At a PNB presser, a guard’s shoutout shows women’s cricket’s growing pull

I did not go to a Punjab National Bank event expecting to witness the birth of a fan.  Certainly, I did not anticipate witnessing the birth of a fan in the dimly lit corridor outside the main hall, situated between a standee of smiling executives and a politely abandoned plate of samosas. Yet, that is precisely where it happened.

Inside, the bank was preparing to announce its new brand ambassador, Harmanpreet Kaur. The cricketer had just walked on stage. The phones went up. The audience straightened itself, as audiences often do when someone significant enters. I stepped out briefly, the sort of ill-timed exit that usually makes you miss the most important part of a press conference. But this time, the story was waiting for me outside.

As I pushed the glass door open, I overheard a security guard whisper to another, in genuine confusion, “Who is she?”

He had clearly seen the commotion. He had watched people nudge closer, angle their cameras, and widen their eyes with the same reverence usually reserved for dignitaries or discount announcements. But he did not recognise the source of the collective flutter.

The other guard, older and evidently wiser in the ways of cricket, straightened up. With the conviction of a schoolteacher correcting a wayward pupil, he replied, “Ye Mahila Vishwa Cup ki Vijayeta hain.” (She is the winner of the Women’s World Cup).

She is neither the captain of the national side nor a representative of an IPL franchise. She is not the big-hitting middle-order stalwart of a generation. 

But, simply and decisively, World Champion.

The answer was not just correct. It was telling.

The first guard’s eyes widened. A nod followed, the kind that signals not only understanding but instant admiration. With that one line, a man who had likely never watched a full women’s cricket match converted, without even realising it, into a fan. It was subtle, almost quiet, yet unmistakable. Affinity happens like that sometimes, in a single sentence, from the right person, at the right moment.

And standing there, a few feet away, I realised something. This is how fans are made. Not always in stadiums or before television screens. Sometimes, fandom is born backstage, in corridors, through borrowed excitement and overheard explanations.

Most of us never witness the slow climb of a celebrity, the years of domestic tournaments, the uncertain selections, the stumbles, or the training sessions that start before sunrise. We encounter them only when they have already arrived, on television ads, on podiums, and on stages lit with corporate spotlights.

By the time we see them, the narrative is tidy, complete and approved by the public relations team. Yet fame, real fame, is built in small increments: a match here, a knock there, a tournament that shifts perception just enough to tip the balance. And then one day, someone who has never watched you play will hear one sentence, World Cup winner, and everything will click.

The recently concluded ICC Women’s World Cup has done precisely that for Harmanpreet Kaur. No marketing campaign could match the recall that a global title delivers in a nation that breathes its sport.

Millions who might never have followed her IPL journey or her earlier milestones now carry a fresh, bright memory of her lifting the trophy. It is an identity that supersedes franchise loyalties and sponsor tags. It is the kind of achievement that converts even sceptics, or in this case, a mildly puzzled security guard.

Which, incidentally, is where the bank comes in. PNB may not have planned its announcement to sync quite so perfectly with the lingering glow of the World Cup victory. Yet timing is a generous friend when it wants to be.

The association arrives at a moment when the public’s memory of Kaur’s feat is still warm. Whether people consciously connect the two or not, these things have a way of settling into the subconscious. Accomplishment rubs off on affiliation.

But that is the marketing lesson. The human lesson unfolded right in front of me in ten seconds of conversation between two guards, one of whom passed on a truth with the ease of someone sharing the time of day. A world title does not just elevate an athlete. It creates spokespeople out of strangers.

Inside, the applause swelled. Phones clicked. The bank officials smiled for the cameras. I slipped back into the hall, carrying with me the quiet revelation that fandom is not always a loud declaration. Sometimes, it is a nod exchanged in a corridor.

And that, I realised, is how fans are made.