The moment India’s semi-final match finished, cars had jammed Marine Drive. The mood, as you would expect, was jubilant, and every car seemed to have at least one tri-colour waving out of each window. What was astonishing was how rapidly they had come: it was as if each car was primed and ready in advance, eager to zoom off the minute the last ball was bowled.

I tried to visualise the scene: flags had been bought and kept in cars, each of which had been taken out of its parking slot and brought on to the road for a quick gateway. Or perhaps, the flags were in the living room, as family and friends cheered lustily and waved them frantically, much as they do in the stadium. (A subtle difference: the flag wavers at the stadium proclaim their patriotism to attract television cameras, at home there are no such preying eyes). To continue our imaginary scenario: as the last few overs are frenetically played out, and as Dhoni’s normal poker face begins to allow a flicker of a smile, the home flag wavers go into overdrive, so to speak. The last wicket falls, and everyone, flag in hand, makes for the door, some to the lift, others younger and more agile, down the stairs. “Last one to the car is Misbah-ul-Haque,” they shout as they scamper to their cars. Then it’s Mayhem on Marine Drive and Mayhem in Mahim (which sounds particularly good if you say it like a Catholic).

But what if…? What if things had been different? What if the Amul-fingered Pakistanis hadn’t dropped those 4 (four!) catches off Tendulkar? What if Raina hadn’t scored in spite of the best efforts of Harbhajan and Zaheer to deny him the strike? What if slow and steady Misbah hadn’t missed the bahs and had chosen to go berserk a couple of overs earlier? What if all these very possible things had happened and Pakistan had actually won? Who would be the last one down the stairs then? Would Dhoni have made a quick smile-withdrawal? Would the flags have been stored away, for another time and another place? Would the cars then have sheepishly reversed into their allotted parking spaces, their triumphal honking silenced yet one more time? It stands to reason, doesn’t it, that people whose celebrations are so exuberantly high must be ever ready to sink to depressing lows too?

After Wednesday night’s wild celebrations, I am beginning to wonder what on earth will happen tomorrow if we beat Sri Lanka and win the World Cup. Will the number of flags double? Will the cacophony of horns go into treble? Or was the flag waving only because the vanquished opponent was Pakistan, our very own Special Enemy Number One? We should win only to disprove that. We should also win for very many other reasons. Like we should win for the sake of winning. We should win for the one and only Sachin and for the very many Sachins twisting their baby bats in the land. We should win to give our toiling millions something to cheer about. We should win so that Dhoni can smile again and our cricketers can make even more money. We should win because we have talent, and now know how to hold our nerve. We should win, what the heck, because we deserve to. And we deserve to because we are the best.