Just before the India-Pakistan semi-final, Ravi Shastri had said that all roads in Chandigarh led to Mohali. That’s why there were no signals when we reached Chandigarh -- our taxi-driver from the Wagah-Attari border was definitely lost. It was quite a contrast from the match-towns in Sri Lanka (Kandy and Colombo) where you just couldn’t miss those life-size posters of Sangakkara or Afridi.

However the electrifying atmosphere at the Punjab Cricket Association Stadium, made up for everything. The gates were half-a-mile trek from the makeshift parking area; we kept losing our flip-flops in the sand, but we didn’t slow down. We knew every cheer from the stadium signalled an Indian boundary (and there were many in the third Umar Gul over). No doubt the boys needed us in the stadium.

The policewoman at the final entry check didn’t give us too much trouble but refused to let the bulbuls (slang for the girls from Pakistan) through unless we gave her some Pakistani change as a souvenir. We gave her a shiny purple 50-rupee note and we were in.

We couldn’t believe we had made it to Mohali. Our stand -- the PCA Members and Associates stand had a section full of Pakistanis, but there wasn’t a single vacant seat in sight. The sun was burning down and there was no shade; luckily I had brought my floppy hat, the one that is no longer worn in ODIs. Finally we got to a place on the stairs just next to a group of girls in Boom Boom jerseys -- who were reciting a prayer non-stop

The Indian flags outscored the people in the stadium and it was Sehwag who just outscored our best bowler.

Chacha Cricket and his Indian counterpart in a tri-colour turban were a few rows ahead of us. They posed for numerous dosti photos and were constantly engaged in a side-match of their own with a group of young men in the neighbouring stand -- who more interested in interacting with our stand than the match. It kind of reminded me of watching a match from the Ladies stand in Karachi! The chachas got annoying after a while because they kept blocking our view after almost every scoring shot. But the dancing turbans made the game enjoyable; they sang in Punjabi and danced non-stop.

And then came the twist. It was Wahab Riaz’s second spell, his two wickets in two balls completely silenced some 28,000 Indian supporters and it was a few hundred Pakistani voices that took control for a while. And they cheered him with a special slogan, "Nahi karta kisi ka lehaaz, Wahab Riaz, Wahab Riaz!"

Riaz was bucked up when he came back to field at long on (right next to our stand) after his incredible match-changing over. His confident yet humble wave back to acknowledge the applause won our hearts!

It felt like there hadn’t been an Indian boundary for ages; we were high-fiving random Pakistani uncles (one of whom turned out to be Shahid Afridi’s chacha) and even the dancing hecklers from the stand next door took a break, shoulders slumped -- Pakistan were on top.

Venturing out to get food in the innings break was a bit of a nightmare. There was no cold water or drinks and there was nothing left to eat except ice cream and aalu cutlets. I found out later that the VIP boxes hosting Prime Minister Gilani also ran out of tea, so I guess they just weren’t prepared for the number of people that showed up. Almost got stampeded on the way back but managed to bring in some warm mountain dew (yuck) and cold samosas. The "Pakistani stand" had a warm, hospitable, "awami" feel to it -- between overs, someone would go get a box full of choc-bars or half a dozen coffees and just distribute them, so we didn’t stay hungry/thirsty for long.

Unfortunately, the Wahab dominance didn’t carry through to the Pakistani innings. I’m sure I’m not the only one who always gets nervous when we bat, even before the first wicket falls. While Asad Shafiq was batting, many around me were sceptical of Pakistan’s win. Many in our stand started leaving when Umar Akmal got out, and were almost all gone by the time Wahab fell. Still. There were still a few of us laughing and chanting in the powerplay overs, "You can do it Misbah! do it for your average."

The Indian fans were gracious hosts after their win. As we stood near the exit, waiting for the crowd to clear out before we left the stadium, tens of locals walked up to us for a friendly handshake or a chat or a photograph. A few even apologised for winning, and one decidedly confused guy actually told us we had been the better team, ha!

Everyone thanked us for making the trip to India, which doesn’t sound like much but felt really good to hear. My fondest memory of Mohali was listening to a Arif Lohar-Meesha Shafi’s ‘Jugni’ from Coke Studio being played in a car outside a Subway near the team hotel where we stopped for dinner before driving back to the border.

In retrospect, it definitely made me feel less broken about losing to India than watching Aamir Sohail’s bitter post-match analysis on TV.

On a map, Sri Lanka looks as if India is shedding a tear from its Southern most part. Having been a regular visitor to this Island Nation, I can’t imagine why that would be the legacy of geological history. A tear is the last thing that comes to mind when one is in Sri Lanka.

Whenever I have gotten off an airplane in the country I am visiting, the open air I breathe compared to the suffocating re-circulated oxygen of the plane tells me something. In some countries, the air smells of oppression or despondency. In Sri Lanka, the air is always calm and lazy, a beautiful way to decompress from the rigours of an airplane.

Rather than visit new countries, I find that I am happy to go to Sri Lanka again and again. Partly, that’s for the reasons everyone knows well about the attractions of this country, beautiful scenery, pristine beaches.

The people of Sri Lanka are incredibly friendly. When I was more of an avid cricket watcher, all I had to go on was the cricket team. If it helps to understand the country, imagine a nation of friendly, smiley Ranatunga’s and Jaysuriya’s.

Whether it’s at the airport or the ride out from there, the people are exceedingly friendly. It’s almost as if they need an excuse to break into a smile.

One of my fondest memories is getting into a rickshaw for a relatively long ride in a beautiful weather that its open cabin beautifully let in. The driver was one of those types -- you couldn’t tell if he was very young or very old. But what I loved about him is that inadvertently he dressed like Dev Anand.

Cities like Galle that have a very strong Dutch colonial imprint and are close to the sea are magnificent. Once out of some of the narrow streets of the city in the brightly coloured colonial era homes, the open roads have quiet majesty on either side.

One of the beautiful things about the ocean is you can literally swim alongside giant sea turtles close to the shore. Beach bumming is a great exercise, one feels entirely safe from the crime in countries where tourist targeting is common. When I was in Unawattona I remember a portly beach seller who came to sell trinkets, but my favourite interaction with him was always listening to how he was famous, he always had on him a worn copy of a social rag where his photo had been printed.

The last time I visited, it was a year after the Tsumani that devastated parts of the country. Strewn along some of the beaches one could see wreckage, of homes close to it and boats that were forced ashore. The people along the coat were fairly traumatised whenever I spoke to them about it.

Sri Lanka has a small Muslim population, and I remember one Muslim telling me that after the Tsunami more turned to religion than ever before, the fleeting nature of life had never been clearer to them as they turned to God.

Colombo is a slightly different beast. It is modern, but nowhere close to the garishness of some developed cities in the third world. What I love there is the advertising on the walls, the billboards and newspapers. It’s still stuck in an older era, a living dinosaur one looks at with confidence and apprehension knowing where it will eventually go in the future.

I went to a mall there several times, whose name I sadly forget. I got a ticket to watch ‘Superman Returns’ and I must say I stood in awe when I saw the orderly lines of young people waiting in queue. The line went down a flight of stairs, all of them standing on the left so that the steps would not be blocked.

It reminded me of what really attracts me to Sri Lanka, a feeling that it’s like my own country, but with some subtle differences that I like. In the mall and in many places elsewhere I have to say I enjoyed watching young couples together out on dates -- it was extremely respectful and more importantly, normal.

The civil war was still on when I last visited. I never could tell this was a nation at war with a part of itself. The only real give away was the newspapers, a disappointment which I suspect had to do with government control. In Colombo one day the front page had picture of monks in yellow robes fighting violently against the peace process, the first of my understandings, however limited, that there was much beneath the surface that I couldn’t possibly fathom.

Someday, I have often thought of living there. It is, after all, one of the last few places where the Pakistani rupee still manages to stretch itself.