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I’ve now covered so many Pakistan-India matches in Dubai that I know it’s always better to reach the stadium at least three hours before the start of the game. Getting stuck in the rush at the last minute is only your own loss. That’s why I left for the stadium early, and as expected, the roads were clear.
The moment I got out of the taxi, the intense heat hit me. Looking around, I didn’t see the usual buzz that’s common before Pakistan-India encounters, maybe because there was still a lot of time before the match began. In the media center, I met senior journalists Abdul Majid Bhatti and Shahid Hashmi. Only those two and me had come from Karachi to cover the Asia Cup. We also talked about the late journalist Syed Muhammad Sufi—he had brought me from the cricket magazine Akhbar-e-Watan to Express. I learned a lot from him. A little later, senior journalist Chaudhry Ashraf from Lahore also joined us in the media box, and we had some good conversations.
During the break, Wasim Akram came by. We both went downstairs together, and as soon as fans saw him, they gathered around in large numbers. Despite holding a cup of coffee in one hand, he shook hands with everyone and posed for selfies. While talking to me, he said: “Pakistan should win today’s match, and the players are capable of doing it.”
Gradually, the crowd inside the stadium started growing. Interestingly, although Indians had shouted “boycott, boycott,” they still came to stadium in large numbers . Until the Indian team actually reached the stadium, an air of uncertainty lingered. Many feared that under pressure, India might refuse to play at the last minute. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. When both teams practiced together on the field before the match, the fans breathed a sigh of relief.
The tension between the two countries was clearly reflected in the cricket too. A few days ago, during the captains’ press conference, when Indian skipper Suryakumar Yadav shook hands with Salman Ali Agha and Mohsin Naqvi, he was branded a villain back home. To avoid a repeat, there was no handshake between the captains this time. Sports are supposed to bring nations closer, but India has created such an atmosphere that even on the cricket field the tension is visible.
Indian journalists also seemed distant toward the Pakistani media this time. Earlier, there used to be friendly conversations, but this time the coldness was obvious. At dinner, one Indian journalist told his colleagues: “Pakistan will be all out for 40.” When Pakistan lost early wickets, they too celebrated like ordinary fans.
Usually, I sit in the first seat on the right-hand side of the Dubai stadium, next to an enclosure that’s always packed. But today, it stayed empty for quite some time—though eventually it filled up. In reality, fans themselves ended up boycotting the boycott. The number of Pakistani fans was lower, but whenever the song “Dil Dil Pakistan” played, chants echoed around the stadium.
The umpires also seemed under pressure. Whenever the ball struck a Pakistani batter’s pads, they quickly raised their finger. Three LBW decisions had to be overturned on review—each time the replay showed the ball missing the stumps. Except for Sahibzada Farhan, the Pakistani batters’ performances were extremely disappointing. A few days ago, I had even tweeted that Saim Ayub is “overrated.” If you don’t believe me, look at his records. But fans treat him like Sir Don Bradman. For the second match in a row, he lost his wicket on the very first ball. While wickets kept falling, Sahibzada stood firm at one end.
Fans hadn’t come with high expectations, but the way the top-order played was frustrating to watch. Perhaps this poor batting performance was one reason fewer Pakistani fans showed up. Many are also upset at Babar Azam’s absence.
Shaheen Afridi’s four sixes in the final overs gave Pakistan some respectability, but against India’s strong batting lineup, 127 runs was never going to be enough. From the start, India batted aggressively, clearly targeting Shaheen, and then comfortably won the match. Indian fans celebrated in the stands, while Pakistanis left with their heads bowed in disappointment, criticizing every batter. Some even shouted loudly: “If Babar Azam had been here, this day would not have come.” A fellow journalist next to me whispered: “Even when Babar was there, did Pakistan ever beat India?” I told him to speak quietly—angry fans might take out their frustrations on him.
Despite the tense relations between Pakistan and India, the match was organized very well in Dubai. Just a day earlier, police had issued strict warnings that anyone breaking the law would face fines and even punishment. In the UAE, the law applies equally to everyone—no one is spared. Unlike Pakistan, you don’t see security officials having big guns, but the police presence is so effective that no one even thinks of doing something wrong. That’s why the UAE is considered one of the safest countries in the world.
As I was leaving the stadium, one thought lingered: if the Pakistani batters had shown responsibility and scored more runs, the match could have been exciting. Then I consoled myself with the thought: this was just a game. The real victory is the one we have achieved in war—and that’s what truly matters.
