance, not provocation. Today’s generation carries that forward.
Who, among the current Pakistani side, commands that universal aura? The silence answers itself.
Rivalry will remain. It is part of the subcontinental theatre. Competitive fire is healthy. But turning matches into ideological crusades is counterproductive. If Pakistan truly wishes to challenge India, the path is simple: invest in domestic cricket, shield the board from political turbulence, nurture grassroots systems, and let cricketers breathe without carrying geopolitical baggage.
Until then, demoralising Indian cricket through rhetoric will remain a fantasy — entertaining perhaps for prime-time studios, but irrelevant on a scoreboard.
Because in the end, cricket respects only one language: performance.
And on that language, India is fluent.
