Why does this victory feel different?

(Making of the ordinary heroes)

This victory feels different.

We’ve all known the elation of our favourite teams winning tournaments — of Indian squads finding both mojo and medals in cricket, hockey, or the Olympics. We’ve all poured into the streets, bursting crackers when the impossible suddenly became real. The 2011 World Cup victory was seminal, but the outpouring during KKR’s IPL win in 2014 and 2024 was even more explosive. (I’m in Calcutta - so that explains!)

Ecstasy — that’s the word that defined those moments.

But this one felt different. It felt personal.

This time, it wasn’t every fibre of my body wanting to burst out in celebration. I didn’t want to go out into the streets.

I just wanted to sit down, pour some cognac, and savour the moment. I wanted quietude. I wanted to weep a little. I wanted to be vulnerable — like these girls who wore their years of ignominy, scorn, and derision on their sleeves, and then let it all pour out in tears and confessions.

As writer Nargis Natarajan wrote:

“There are moments when a sport elevates itself from the boundaries of a game that feels like religion, to take the form of a Silent Revolution.”

Mind you, this victory was not empowerment — this was a statement.

It wasn’t merely entertainment — it was a collective heart saying, “Think what you may. Even if we hadn’t won, we would have.”

It was a reaffirmation that sweat and blood always find their destinations, even if the present doesn’t always reveal it.

It showed that women are not exceptions — they are excellence itself.

You see Harman jump into her father’s arms, Jemimah breaking down as she recalls rejection, humiliation, and doubt — and how she kept seeking, and receiving, support from everyone in her team. You see Smriti and Harman sharing the trophy with Jhulan, Mithali, Anjum — acknowledging the trailblazers whose blind faith in their talent and grit carved this very path to victory. And then you see the victorious girls hugging the forlorn broken South African girls, as their own, to acknowledge that “Hey, we are with you, we’ve been there too. We know what you’re going through.”

They are us — ordinary us — who so often make heroes only to be let down by them.

Finally, we have someone we can adopt as our own.

We can sing with them, cry with them, hug like them. Be flawed. Be human.

We can,optionally, conquer the world, and irrespective, remain both marvellous and ordinary.

May we have more such heroes in our lives.

Note: All Photographs from the internet. Used for no-commercial purpose, and in good faith

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A quick lovely poem to end with?

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