A year ago, the Indian cricket team returned from the World Cup in the West Indies almost by stealth. After failing to make it past the league stage, they broke ranks at London airport and each player headed for the airport in India nearest to his home. Nonetheless, at each port of disembarkation, there was a cloak of security to keep at bay the odd fan who could have turned up to vent an anger that had, by accounts of vandalism at the players’ family homes, been building up. At Bangalore, for example, skipper Rahul Dravid was spirited away to spare him unnecessary rudeness.

How different it was on Thursday. Under a soft Delhi sun, their colourfully bedecked coach marked out the three sites that mattered. The airport, where they were greeted by hysterical crowds. The team hotel, a fortress that every reporter worthy of the adjective ‘intrepid’ tried to breach to break the news about what it could be that the team would snack on. And the Feroze Shah Kotla stadium, into which fans, bystanders and BCCI officials had been streaming all day. Every passing minute, meticulously tracked on news channels, saw a happiness well up in the stadium. It found release with the appearance of MS and his boys in that festive amphitheatre. Securitymen, however, were on full alert. Who knows what may happen when the fans are this happy.

Actually, nothing has changed since last March. Yes, as Harsha Bhogle writes today, in Australia Indian cricket found itself skilled enough to take on the world’s best. But back home we have not learnt to accept cricket’s highs and lows — to celebrate great performances even — without seeing them as reward and punishment meted out to each player personally. Somewhere in the excessive exuberance over the exploits in Australia could be seen the irrational humiliation some of us felt last year.