Celebrated with unparalleled fervor, the cricket World Cup is a relatively recent addition to India's pantheon of varied and diverse festivals. In India, the World Cup is far beyond a mere event. It is a heady mix of the past and present that never seem to go away, while recreating endless visions of a Utopian future.

More than the teachings of Gandhi or the workings of Parliament, the World Cup has played an important role in shaping the Indian collective consciousness. This is why, more than any other country, the Indian cricket fan bears a unique responsibility when it comes to celebrating the showpiece of the cricketing world in a manner that is in keeping with the glorious spirit of the game.

In other countries, the World Cup offers nothing more than a temporary distraction. It is an event to be looked at on a TV screen while on the way to work. It throws up a reason for cheer during a refreshing beverage at the neighborhood bar. This is in stark contrast to the situation in India, where the most taxing job is relegated to an errand in the midst of the cricket, while the strongest alcohol is rendered impotent in the face of a well directed yorker or a powerful heave over midwicket.

True, the English gave us cricket. However, in England, cricket has fast become a sport closely tied to a narrow-minded nationalism, and any excitement has more to do with the proud flutterings of the Union Jack than the machinations of a wavy outswinger, or the steely resolve of the tail ender who is prepared to hold fort with bat, pad and chest bone.  

Rewind to 2004, where English cricket sported a toe that had been battered by Waqar Younis, a soul that had been dismissed with disdain by Sachin Tendulkar and an intellect that had been deceived repeatedly by Shane Warne. The only mentions of English cricket in the national headlines were at best confined to mentions of bartenders and drugs in the immediate vicinity of English cricketers.

That changed with the Ashes in 2005, when the mighty Australians were made to savor the unfamiliar taste of defeat. The average Englishman turned up on the streets and in the stadiums with pomp and splendor to celebrate the victory. Regrettably, English pride was at the centerpiece of the headlines, while the pace of Simon Jones, the doggedness of Shane Warne and the sportsmanship of Andrew Flintoff were relegated to second place.

Sir Neville Cardus would have disapproved of this turn of events. An Englishman at heart, Neville Cardus was the greatest writer that the cricket world has seen to date. He was more than a writer; he was the greatest celebrator of the game. His writings crossed national boundaries and focused on the universal - the turn a wrist spinner extracted from a dying pitch, the utter squareness of a cut, or the exhilarating acrobatics of a fielder at point.  

In fact, no writer was more instrumental in bringing the extraordinary talents of the Australian team to the fore of the public consciousness than Neville Cardus. In his dispatches from the highly controversial Bodyline series, Sir Neville Cardus wrote with poetic admiration of the Australian cricketers Chuck Fleetwood-Smith and Stan McCabe, for whom he had the highest regard.   And the highlights of his dispatches were not focused on the triumphs of the English team, but on the pyrotechnics of one Donald Bradman, an Australian, who in addition to being a run glutton was a constant thorn in the sides of the English.

Sir Neville's descriptions were elevated to a new level when he wrote about the Don. To give just one example, in a dispatch from Down Under, he lyrically praised the firebrand Australian: It was exciting to watch, exacting to nerves and imagination to see him (Donald Bradman) gather his energy at the last second and square up to a rising fast ball, then hook it to the boundary with a crack, dispersing the pigeons.

It is indeed ironic that today, the country of Neville Cardus' -and cricket's- birth has forgotten how to celebrate the game. But Sir Neville's soul need not despair. For, he can find the spirit that celebrates the beauty of this wondrous and multifaceted game, if not in the halls of Lords, then in the streets of India.  

In packed compounds and cricket fields across the country, where off side and leg side fields magically morph into one another, scores of Indians are celebrating the many intricacies of the game with a passion and irreverence for country of origin that would have made Sir Neville proud.   You have to only watch a left-handed youngster at Oval Maidan reach for the heights of excellence set by Adam Gilchrist, and the truth of this sentiment will become readily apparent.  

Is it not only fitting that all Indian cricket lovers should carry this spirit of universal appreciation when celebrating the World Cup? Sure, they have every reason to cheer if Rahul Dravid and his team of blue bring the coveted trophy home. But they need not be obsessed about the performance of a group of eleven men, which are but one of many that will be playing at the event.

Indians should set aside more than their fair attention to celebrate the vision of a Brian Lara cover drive, the fearlessness of a Graeme Smith gamble or the flamboyance of a Sanath Jayasuriya. They should sigh with an equal degree of appreciation at every leg glance, be it from the bat of a Dravid or the blade of a Gilchrist. If they find no Mohammed Kaif at point, then surely they can revel in every flight of fancy that Ricky Pointing's imagination dare make.

As the new home of cricket, the world demands that Indians celebrate the accomplishment of all teams. If the passion for the sport is any indicator, Indians are more than up to the task. Let this World Cup be the landmark event, the new festival, where they come together and give Sir Neville Cardus a new home.

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© COPYRIGHT 2002-2012 Arun Krishnan