A Test of Unforeseen Chaos: West Indies Triumph at Feroz Shah Kotla

The Feroz Shah Kotla, a venue long associated with docile pitches and towering run-fests, turned into an unexpected cauldron of destruction. In a match where both sides succumbed to their lowest-ever totals against each other in the first innings, the traditional rhythms of Test cricket were abandoned in favour of raw, unrelenting drama. What unfolded was a contest shaped by capricious conditions, unrelenting fast bowling, and, in the final act, the genius of one man—Vivian Richards.

The Unraveling of India’s First Innings

Dilip Vengsarkar, leading India for the first time in Test cricket, won the toss and, against the lurking evidence of early moisture, chose to bat. His decision was rooted in long-term strategy—anticipating the pitch’s transformation into a fourth-innings spinner’s paradise, he entrusted India’s fate to a three-pronged spin attack, including debutant off-spinner Arshad Ayub. But within hours, that strategic foresight crumbled in the face of an unforgiving reality.

What followed was carnage. India’s innings, a mere 145-minute procession of despair, was gutted for 75—their lowest total in a home Test. The West Indian fast bowlers, armed with seam movement, lift, and a relentless off-stump line, preyed on tentative techniques. Winston Davis set the collapse in motion, but it was a collective masterpiece of pace bowling. Eight Indian batsmen were caught behind the wicket, mere puppets in the hands of a ruthless Caribbean quartet. The two who escaped that fate were bowled, their defences breached entirely.

If the bowlers orchestrated the destruction, the fielders completed it with impeccable catching. The arc between the wicketkeeper and gully became a graveyard for India’s hopes, as every edge was snapped up with surgical precision. The scoreboard, stark and damning, told the story of a side unprepared for conditions that offered pace, movement, and menace.

West Indies Wobble but Haynes Stands Tall

Kapil Dev, who had watched helplessly as his teammates fell in a heap, responded with a spell of breathtaking aggression. The West Indies, so dominant minutes earlier, found themselves floundering at 29 for six. Kapil’s mastery of seam and swing, combined with Chetan Sharma’s probing lines, sent shockwaves through their batting order.

Yet, in the wreckage, one man stood unshaken. Desmond Haynes, without a run to his name when the sixth wicket fell, embarked on an innings of sheer defiance. He absorbed pressure with the calm of a veteran and manipulated the strike with calculated precision. The lower order, in contrast to India’s, did not disintegrate in a blind panic. Davis, Benjamin, and Walsh played their parts in eking out invaluable runs. By the time Haynes, the last man to fall, departed after 211 minutes of measured resistance, West Indies had forged a vital lead of 52. His innings, punctuated by eleven boundaries, was not just one of survival but one of defiant control.

For India, the frustration was evident. Had they possessed a third seamer, the damage could have been contained earlier. Instead, their bowling efforts, commendable as they were, lacked the final cutting edge needed to press the advantage.

India's Second Innings: From Collapse to Redemption

The hosts’ second innings threatened to be a repetition of their first. Patrick Patterson, bowling with raw hostility, scythed through the top order, leaving India in dire straits. At 41 for three, and only 30 runs ahead, another humiliating defeat loomed.

Arun Lal’s resolute 40 provided some resistance, but it was Kapil Dev’s counterattacking brilliance that truly altered India’s fortunes. Unfazed by the perils of the pitch or the hostility of the bowlers, Kapil launched a dazzling counteroffensive, smashing 44 off just 41 balls. His partnership of 73 with Vengsarkar injected life into an innings that had been gasping for breath.

Vengsarkar himself was living on the edge, repeatedly troubled outside off stump, his survival dependent on a crucial drop by Dujon when he was 21. But he capitalized on his reprieve, steadying the innings with More in a 96-run stand. By the time he brought up his sixteenth Test century—after 405 minutes of grit and determination—India had clawed their way to a position of strength. It was a captain’s innings in every sense, layered with patience, occasional strokes of elegance, and above all, an unwavering will to restore dignity to his team.

The tail, inspired by the fightback, refused to fold. When the last wicket fell on the third morning, India had set West Indies a target of 276—a total that, on a pitch now beginning to favor spin, was far from trivial.

The Richards Masterclass

The final innings was always going to be a test of temperament and technique. India’s spin trio, with Ayub at its core, was expected to exploit the surface. And for a brief period, it seemed they might.

The West Indian openers put up a sturdy 62-run stand, but once the breakthrough was achieved, the wickets began to tumble. From 111 for four, the chase was teetering on the edge. Enter Vivian Richards.

What followed was less an innings and more a statement. A masterpiece in controlled destruction. Richards did not merely counter the Indian spinners; he overwhelmed them. His 109* off 102 balls was an exhibition of dominance—stroking the ball with authority, threading gaps with precision, and pummeling anything loose. The pitch, which had so tormented others, seemed to obey only him.

There was responsibility in his batting, but also the unmistakable flair that had made him the most feared batsman of his generation. Thirteen times the ball raced to the boundary, each stroke a dagger into India’s fading hopes.

Logie and Dujon provided able support, ensuring that Richards’ artistry was not in vain. But the day belonged to the maestro himself. His 21st Test hundred—his seventh against India—was the decisive blow in a match that had swung wildly from collapse to resurgence.

A Test That Defied Expectations

This was a Test that shredded assumptions. The Feroz Shah Kotla, known for drawn-out affairs, had become a stage for ruthless fast bowling, stunning collapses, and a chase orchestrated by one of cricket’s finest batsmen. India had fought back after their disastrous start, but in the final analysis, they were undone by their own frailties against pace and by the sheer brilliance of Richards.

Vengsarkar’s century, Kapil’s flair, and Ayub’s promising debut would be remembered in isolation. Still, the match belonged to the West Indies—first to their fast bowlers, who exposed India’s weaknesses, and ultimately to Richards, who turned a precarious chase into an emphatic triumph.

It was Test cricket in its purest form—unpredictable, volatile, and unforgettable.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

A Test of Resistance: New Zealand’s Stirring Revival in India

When New Zealand slumped to 175 for eight at tea on the opening day, the prospect of them squaring the series seemed so remote as to belong to fantasy. India had dominated the First Test, their batting and spin far superior; New Zealand looked a side carrying fatigue, doubt, and the oppressive weight of subcontinental conditions. And yet, out of this gloom emerged a partnership that rekindled the steel so often associated with New Zealand cricket in the 1980s.

The First Revival: Bracewell and Morrison’s Act of Defiance

The ninth-wicket stand of 76 between John Bracewell and Danny Morrison did more than lift the total; it resurrected belief. With a mixture of audacity and resourcefulness, Bracewell swept and pulled as though batting in another universe, reaching a half-century before stumps. Morrison stood with him, determined, unflinching. Their partnership—a New Zealand record against India—became the first major plot twist in a match that repeatedly defied expectation.

Bracewell’s innings that evening was the opening chapter of a performance that would later define the match.

India’s Reply: Control Gained, Control Lost

India began with the assurance of a side accustomed to dictating the tempo at home. Kris Srikkanth, playing with a kind of joyous abandon, took on Richard Hadlee in a spirit that skirted self-sacrifice. Dilip Vengsarkar, in his 100th Test, played the perfect foil—quiet, composed, allowing Srikkanth to unfurl strokes of dominance.

On a pitch that offered something to every type of bowler, India looked poised to dwarf New Zealand’s total. Srikkanth’s brutal treatment of Bracewell—three soaring sixes—made that dominance feel absolute.

But cricket changes course in a heartbeat.

Vengsarkar’s casual dismissal off the off-spinner altered the tenor of the innings. And then Hadlee returned. After just the wicket of Arun Lal in his first thirteen overs, he finally confronted Srikkanth again. The Indian opener, now cautious and approaching his century, was undone by a perfectly disguised leg-cutter, the ball feathering the leading edge on its journey to gully.

India’s collapse thereafter carried the inevitability of a falling structure whose foundation had cracked unseen. Hadlee devoured the tail with ruthless precision, extending his staggering list of five-wicket hauls to 34, and—almost implausibly—giving New Zealand a lead. It was only two runs, but symbolically it was seismic: a team crushed in the First Test had just wrestled control.

The Third Innings: A Battle Against Moderation

Yet New Zealand were not out of peril. Despite Mark Greatbatch’s resolve and Andrew Jones’s discipline, there hung a perpetual fear: that they might leave India a target too small to defend. Their 76-run third-wicket stand promised stability, but the innings repeatedly faltered. At 181 for eight, with India prowling, the Test hung in precarious equilibrium.

And then, as in the first innings, the script turned again.

Bracewell and Smith: A Second Resurrection

Bracewell joined Ian Smith, and together they authored another act of defiance—a 69-run stand that would prove terminal for India’s hopes. Smith, attacking the second new ball with unrestrained relish on the fourth morning, swept past fifty—his first against India, only his third in Tests. Their morning surge—47 runs in the first hour—planted doubt deep into Indian minds.

With New Zealand eventually setting a target of 282 in a minimum of 130 overs, the psychological equation shifted. On a surface growing slower, turning more, darkening in temperament, 282 looked far more formidable than its digits.

And looming always was the shadow of Hadlee.

India’s Final Innings: Strangled by Craft and History

Srikkanth’s decision to pad up to the very first ball—a sharp in-cutter from Hadlee—proved fatal and strangely symbolic. That dismissal signalled that India were now batting in New Zealand’s world: a world of unyielding discipline, clever angles, relentless persistence.

The pitch began to offer generous turn, and this was the moment Bracewell relished most. His off-breaks—old-fashioned in flight, but wicked in their bite—brought instant reward. In his first two overs he removed Sidhu and Vengsarkar, slicing into the Indian top order as though he had been waiting all match for precisely this stage.

Arun Lal resisted for two hours, but elsewhere Azharuddin’s uncertain prodding at Bracewell told a more accurate story: India, so long masters of spin, were now victims of its cunning. Hoist with their own petard indeed.

Kapil Dev offered a brief flicker of counter-attack, a gesture of pride rather than conviction. But by the time the final morning arrived, the match had long since slipped from India’s hold. Twenty-one minutes into the day, Narendra Hirwani swept Bracewell high to Chatfield, and it was done.

New Zealand had secured only their second win on Indian soil—a triumph born not of dominance but of resilience, character, and perfectly timed bursts of brilliance.

Epilogue: A Match Defined by Two Men

This Test will long be remembered as John Bracewell’s masterpiece and another chapter in Richard Hadlee’s legend.

Bracewell:

Scores of 52 and 32; bowling figures of 2 for 81 and a match-winning 6 for 51.

His fingerprints were on every turning moment of the contest.

Hadlee:

For the ninth time in his career, he collected ten wickets in a Test, sculpting the Indian innings with the precision of a master craftsman.

Together, they took New Zealand from despair to triumph in a match shaped by low scores, shifting momentum, and the unwavering spirit of a team that refused to yield.

The Art of Conquest: Waqar Younis vs. Brian Lara, Rawalpindi 1997

Some cricketing battles transcend the game itself, elevating the sport to an art form—an intricate interplay of skill, strategy, and the raw force of nature. One such encounter unfolded on a cold, grey morning in Rawalpindi in November 1997, when two of the sport’s greatest exponents, Brian Lara and Waqar Younis, clashed in a passage of play so compelling that it remains etched in memory long after the broader context of the series has faded.

This was no hyperbolic spectacle akin to professional wrestling, where taglines such as "The Prince of Port-of-Spain meets the Sultan of Swing" might have been deployed for dramatic effect. Instead, it was a battle of cricketing wits, fought in earnest under the weight of West Indian expectations. Already humbled by an innings defeat in the first Test in Peshawar, the visitors turned to their premier batsman in the hope of salvation. Lara, still recovering from a double failure in the previous match and the lingering disappointment of being overlooked for the captaincy, arrived at the crease with much to prove.

Setting the Stage: The Key Players

Lara’s predicament was compounded by off-field controversies. Despite significant lobbying from his native Trinidad & Tobago, the West Indies Cricket Board had retained veteran fast bowler Courtney Walsh as captain. This decision raised questions about Lara’s commitment and mental state, making his performance in Rawalpindi a matter of both personal and professional redemption.

At the other end stood Waqar Younis, a fast bowler of rare menace, inexplicably omitted from the series opener but now unleashed with a point to prove. Known for his searing pace and late swing, Waqar embodied Pakistan’s proud tradition of reverse swing mastery. His mission was clear: dismantle the West Indies' most dangerous weapon before he could inflict any damage.

Early Exchanges: The Battle Begins

The duel began with a cautious prod from Lara to a probing inswinger, a momentary pause before the fireworks. Then came two successive cover drives, both executed with typical elegance, both scorching to the boundary. The strokes bore Lara’s signature brilliance and left Waqar visibly unsettled, prompting a hurried mid-pitch conference with his captain, Wasim Akram. The balance seemed to shift momentarily in Lara’s favour.

Buoyed by his early success, the West Indian maestro attempted to impose his authority. The next ball, though full and inviting, was mistimed—dragged through mid-off for a couple rather than dispatched for a third consecutive four. If Lara had sensed a weakness in Waqar, it was an illusion. Champions recalibrated, and Waqar, sensing his moment, began to plot his counteroffensive.

The Masterstroke: Waqar’s Lethal Yorker

Great fast bowlers possess an intuitive understanding of when to strike. Waqar, with all the cunning of a seasoned predator, had lured Lara into a false sense of dominance. Three half-volleys in his arc had conditioned the batsman to expect another driveable delivery. Then came the ambush.

Delivered with a blistering pace, the ball initially appeared destined for another full-length stroke. Lara, with his characteristic high backlift, shaped to meet it. But in the blink of an eye, the ball swerved wickedly inwards—a masterclass in late inswing.

Realizing the deception too late, Lara attempted an instinctive rescue act—shifting his feet, lowering his bat in a desperate attempt to block. It was futile. The ball had already breached his defences, crashing into the base of his leg stump. The spectacle was complete—Lara knocked off balance, collapsed onto his hands and knees, momentarily frozen in the humbling realization that he had been utterly undone.

Aftermath: A Moment Etched in Time

The image remains iconic, not just for its sheer brutality but for the poetic finality it represents. Lara, one of the most graceful batsmen in cricket history, had been rendered momentarily powerless—a testament to the sheer brilliance of his opponent.

Some dismissals are mere footnotes in a match report; others become the stuff of legend. This was the latter. Cricket has long been defined by moments where genius meets its match—Michael Holding’s evisceration of Geoffrey Boycott in the cauldron of Kensington Oval in 1981, Shane Warne’s ‘Ball of the Century’ to Mike Gatting in 1993. Waqar Younis' searing yorker in Rawalpindi belongs in the same pantheon.

Conclusion: Cricket’s Timeless Theatre

Cricket is, at its heart, a contest of moments—instances of brilliance that outlive the matches themselves. On that bleak morning in Rawalpindi, in front of a sparse but fortunate audience, Waqar Younis delivered a masterpiece. His dismissal of Brian Lara was not just a wicket; it was an emphatic statement, a moment of pure cricketing theatre.

For all the analysis of technique, tactics, and psychological warfare, some deliveries defy deconstruction. They exist as timeless artefacts of the game’s rich history, immune to revision or reinterpretation. Waqar’s yorker to Lara was one such moment—an unforgettable strike that stands as a testament to the beauty, cruelty, and enduring allure of cricket.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

When the King Met the Lion at Gujranwala, 1985

As 1985 wound towards its reluctant close, Pakistan cricket stood at a crossroads. The year had been a carousel of captains, a blur of instability, and a bruising reminder of what inconsistency could do to a gifted side. Then the selectors did something rare—they chose conviction over confusion. They handed the reins back to Imran Khan. And, almost instantly, the winds shifted.

Imran’s second era as captain began with catharsis: breaking the jinx against India at Sharjah and matching the mighty West Indies blow for blow in the same desert arena. The ghosts of the WCC and Rothman’s Trophy were buried; Pakistan now turned to a fresh frontier—a home 5-match ODI series against the greatest cricketing machine the sport had ever seen.

The Juggernauts Arrive

If Imran embodied Pakistan’s renaissance, Viv Richards embodied West Indian supremacy. Newly anointed captain, Richards inherited a dynasty forged by Clive Lloyd and powered by four of the most fearsome fast bowlers ever assembled: Marshall, Holding, Garner, Walsh.

Gujranwala was about to witness something more than a cricket match. It was a collision of temperaments—Pakistan’s rising self-belief versus the Caribbean empire at its imperial peak.

The first ODI was a 40-over shootout. Richards won the toss and unleashed his pace cartel on a moist morning pitch. If there was ever a moment for Pakistan to wilt, this was it.

Instead, they punched first.

Pakistan’s Counterpunch: Fire Against Fire

Mudassar Nazar and Mohsin Khan emerged with surprising aggression. Mohsin, elegant yet murderous, carved Marshall and Holding with audacity, sprinting to 22 of the opening 29 runs. Walsh finally broke the stand, but Pakistan had announced their intent: they were not going to be bullied.

Mudassar played the long game. Ramiz Raja guided the innings with calm control. And then came Javed Miandad—cricket’s eternal street fighter—whose brief stay was a burst of sharp cuts, pulls, and drives at a run-a-ball tempo.

But the real theatre began when Imran Khan walked in.

Imran didn’t bat—he detonated. With a strike rate of 145.6, a rarity in the mid-1980s, he dismantled Holding, Garner, and Marshall with strokes that belonged to a future era. Six boundaries, one soaring six, and a spellbinding 45 off 31 sent the Gujranwala crowd into a frenzy.

When the dust finally settled, Mudassar held the Pakistan innings together with a monk-like 77.

Pakistan finished at 218 for 5—scoring at over 5.4 an over. In 1985, this wasn’t just competitive; it was revolutionary.

Then Came the Storm From Antigua

Pakistan struck early—Mohsin Kamal removing Richie Richardson cheaply. Desmond Haynes and Gus Logie attempted to rebuild, but Wasim Akram’s youthful burst dismissed Haynes and summoned the inevitable.

Viv Richards walked in.

If Pakistan had played the morning in technicolour, Richards brought the night in blazing neon. Pressure? For Richards, pressure was oxygen. As the run rate climbed, so did his brutality.

Wasim tried the yorker. Mudassar tried the wobble seam. Tauseef looped it wide. Qadir—Pakistan’s ace—was greeted with the kind of disdain only Richards could muster. Twenty-four runs in one over turned the leg-spinner into a spectator of his own spell.

Only Imran Khan, chest out and eyes narrowed, appeared momentarily capable of holding back the avalanche.

But even he could not rewrite destiny.

Viv Richards finished with an astonishing 80 off 39 balls—10 fours, 4 sixes—and a strike rate that belonged to T20, not 1985. The West Indies roared to victory in 38.3 overs, scoring at six an over, as if to remind the world: we are still the rulers of this game.

A Day When Legends Crossed Paths

Gujranwala 1985 was not merely a match—it was a drama of shifting powers and unshakeable greatness. Pakistan showcased its rebirth under Imran Khan: brave, modern, willing to challenge the unbeatable. Yet the West Indies, led by Richards in full imperial swagger, answered with a reminder of their unmatched dominance.

On that day, the world witnessed two truths:

- West Indies were still the best in the World. 

- And cricket still had only one King! 

Viv Richards left Gujranwala like a King. Imran left with something more enduring—a team beginning to believe in itself again.

Both would shape history in their own ways.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Hero Cup Triumph: India’s Redemption at Eden Gardens

The CAB Jubilee Tournament, later branded as the Hero Cup, secured sponsorship from Hero, yet this initial success was quickly overshadowed by a series of complications. The first blow came when Pakistan withdrew from the tournament, citing security concerns. This reduced the competition to a five-nation contest featuring hosts India alongside West Indies, South Africa, Sri Lanka, and Zimbabwe. The tournament’s structure, however, was perplexing—ten league matches merely to eliminate one team before proceeding to the semi-finals and final. Yet, a historic milestone was set, as the last three matches were scheduled to be the first played under floodlights at Eden Gardens.

Jagmohan Dalmiya, the mastermind behind the Hero Cup, soon found himself embroiled in a deeper battle—one that transcended the boundary ropes and entered the realm of broadcasting rights. On March 15 of that year, CAB sent a letter to the Director-General of Doordarshan, India’s state-run broadcaster, which had long enjoyed an unchallenged monopoly over the telecast of cricket matches in the country. In an era when the BCCI had once paid Doordarshan to air matches, a seismic shift was underway.

The emergence of private broadcasters, spearheaded by Star, brought a new dimension to the equation. CAB awarded the exclusive telecast rights of the Hero Cup to Trans World International (TWI), an international broadcasting company that outbid Doordarshan with an offer that was significantly more lucrative. While Doordarshan’s bid stood at a mere INR 10 million, TWI guaranteed a minimum of INR 17.6 million along with 70% of the gross revenue. Even after factoring in an INR 1.5 million payment to VSNL for facilitating satellite transmissions via Intelsat, the deal was financially irrefutable.

Doordarshan, however, was not prepared to relinquish its stronghold without a fight. In a retaliatory move, the state broadcaster declared that it would not telecast the matches across India. This decision had immediate repercussions: when India faced Sri Lanka at Kanpur, advertising within the stadium dwindled, resulting in significant financial losses for CAB. Desperate to salvage the situation, CAB urged Doordarshan to broadcast the tournament, only to be met with a counter-demand—a steep INR 0.5 million per match.

The crisis deepened when TWI’s equipment was seized at Bombay Customs under the pretext of lacking requisite government permissions. As a result, the highly anticipated clash between West Indies and Sri Lanka at Wankhede went unseen by the masses. The disruptions persisted as TWI’s crew was barred from broadcasting South Africa’s encounter with Zimbabwe at Chinnaswamy Stadium.

Public interest, already dampened by Pakistan’s withdrawal, suffered further due to the initial lack of telecast. However, a flicker of excitement was reignited when South Africa and West Indies, arguably the two strongest teams on paper, engaged in a riveting contest where Jonty Rhodes' spectacular five catches stunned the Caribbean giants.

Yet, controversy continued to mar the tournament. When India faced West Indies at Motera, the hosts collapsed for a paltry 100 in response to West Indies’ 202 for 7. Frustration among the Ahmedabad crowd escalated to such an extent that play was halted for 40 minutes. Mohammad Azharuddin later remarked that it was “the worst crowd I have ever seen.”

Indore provided another dramatic moment when India and Zimbabwe played out a thrilling tie marred by chaotic scenes. However, the tournament largely remained devoid of consistently competitive cricket, with matches often leaning towards one-sided affairs. Despite media-fueled hype, public enthusiasm remained inconsistent. That was until an unforgettable night at Eden Gardens, where India clashed with South Africa in a pulsating contest that recaptured the nation’s imagination. The stage was then set for a grand finale against the West Indies, still regarded as the finest team in the world. In the end, amid all the off-field turmoil, the Hero Cup delivered a dramatic climax, cementing its place in cricketing folklore.

 A Masterclass in Indian Domination

The final at Eden Gardens was expected to be a fierce contest, with the West Indies carrying the weight of favouritism. But cricket, ever the great equalizer, had its own narrative. India outclassed the Caribbean side with a staggering margin of 102 runs, a testament to their supremacy. Richie Richardson, graceful in defeat, could offer little protest. India had simply outplayed the West Indies in every department.

From the very outset, there had been murmurs—was it time to drop Kapil Dev? Had Sachin Tendulkar, prodigious yet inconsistent, become a liability? Could Ajay Jadeja handle the pressures of international cricket? Did Vinod Kambli possess the technique to withstand the thunderbolts of the West Indian pace attack? Every question found its emphatic answer under the gaze of 90,000 roaring spectators and millions glued to their television screens. Kapil, Tendulkar, Jadeja, and Kambli played pivotal roles in scripting India’s triumph.

The Kumble Hurricane

If one moment encapsulated the final, it was Anil Kumble’s spell—a bewitching display of leg-spin that left the West Indies in ruins. His figures, 6 for 12 in just four overs, were not just extraordinary but transformative. In a mere 24 balls, he spun a web of deception, dismantling the opposition with clinical precision. The West Indians, historically vulnerable against spin, found themselves ensnared yet again, despite Richardson’s persistent assertion that their frailty against the turning ball was a mere “myth.”

The Crucial Turning Point: The Roland Holder Controversy

Yet, amid the heroics, controversy lingered. Roland Holder’s dismissal became a subject of heated debate. Television replays confirmed he was bowled, yet his departure carried an air of ambiguity. The West Indies sought intervention, but Bishan Singh Bedi, the adjudicator, refused to reconsider the decision. The International Cricket Council Chairman, Clyde Walcott, upheld the verdict. Richardson later pointed to this moment as the game’s turning point, but in truth, the collapse had already begun. Holder’s exit merely hastened the inevitable as Kumble ran riot through the lower order.

The Art of Building an Innings

Before the carnage, India’s batting had laid the foundation for an authoritative total. The start was wobbly, but Jadeja and Kambli stitched together a crucial partnership, steering the innings from 161 for two to a precarious 161 for five. A moment of brilliance from Curtly Ambrose—an instinctive kick onto the stumps—cut short Kambli’s fluent 68. Shortly after, Azharuddin perished attempting an audacious steer, followed by Pravin Amre’s departure in quick succession. A promising innings was at risk of unravelling.

It was then that experience and youthful audacity combined. Kapil Dev and Tendulkar, both under scrutiny, rose to the occasion with a vital 46-run stand. Their partnership not only steadied the innings but provided the launchpad for a defendable target on a sluggish wicket. Kambli’s audacious stroke play, Jadeja’s calculated aggression, and Azharuddin’s finesse—including a sublime cut off Phil Simmons—underscored India’s tactical acumen.

The Bowling Symphony

When the West Indies began their chase, the Indian bowlers delivered in unison. Manoj Prabhakar struck early, removing Simmons in the very first over. The Caribbean innings, though dented, found resilience in Richardson and Brian Lara’s partnership. As the duo threatened to shift momentum, it was Tendulkar—already a hero from the semifinal’s final over—who prised out Lara, breaking the crucial stand. Richardson, growing in stature with every stroke, appeared to be the last bastion of hope, until Kapil Dev, with his characteristic guile, engineered a collapse. Arthurton was trapped in front, and Richardson was deceived by the slower ball. With the lower order exposed, Kumble’s magic unfolded, and within moments, the contest was over.

A Celebration Like No Other

As the final wicket fell, Eden Gardens erupted into a carnival of lights, bonfires, and euphoric celebrations. For two consecutive nights, the historic venue had witnessed cricket in its most dramatic form, and now, as the final chapter concluded, the air was thick with the scent of victory.

The journey to the trophy had been turbulent—two wins, a loss, and a tied game in the group stage reflected India’s inconsistency. But when it mattered most, the team peaked. Ajit Wadekar, the quiet architect of India’s resurgence, had his moment of fulfilment. As the celebrations swirled around him, he remained pragmatic. “This is just the beginning,” he mused, already looking ahead to the next challenge against Sri Lanka. 

Ajit Wadekar stood that night with a quiet sense of triumph, his broad smile a reflection of vindication. Every decision he had made, every call he had taken, had come to fruition. Against prevailing scepticism, he had backed the very team that had faltered in Sri Lanka’s one-day series. As Mohammed Azharuddin lifted the Hero Cup under the floodlit Kolkata sky, it was evident that Wadekar’s ability to extract the best from his players had orchestrated this resounding success.

The cricket manager, bat in one hand and ball in another, would return to his role of a perfectionist, ensuring India’s fielding—the only chink in the armour—was sharpened for future battles.

For now, though, the Hero Cup belonged to India, and Kolkata had its fairytale night.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar