From Dr. Ajay R. Kamath, India

I was seventeen in the Summer of 83, the year we won the world cup. For all the greatness of our Test performances, it is the World Cup that defines us....it was 1983 that made the world sit up and take notice of our cricket. Until then, it had all been individual performances- a Hazare here, a Gavaskar there, an occasional Vishy cameo and a cheerful thrashing overall.

In 1983, we played as a team for the fist time. We had all rounders who bowled seam up. Everyone contributed. All of this was a rarity for us. It is impossible to describe the excitement of that evening. I live in Mangalore and I was a student then. There was no television, so the dulcet tones of Brian Johnston, Christopher Martin Jenkins and Don Mosey kept me company into the night.

At first, it was all about "giving a fight" to the West Indies. To lose honourably was the highest ambition, for who could dream of beating the two times champions in a final. It was only at the fall of Clive Lloyd's wicket that I began to hope and my father promptly went off to bed, a signal that things were hotting up, for he is, to this day, unable to take the tension of watching or listening to an Indian win, which never comes without several dozen palpitations.

There were firecrackers outside my house when Holding was leg before. And yet, things on the field were, by today's impossibly crass standards, very dignified. There are only two television events that make me weep- Amitabh dying in a film ('Sholay' brings on a veritable flood) and an Indian cricket win. Assuredly, the emotions are different in the latter scenario.