India v Pakistan becoming a political rivalry rather than sporting one

Colombo, 11 June — The sky over Premadasa Stadium was the greyest it had been all week, and the mood inside the ground matched it. What should have been a celebration of cricket’s most electric fixture instead unfolded as a carefully choreographed exercise in avoidance: no handshakes at the toss, no acknowledgement at the finish, and a security cordon so wide that even the city’s street vendors felt the tension before a ball was bowled.

Pakistan had only confirmed their participation 48 hours earlier, relenting on a threatened boycott meant to show solidarity with Bangladesh, who were forced to forfeit their World Cup berth after being denied permission to stage matches outside India. By the time Sunday arrived, the match felt less like a contest of bat and ball than a diplomatic minefield.

Television producers stationed themselves early at the coin flip, cameras zooming in on captains Suryakumar Yadav and Salman Ali Agha, who stood in silence for the two-minute protocol. An anonymous official stepped in to straighten Salman’s crooked collar, puncturing the attempted strong-man aura. Off the field, former greats mingled warmly—Rohit Sharma and Wasim Akram carried the tournament trophy together, while Harbhajan Singh, Misbah-ul-Haq and Ramiz Raja chatted in the media zone—but none of that cordiality filtered down to the playing strip.

Inside the perimeter, Sri Lanka’s special-task-force troops cradled automatic weapons, a first for this World Cup. Bags were searched twice, hotel lobbies overflowed, and the price of counterfeit jerseys surged on local pavements. Indian rapper Hanumankind’s pyrotechnic-laden set—sound-track to the politically tinged film Dhurandhar, banned in Pakistan—drew murmurs of disapproval; minutes after it ended, the call to prayer echoed from a nearby mosque, underscoring the delicate cultural tightrope.

When cricket finally began, India’s powerplay blitz—four wickets for 39—snuffed out any hope of a chase. Pakistan were bowled out well short of the 176 required, extending India’s T20 World Cup head-to-head record to 8-1. The gulf on the field was as wide as the distance between the two camps off it; players did not shake hands at the close, a continuation of the coldness that began at the toss.

Asked about the frosty atmosphere, Pakistan skipper Salman Ali Agha offered only: “We have to see the bigger picture and win our next game to qualify for the Super 8s.” India’s Axar Patel insisted the fixture was “just another match,” yet the choreography of the day—from collar adjustments to security boots—belied that claim.

By the final wicket, Hardik Pandya and Shivam Dube were back in the outfield for extra bowling practice, an admission that the contest had never reached the intensity required to test them. Morne Morkel, India’s bowling coach, pulled on a baseball mitt for additional catches while Pakistan trudged off, another chapter written in a rivalry that increasingly feels owned by politicians, not players.

India progress to the Super 8s; Pakistan must now win their remaining fixture and rely on net-run-rate favours. Whether the next meeting carries any more warmth remains doubtful. For the moment, the handshake remains hostage to affairs of state.

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