In a barbershop in downtown Srinagar, in what locals still call Shehr-e-Khaas, the crowd is not waiting for haircuts. They are waiting for the toss — the coin flip that determines who bats first.
The shop is narrow — its walls lined with mirrors that multiply the room into reflections of reflections. Hair gel, talcum powder, aftershave bottles, and shaving creams crowd the glass shelves. The scent of talc and trimming spray lingers in the air.
A television is mounted high in a corner, tilted slightly downward so it can be seen from every chair. Loose cables dangle beneath it. On the screen, the green outfield fills the room with a glow.
Customers sit half-caped in barber chairs, clippers paused mid-trim. Others stand shoulder to shoulder behind them. An elderly man occupies the waiting bench along the wall. A young boy leans forward between two chairs, eyes fixed upward. In the mirror, their faces reflect the same expression — anticipation.
India versus Pakistan. Even before the first ball, the room feels political.
“I swear streaming is ahead by a few seconds,” a young man says, glancing at the score on his phone.
“Satellite never fails in the tight overs,” another replies, as if signal strength were a matter of national pride.
Someone joked that nobody should blame the barber if Suryakumar Yadav gets out. Laughter ripples briefly through the shop. The clippers buzz again, then stop.
The screen freezes. In the mirror, half-shaven faces stare upward at a buffering circle.
“Even the signal wants to stay neutral,” someone mutters. “Doesn’t want to pick a side.”
But the joke lands with slight unease. In 2026, cricket in South Asia no longer feels insulated from politics.
The tournament has already been reshaped by diplomatic strain: Bangladesh requested relocation of its fixtures from India, Pakistan signalled its discomfort, the…
Auteur: Sajad Hameed
