Few spectacles capture the collective imagination quite like a cricket match between India and Pakistan. It is a contest that transcends sport, becoming a microcosm of national aspirations, shared histories, political grievances, and simmering tensions. Yet, amidst the fervent nationalism that accompanies these fixtures, there lies a profound question of conduct and character. How should a proud and confident nation behave, not just in victory or defeat, but in the simple rituals that define the very essence of sportsmanship?
The two recent Asia Cup fixtures, and the refusal of the Indian team to shake hands with their Pakistani counterparts at both the toss and the conclusion of each match, brought this question into sharp focus. It sparked a vigorous debate: While many saw it as a justifiable expression of national sentiment, others found it to be a troubling departure from the “spirit of the game”. To understand this, let’s look back at a moment that offers a remarkable, and surprisingly forgotten, precedent.
In the summer of 1999, the two nations faced off in a Super Six fixture of the Cricket World Cup in Manchester, England. The match, however, was no ordinary sporting event. It was played against the grim backdrop of the Kargil War — a full-blown armed conflict on the treacherous peaks of the Himalaya. Actual fighting was underway, and soldiers on both sides made the ultimate sacrifice for their respective countries. The political rhetoric was at its peak, and the atmosphere in the stadium, far from the battlefields, was charged with palpable tension.
There were skirmishes in the stands. Reports speak of three arrests and nine people being asked to leave the ground, with one Indian flag set alight. The hostility was real, and the stakes were higher than any tournament could ever confer. Yet, the game went on. The Indian team, under the leadership of its (as it happens, Muslim) captain, Mohammed Azharuddin, defeated their arch-rivals. More importantly, after the match, players from both sides shook hands.
They did so because, despite the blazing war outside, they understood that the field of play was a sanctuary governed by different rules — those of respect, integrity, and mutual acknowledgment. That handshake was a testament to the fact that even amidst conflict, civility could prevail in the sporting arena, and that human connection, however fragile, could find a moment to exist. It recalled the “Christmas truces” of World War I, when British and German soldiers would emerge from the trenches where they had been shelling each other to death and play a friendly game of football to honour the Messiah of Peace.
The World Cup clash — which also took place under a government led by the Bharatiya Janata Party — makes the recent handshake incident all the more puzzling. If a match could proceed with all its rituals intact during an active war, what changed in the intervening years to make a post-war post-match gesture of goodwill seem so unacceptable? The decision to play against Pakistan is itself a political one, made at the highest levels of the respective cricket boards and governments. If they felt so strongly about Pakistan, they could have decided not to play them, forfeit the points and risk losing the tournament. Once the decision is made to play, the onus falls on the players to honour the game itself. The “spirit of cricket” is not merely an abstract ideal; it is a code of conduct that demands graciousness in victory and dignity in defeat. A handshake is a fundamental expression of this spirit — a recognition that the contest, however intense, is now over and the players, as fellow sportsmen, share a bond that transcends national rivalry.
Refusing to shake hands, therefore, is not an act of defiance. It is an act seemingly unwilling to separate the game from the state, the players from the politicians. It undermines the very values of sportsmanship that India, with its rich history in the game, claims to uphold. It presents an image of a country that, despite its immense strength and global stature, still allows itself to be governed by a fragile and insecure form of nationalism. This is not worthy of us. True strength lies in magnanimity, in the ability to extend a hand of respect even when faced with deep-seated animosity.
This brings us to a more critical, unaddressed aspect of the public discourse. In our understandable anger and frustration over cross-border terrorism, there has been a regrettable tendency to conflate the actions of non-state actors and a hostile military-industrial complex with the identity of an entire nation and its people. By casting all Pakistanis as one and the same — a monolithic entity of malevolence — we are not only being intellectually foolish but also strategically naive.
Terrorism is a specific, targeted threat, and it must be dealt with as such. But to demonise an entire populace is to play directly into the hands of the very forces we seek to combat. It erases the distinction between the terrorist and the ordinary citizen of Pakistan, merging the extremist with the Pakistani who wishes for peace. By failing to draw this crucial line, we inadvertently create a siege mentality within Pakistan, pushing moderate voices to the margins and fostering a sense of collective victimhood. It actively reduces the chances of building a constituency for peace within Pakistan itself, alienating those who may be our natural allies in the fight against extremism and creating a powerful, anti-Indian unity among the Pakistani people that does not serve our interests.
India’s long-term goal should not be to perpetually demonise Pakistan. It should be to encourage a political and social environment across the border that is less susceptible to radical ideologies and more inclined towards peaceful coexistence. This is not a naive aspiration but a pragmatic one. We are the world’s largest democracy, a rising economic powerhouse, and a confident voice on the global stage. Our conduct should reflect this stature. It should be defined by a clear-eyed understanding of our adversaries, a strategic approach to our challenges, a strong resistance to terrorism and a steadfast adherence to our own principles.
The handshake, in this larger context, is not a small gesture. It is a symbol of our ability to be the better nation, to rise above the fray, and to demonstrate a maturity that befits a global leader, a would-be Vishwaguru. By refusing it, we do not hurt our opponents; we only diminish ourselves.
The writer chairs the Parliamentary Standing Committee on External Affairs
