We Belong to This Navi Night

Sometimes sport is just sport. Other times it becomes a mirror held to society, an anthem for change. What happened in Navi Mumbai on Sunday night was the latter. When India’s women raised that much-awaited ICC World Cup Trophy they did more than finish a competition, they opened a door. They rewrote our sporting story. They told a billion and a half people that magic is real, but it is built, not gifted.

As thousands of Tricolours fluttered in the Navi Mumbai night under fireworks, I swear the air itself whispered: India, your daughters have arrived.

We will look back and say we were there when it happened. When the women in blue, our women, stood tall, proud, unshakeable, and changed something deep within Indian sport.

This was not luck. This was not a one-off miracle. The magic and the miracles did not just happen. They were willed into being by belief, sweat, hunger, and the quiet defiance of every girl who ever picked up a bat and said, “I can.”

DY Patil Stadium was a sea of blue. Flags waved, voices trembled, tears ran. India’s women had just beaten South Africa by 52 runs to lift the World Cup. A maiden title and long-overdue coronation.

For years Indian women’s cricket had been the story of potential. Promising, yes. Capable, surely. But missing that one defining night. Sunday changed that forever.

Opener Shafali Verma's 87 off 78 balls and 2 crucial wickets was the beginning of that miracle. Her presence in the team was providence. She was drafted in as a late replacement for the injured Pratika Rawal. She did not just fill a slot, she filled a nation’s heart.

Beside her stood Smriti Mandhana whose 45 helped forge an opening stand of 104. The platform was set. Then came deadly Deepti Sharma with 58 runs and a five-wicket haul, sealing the deal and winning for herself Player of The Tournament.

Sometimes destiny writes itself through small moments that become folklore. Like Shafali’s inclusion. Like Amanjyot's brilliant throw from midwicket to strike out Brits who was attempting a quick single and later juggling the ball to take the catch on the third attempt and dismiss Laura Wolvaart for 101. Like when captain Harmanpreet Kaur held firm to the final catch. Like the brilliance of Jemimah Rodrigues in the semi-final with her unbeaten 127 guiding India into the final.

All this was more than skill: it was providence, courage, and command in one frame.

It is tempting to call this a miracle. It is not. It is the sum total of belief. The belief of every young woman who dragged her kit bag at dawn to a practice ground. The belief of coaches who taught without recognition. The belief of parents who chose a cricket bat over a wedding proposal.

These women did not stumble upon greatness. They chased it down, ball by ball, bruise by bruise. Every dive, every sprint, every blister built this win.

When they lifted that Cup it wasn’t just for the players in blue. It was for the nameless hundreds who played before them, who never got this spotlight but who kept the fire burning anyway.

You could feel it across India. In living rooms and local bars, on WhatsApp groups, community halls and railway platforms. Mothers and sisters who never watched cricket were glued to their TV screens.

Even Rohit Sharma and the Ambanis in the stadium, and the men’s cricket team presently in Australia could not hold back their emotions. Their eyes cheers and smiles told a story of pride and respect because this was the kind of joy that reminded us what sport is supposed to do — unite, lift, inspire.

There were hiccups, of course. There always are. Overs where momentum slipped, dropped catches that made hearts skip and bad fielding that drew fear. The packed stadium watched in dread as South Africa’s captain Laura Wolvaardt struck a century even in defeat. Yet India’s bowlers marshalled by Deepti’s steel never blinked. Every wicket was a statement: we’re not backing down.

As my ailing wife and I watched the thriller being played out around 100kms from my home in Pune, I thought of all the journeys that lead to moments like this. Resilience, never- say- die comebacks. We thought of our own journey through storms, and realised that the second innings can be more beautiful than first ones.

This team reminded me of that truth. They too had known struggle, doubt, injury, silence. They came back. Stronger. Braver. This is what sport and life are really about. Showing up again after the fall, believing when no one else does, and finding joy in the grind.

Now begins the real work. To make sure this is not a one-time headline but a movement. To build academies, secure sponsorships, nurture the next Shafali, Jemimah, Deepti, Smriti, and Harman.

Because a trophy, no matter how glittering, is just a symbol. The real victory lies in the little girls who will wake up tomorrow and say, “Someday that will be me.”

So yes, we belong to this beautiful night. To this joy, this belief, this new beginning.