The Asia Cup match between India and Pakistan in September 2025 was always going to be more than just a cricket game. Decades of political tension, recent cross‑border conflict, and a terrorist attack in Pahalgam (which killed 26 tourists) set the stage for what many expected to be a highly charged, emotionally loaded clash.
What added fuel to the fire was what happened at the toss and at the end of the game: Indian captain Suryakumar Yadav and his team chose not to shake hands with their Pakistani counterparts—both at the toss and after their convincing win.
What Really Happened
Here’s a summary of the sequence:
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At the toss: The usual handshake between captains was avoided. Suryakumar had communicated beforehand (to his team) that he would not offer the handshake, citing prevailing sentiments.
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After India won: Instead of exchanging courtesies, the Indian players walked off immediately, entering the dressing room without shaking hands with Pakistan players who were waiting
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At the post‑match presentation: The Pakistan captain, Salman Ali Agha, did not attend as a reaction to the earlier handshake snub.
Suryakumar Yadav explained this was a pre‑decided action, aligned with both the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the Indian government. He said that “some things in life are ahead of sportsman spirit,” and that the gesture was to show solidarity with the victims of the Pahalgam attack and the Indian armed forces.
The Backlash and Criticism
Not surprisingly, the decision has sparked serious criticism:
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Mohsin Naqvi, Chairman of the Pakistan Cricket Board and of the Asian Cricket Council, called it “utterly disappointing to witness the lack of sportsmanship today,” saying that “dragging politics into the game goes against the very spirit of sports.”
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Pakistan coach Mike Hesson echoed disappointment, saying his team was ready to shake hands, but the Indian side chose not to.
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Some fans, media outlets, and former players see this as a negative precedent: using political tensions to justify breaking traditions in sports which usually help humanize adversaries. Others argue the gesture (or lack thereof) is more than symbolic—it reflects unresolved grievances, national sentiments, and that expecting sports to be entirely “above politics” is perhaps unrealistic.
The Other Side: Why India Did It
From India’s perspective:
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Solidarity and mood at home: After a terror attack, many in India expected strong expressions of national feeling. For many, shaking hands with Pakistan players would have seemed incongruous with public sentiment. The Indian team (through its captain) expressed it “stood with the victims” of Pahalgam and dedicated the victory to armed forces involved in “Operation Sindoor.”
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Pre‑approved by authorities: The decision was reportedly in alignment with both BCCI and the Indian government. So this wasn’t just a spontaneous emotional action by players, but something they felt had official sanction.
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A way to send a message: The act of not shaking hands is seen by supporters as “giving a reply” beyond mere words or speeches—a symbolic act, meant to express displeasure, grief, or strength, rather than purely antagonism.
The Debate: Pros and Cons
Here are some of the arguments on both sides, weighed out.
Arguments against refusing the handshake:
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Sportsmanship and tradition: Handshakes are symbolic of mutual respect, even in warlike rivalries. Dropping them could erode the traditions that lend sports its role as a bridge rather than a battleground.
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Diplomacy and soft power: Cricket has often played a role in thawing relations, allowing people to see each other as humans before countries. Skipping handshakes makes it harder to separate government disagreements from people-to-people interactions.
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Setting precedents: If refusal becomes acceptable, what’s next? Could it lead to even more gestures breaking down, creating a more hostile atmosphere in international sports.
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Perception internationally: External observers might see such acts as unprofessional, damaging to the image of sports or of India as a nation open to fair competition and international norms.
Arguments in favor of what India did:
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Symbolic alignment with national consciousness: After losses, attacks, or conflicts, nations often expect their public representatives (including athletes) to mirror the mood of the people. In that sense, refusing handshakes is viewed by many Indians as consistent with national sentiment.
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The idea of “morally above” tradition: When people believe that certain events (terror attacks, defense of borders) are of paramount importance, traditional norms can be overridden by what is viewed as higher moral or ethical duty.
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Psychological edge: Some might argue that in a rivalry, symbolic gestures matter—not just the match result. Demonstrating a stance may have internal morale or political benefits.
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Agency and alignment: The Indian players acted in consultation with governing bodies; they did not simply act off their own emotional whims. In some views, that gives legitimacy to the gesture.
Broader Implications
This incident isn’t just a one‑off controversy. It touches on deeper issues:
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Can or should sport ever be “apolitical”? Many say it should be: rules, referees, and conduct should be separate from national politics. But history suggests that when underlying political tensions are high, sports can’t remain detached.
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The role of the athlete as a citizen: Are athletes expected only to play, or also to represent national sentiment, political positions, or grief? The more high profile the event, the more blur there is.
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Media, public opinion, and pressure: With social media, heightened nationalism, polarized audiences, the pressure on teams is intense. Sometimes the expectations are unrealistic: to both win and also uphold national pride, to show “grace” but also strength.
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International cricket governance: How do bodies like the ACC or ICC respond when political tensions intersect with traditional norms of sportsmanship? Do they enforce or warn? Is there any penalty for refusing customary gestures like handshakes? Probably not formally, but reputational cost is real.
My Thoughts
Personally, I believe:
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Sports are valuable precisely because they offer a stage where, despite political or national tensions, human interactions—handshakes, smiles, mutual respect—can stick to a shared set of values. These little rituals matter because they humanize adversaries.
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That said, expecting people to suspend all emotion in the face of real tragedy is asking a lot. The Pahalgam attack was traumatic; many feel the pain is fresh. For many Indians, shaking hands might feel like moving too fast, ignoring suffering.
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The best path forward might lie in balance: recognizing the pain and anger, but also preserving traditions that ensure respect and fairness. Maybe that involves acknowledgement or tribute (which India did, with statements and prayers), but also leaving space for the opponent. Not everything must become a zero‑sum moral gesture.
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Ultimately, cricket (and sport) has often been a mirror for wider societal tensions. It’s difficult to prevent politics from creeping in, especially in matches between nations with fraught relations. The question is how much we allow these tensions to override the shared human values that make sport more than just competition.
Conclusion
The India‑Pakistan handshake controversy at the Asia Cup underlines a recurring tension in cricket (and all international sport): between tradition / sportsmanship on one side, and nationalism / real emotions / politics on the other. It’s hard to say the decision was wholly “right” or “wrong”—for many involved, it was both symbolic and heartfelt. But what’s certain is that actions like these will continue to spark debate: is it okay to let politics inform sports rituals? Or should sports always have its own higher ground?

