The extreme catharsis of watching the Indian women’s cricket team win

The truth is, I didn’t watch the last few overs of the Women’s ODI World Cup final.

Yes, I was very much there at DY Patil Stadium on the November 2, 2025, when India made history. But I didn’t actually witness the winning moments. I’m not exaggerating; I genuinely couldn’t.

The magnitude of the occasion didn’t need to be spelled out that day. The girls knew it. Every woman who had ever worn that blue jersey knew it. And I—someone who had come heartbreakingly close to winning a World Cup for India twice before—felt it in every cell of my body.

It wasn’t nervousness. That had already found me a match earlier, in the semi-final against Australia. I remember waking up that morning to sounds from the stadium—rehearsals, sound checks, the hum of something big building up. It took a few moments to remind myself: Hang on, you’re not the one walking out in the middle today, you can relax. But logic doesn’t always work on days like that! 

You could tell Australia were feeling it too—from the time when the national anthems were being played and the cameras zoomed in to the faces of the players. The tension was palpable. What followed was a chase we had never quite witnessed before. Once that hurdle was crossed, something inside me settled. After beating Australia at home, I felt—quietly and firmly—that the Cup was ours.

On the day of the final, as the end neared, it wasn’t nerves that took over but a deep sense of helplessness. I finished my commentary stint, took off my earpiece, and walked out of the box. I found myself pacing up and down the corridor outside, unable to sit still. 

Laura Wolvaardt, the South African captain, had set things up with her century before heading back. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach and a familiar heaviness in my chest. The roar (or the silence) of the crowd outside was my only clue to what was unfolding in the middle. The dangerous Nadine de Klerk hit two boundaries in the same over, spiking my heart rate. Was this any time to leak runs? Should we have posted just a few more on the board?

It was just me, my thoughts, my memories. The crowd erupted again—one more wicket down! Soon I was informed I would be the one taking the World Cup trophy up to the dais before it would be handed to the winning captain. 

I remember thinking I’d misheard. Me? I wasn’t sure how to process that. I’ve lifted many things in my career—bats, kit bags, expectations. But the idea of holding that trophy felt unreal. I was half-hearing, half-praying while getting ready to go downstairs. It was the final moments of what could be the most historic day for the women’s game in our country.

At midnight, when I made my way to the field of play, the girls had done it! Symbolically marking the beginning of a new dawn in Indian cricket with our first ever World Cup. After decades of sacrifices and heartbreaks, the Cup was finally coming home. I stood and soaked it all in for a bit and then hugged the first player in sight. It was Shafali [Verma]. She was going to receive the Player of the Match award, she told me. No-brainer there!   

I’ve spent most of my life out there in the middle, waiting for a historic result for my country. To walk out now, with the World Cup in my hands, and place it on the plinth before it was to be lifted by Harman, was an honour I’m still struggling to put into words. Pride doesn’t quite cover it. Gratitude comes close, but even that feels insufficient.

We were in the middle of the post-match show when the girls were taking a lap of the ground. Once done, they came up to us. At first, I was hesitant. This was their moment, after all. But Jemimah [Rodrigues], Radha [Yadav] and Arundhati [Reddy] wouldn’t listen. They pushed the trophy into my hands and pulled me into the huddle. And suddenly, everything I had held inside of me for years came rushing back. The finals that slipped away, the quiet heartbreaks, the tears shed in private. In that instant, it felt like every sacrifice, every compromise, every lonely moment, had finally found its meaning.

That night, I wasn’t very well. A viral had caught up with me, and once my responsibilities were done, I headed back to the hotel. My room gave me a bird’s-eye view of the celebrations unfolding inside the stadium—the players, their families, the laughter, and music showing no signs of stopping. I stood by the window for a while, feeling a kind of content I hadn’t felt before. My heart was full. One last glance to soak it all in, and I called it a day. Tomorrow, I knew, would feel different.

—As told to Suprita Das