Some things are synonymous with South Asian identity: Bollywood, extravagant weddings, Qawwali music, mysticism and, of course, cricket.
In a continent starved for Olympic golds, with little to no success in the prevalent European pastime of soccer and no interest in North America’s obsessions with football, baseball, basketball and hockey, one sport reigns above all. Cricket is do or die for most South Asians. In a region fraught with religious communalism, cricket is a religion, a uniting faith in South Asia. From South Asians in Lahore and Mumbai to South Asians in Brampton and London, cricket is an emotion, a tether to familial or cultural roots, tinged with nostalgia and carrying the expectations of almost two billion people used to losing in every other sport.
Nothing captures the socio-political power of cricket in South Asia quite like the rivalry between India and Pakistan. Born from one state, fractured into two, both products of colonial rule, the border between these two countries is one of the most politically tense areas in the world. In the context of the polarizing and violent Partition conflict, the rivalry transforms from a faceoff between two great cricketing nations to a question of homeland, identity and pride.
Despite the International Cricket Council (ICC) having only 12 full members, cricket is one of the most-watched and played sports in the world, second only to soccer, primarily due to the large South Asian population fanbase. In other words, there is no accurate comparison to capture the magnitude of an India-Pakistan cricket match.
However, Netflix certainly tries in their recent three-episode docuseries, “The Greatest Rivalry: India vs. Pakistan.” Featuring cricketing stars like Virender Sehwag and Ramiz Raja, the series aims to describe both the caliber of khel (play) and the political melodrama that encompass this rivalry. Focusing on the 2004 Samsung Cup played in Pakistan, the series dramatizes the narrative through voice-over reenactments, suspenseful cuts and a variety of memorable one-liners like Shikhar Dhawan’s “India Pakistan ka match ek jang se kam nahi hai” (India-Pakistan matches are no less than a war). But the series suffers from this dramatization more than it benefits, employing the classic Bollywood pitfall of saying a whole lot of nothing.
A primary issue is the heavy use of reenactments instead of real footage, which only serves to diminish the authenticity of the documentary. Furthermore, the socio-political climate is only mentioned in tongue-in-cheek comments and soulful shots of military proceedings in the India-Pakistan Wagah border. The only concrete exploration comes from brief explanations of the political protests against the Asian Test Championship and the effects of the 2008 Mumbai terrorist attacks on the inclusion of Pakistani players in the Indian Premier League (IPL). By turning the pain of an entire continent into a gimmick to further a narrative, the documentary dilutes the emotional importance of this rivalry.
With any discussion of South Asia and cricket, it is imperative to acknowledge the sport’s colonial legacy and its role in constructing the national identity of Indians and Pakistanis. Originally started in England as an upper-class sport meant for elite “gentlemen,” the pervasive hold of English political culture in Indian imagination meant the sport grew from this limited origin to a multilateral organization with immense influence, such as the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), becoming a form of upward class mobility for South Asians through “gully” cricket and IPL. Whilst numerous scholars have explored the nuances of cricket’s history in South Asia, its most prominent legacy persists as the sport where the colonized beat the colonizer on their own turf, using their own rules, starting from 1971 to 1983 in Lord’s Stadium to most recently two weeks ago.
Furthermore, any contemporary analysis of cricket in South Asia would be incomplete without highlighting how the sport is growing. Last year’s T20 World Cup was co-hosted by the United States, allowing the United States to play cricket internationally for the first time. In the face of a growing diaspora of South Asians, the tournament showcased the United States’ ambition to break into the cricket world and expand its ever-growing empire of sports dynasties. With talk of an American version of India’s billion-dollar IPL, the tournament highlighted the South Asian diaspora’s presence in the country, with the U.S. team consisting of 11 South Asian immigrants. Most memorably, Cornell graduate, full-time software engineer and part-time cricket player Saurabh Netravalkar exhibited an MVP performance to duck out Virat Kohli in only his second ball in the United States-India match and triumph against Pakistan. The American entry into cricket comes at an opportune time, allowing the South Asian diaspora to experience the beauty of a pluralistic society.
“The Greatest Rivalry” lacks these explorations of anti-colonial legacy and diaspora identity integral to political discussions of cricket, leaving the series as a surface-level analysis. However, the documentary’s biggest weakness is perhaps the absent voices of the truly impactful stars of India-Pakistan matches. Despite highlighting a variety of showdowns in addition to the 2004 Cup, the documentary suffers from an overemphasis on the Indian narrative, not a South Asian one. In the end, the series leaves on the hopeful messages of cross-border unity but fails to be as striking as India-Pakistan matches truly are. Maybe one day, we will get a documentary that captures the forces bigger than bat and all but for now, cricket fans must make do with the real India-Pakistan matches and all their mirch masala (spice).
