Personal and professional nostalgia is one luxury that everyone indulges in. But when it is bolstered by a sense of collective or national pride, it is time to pause and savour the moment.
As a young journalist with Indian Express, that evening 25 years ago in cricket-mad Ahmedabad, the Western Indian city of Gujarat, is still etched in memory.
We were part of that moment when a bunch of Indian cricketers under a 23-and-half- year old captain were crowned World Champions at Lord's. A nation starved of sporting glory, erupted in joy. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi declared a national holiday.
Looking back one can see that it was a triumph in self-belief. The old order was changing.
Although the Indians have since then continued to dazzle stadiums around the world, there has been nothing to match that of the Lord's victory that prevented the twice-crowned champions under Clive Loyd their hattrick.
Who can forget Balwinder Singh Sandhu's famous 'banana' delivery that had the great Gordon Greenidge flummoxed, or the slow and measured backward run by Kapil for the catch that brought down king Vivian Richards at 28.
Kapil's Devils are being feted by the Indian cricket board even though the former skipper is estranged from the official body these days.
The icing on the cake will be when the whole team partakes in a today's celebratory dinner at Lord's - where they scripted one of the most remarkable turnarounds in sport, 25 years ago on this day.
That brings me back to that evening in Ahmedabad. It was my off day and the city was enveloped in heavy monsoon showers. I was following the progress of the match on radio as India scored 183. Everyone knew it was not enough against the might of the West Indians.
Back at the Express office, as the match began turning India's way, Resident Editor Hari Jaisingh stirred into action. He summoned one of our editorial peons, some of whom own three-wheeled autorickshaws, to fetch me from my house.
Fireworks
So imagine the surprise when Pratap, our popular peon, turns up at my door with an umbrella, urgently asking me to get ready for office.
As I bounded up the stairs to the first floor, I was glad to see sub-editor Naresh Dudani, a keen compiler of cricket statistics, already at work. I spoke on phone to my editor Hari Jaisingh on the layout I had in mind. By then we could hear fireworks across the city.
It was a banner story alright - across the top eight columns - and the rest of the front page design fell into place with ease.
The technology those days was nothing that most present day journalists will recognise or comprehend. The news agency copy came via a bank of noisy teleprinters.
Reporters churned out copy from rickety, old typewriters. The newspaper offices of those days housed apart from the teleprinters, chain-smoking journalists, bulky newspaper files, and an army of proofreaders.
The underbelly was the linotype composing and page-making departments dominated by molten metal and black printing ink reeking of lead, and muscular men.
We brought out a remarkable edition that day, our display capturing the moment of glory in black and white with boldness.
The next morning we found out to our glee that our well-paid and more famous rival newspaper across the Sabarmati river on posh Ashram Road, were completely off key, treating the story in a routine sort of way.
All of us have gone our separate ways. Pratap, the peon, who took me to the office through the rain-filled streets that day, has retired.
But Dudani, who subbed that lead story for me that day, is still at his post, plying his trade quietly, greeting you always with his characteristic sardonic smile.
