Why I refused to switch to Pakistan cricket during England-India Test

It’s a typical day at the office. My partner walks in, one phone in his ear and the other on speaker in his hand, a little excited.
“Yaar, Pakistan is winning. Switch the channel. Put it on.”
I glance at the screen. Ben Duckett has just bossed the ball to the fence. Crisp, effortless, dismissive. He has scored his fifty at under a run-a-ball. Crawley isn’t far behind. England is taking the game to India at full throttle.
I look back at my partner and shake my head.
“Look at the difference in the quality of cricket.”

Because what’s unfolding on the screen is not just a Test match. It is Test cricket at its very best. Electric, daring, and deeply competitive. This entire England-India series has been captivating and constantly playing on my screen.

To give context: India dominated nine of the first ten days of this five-match series. And yet, somehow, after ten days of hard cricket, the scoreline read 1–1. Then came a thrilling third Test. A match that swung like a pendulum. And England edged ahead, 2–1.

Now, in a must-win fourth Test, India began strongly, as they usually do. Earlier, when Pant walked out to bat with a broken foot, I mumbled to a colleague, “Pant will score today and become a hero. We will have to watch this video forever, like Anil Kumble bowling with a bandaged head.”

But England is now Bazballing India, with Duckett and Crawley taking the attack to Bumrah and his men, playing fearless cricket.

Meanwhile, at the Sher-e-Bangla National Cricket Stadium in Dhaka, Pakistan was winning a dead rubber. 2–0 down already in the series, playing for pride. Bangladesh, on the other hand, seemed to be playing for nothing. Just another day where Bangladesh looked like Pakistan. And, on other days, Pakistan looked like Bangladesh.

It is the curse of the subcontinent. It is the poison in the blood we share.
India isn’t immune either. They've had sessions. Brutal ones. Where the tail collapses without a fight. Where hours of hard work evaporate in a single spell. All that talent, all that depth, undone by a lack of discipline and temperament. Just like us.

But the stark difference in the quality of cricket was vivid. From batting to fielding, from decision-making to execution, India vs England was many notches above Pakistan vs Bangladesh.

The Pakistan-Bangladesh games had poor wickets, average bowlers, lazy batting, uninspiring field placements of men who didn't seem to belong at top-level international cricket. It was, at times, unwatchable. In contrast, the England-India series was a masterclass.

Joe Root. Quietly breaking records. Moving past Kallis, Ponting, and others. Now second only to Tendulkar. Yes, Tendulkar’s hallowed record of the highest run-getter in Tests is in sight. Shubman Gill putting the English bowlers to the sword. Bumrah’s magic and Archer’s return.

After a lifetime of watching Pakistan cricket, a realisation has dawned: the second-most watched team in our lives has undoubtedly been India. Not necessarily out of choice, but out of access and circumstance.

It began in the early 90s. In 1991, Prime Sports first entered our homes. Then came Star Sports, which absorbed Prime, followed by an endless stream of Indian sports content on our screens. Suddenly, Indian cricket was everywhere. All day, every day.

But it wasn’t just television. There’s something deeper. Whenever we travel, work or study abroad, somehow, we find ourselves drawn to each other. Pakistanis and Indians form the closest bonds. Roommates, friends, partners. We speak the same way, we laugh the same way, we argue about movies and cricket and food—but always from the same cultural starting point.

And yet, deep inside, I’ve always grown up wanting India to lose. That’s instinct. That’s the rivalry. They are the “enemy team,” and there's a tribal satisfaction in watching them falter.

I find myself asking a strange question.
Why am I supporting England?
The same England that colonised us. The same England that looted this subcontinent, divided us, and ensured we were treated as second-class citizens in our own lands.

Why is it that when India is playing England, so many of us are instinctively cheering for England?

Logically, we are far closer to India than we are to England. We speak the same languages. We share food, traditions, and trauma. But emotionally, that line in our hearts remains. My Indian friend tells me I should support India over England. But when Rahul gets out early, or when Bumrah is hammered down the ground, there is that flicker of satisfaction.

I wanted the series to be squared and go into the final with everything at stake. But India will probably be 3–1 down when this piece is published. The final game will be a dead rubber. Just like Pakistan-Bangladesh.

No.

Playing for pride is only possible if there is something to be proud of to begin with. This Pakistani team is without its most talented and sellable products. It’s taken its heroes and made them into villains.

At the end of the day, we watch cricket, like any sport, not just to root for a team. We watch to witness mastery. We watch to see supersonic skills. We watch to marvel at the rare few who can rise above the ordinary and perform at the edge of human ability.

And that’s why I refused to switch the channel.