When Harsha Cried

It took him more than two minutes and seven odd garbled sentences before he could speak something that made sense. And it did take him a Herculean effort to stop those tears rolling down his cheeks. And so emotional was he that he couldn’t afford look straight into the eyes of the gentleman sitting to his left, lest those tear drops trickle down. Even for a seasoned pro like him who covers more cricket matches in an year than some of the celebrated players play in their entire career, it was an onerous task not to let those emotions get the better of him.
He did compose himself though, and in his usual flair gave a fair analysis of the proceedings of the day. Somewhere down inside though, his heart was still beating at a faster rate, in his mind he was still replaying that last stroke, and if he could, he would have thrown that jacket away and might have done a summersault right in front of those cameras, the pictures of which would have beamed live to all those loyalists still glued to their TV sets, eagerly waiting for every word of the expert talk that was to be dished out in the post match show.
Even for a man who has been doing this job for more than two decades, having seen the highest of highs and lowest of lows, the joy was unbearable. And be rest assured that twenty years from now, he will be narrating the story to his grandchildren. “Yes, I was there, on air, covering the match live. And yes, mine was the loudest scream in that commentator’s box when India finally did it”.
The man—Harsha Bhogle, the channel—ESPN, the show—Follow Through, the time—five minutes after the last of uncountably many boundaries that were hit the entire day, the occasion—when a chennai veeran, wielding a piece of wood not more than three feet long and six inches broad, snatched a victory when a defeat looked all but inevitable.
And no, it was not the gracious elegance of the greatest willow wielder of his era that made the ever-poised Harsha crumble, it was the fearless vigor of a twenty-one year old lad.
For the uninitiated, the context is the sixth cricket ODI that was played between England and India the other day, the greatest willow wielder mentioned above is Sachin Tendulkar and the twenty-one year old lad is Robin Utthappa. But no, this article is not an eloquent poetic rendition of the final moments of the cricket match; this article is about human emotions. This piece is about one of those moments of brilliance that can make even a hardened professional look and sound like an ordinary fan, finding it difficult to control his ecstasy, failing to keep his emotions under wraps after seeing his favorite team, sailing on the last ray of hope, lunge towards glory when everything at one point looked lost.
Strange it seems, how people who appear so cold otherwise being so emotionally attached to something whose results are so out of one’s control. Still, one feels an array of emotions ranging from agony to frustration to desperation to ecstasy to bliss when one is rooting for his/her favorite team. Everyone wants to be a part of those special moments, the vestige of which remains etched ever so eternally.
And when you see someone who is at the peak of his prowess almost crack under the burden of his emotions, you know for sure that something special has happened. Yes, there was something special in the madness yesterday, but even so more special was the reaction of Mr. Bhogle. Thanks Harsha for, among others, demonstrating that even when one is at the zenith of competitive success, one never ceases to be a human being. And sometimes our emotions do get better of us.