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London, June 1: The day after is always so wonderful. You can immerse in the depths of a mushy armchair and sip on a warm cup of brewed tea. You are aromatically transported to a realm thousands of miles away, where the children are about to go out to play.

Even the silence of an English countryside, that is often so killing, is so pleasant the day after. This morning you can hear clearly the drumbeats of joy in your heart. Blended in the orchestra your soul is the music of a nation that has achieved the day before.

This morning even the sun is as bright and sweet as that in Magh.

For today there cannot be a Bangalee in England who is not thinking of home. Not of the terraced houses in East London, nor of the run-down dwellings in the Black Country. Or of a pretty English cottage at the threshold of the tranquil countryside.

Today the mind rushes across the North Sea, over the Alps, touching the Mediterranean, galloping over the Arab sands, resting for a moment by the Arabian sea, hurdling over India to my abode, shouting in rapture, 'Ma! I am home!'

The trill in her voice tells me she already knows.

Suddenly with a quiver you realise that indeed the whole world knows.

The English commentator at the Northampton County Cricket ground yesterday comes into focus. He is going ecstatic on his mouthpiece as he relays in intensely rapid English to his radio listeners: 'This is fantastic stuff from Bangladesh. You can't believe what they are doing. They have reduced Pakistan to 29 for four. The great batsmen, they have all gone. Pakistan in sorts of trouble as 125 million back in Bangladesh remain glued to their TVs and radio sets to hear what a marvellous day their boys are having out there. It's all happening here. And there could be more.'

You could almost cry.

It's a wonderful feeling to have beaten Pakistan in cricket. The thought is simply out of this world. Unimaginable before the World Cup, unbelievable on the morning of the match, questionable even when they were seven wickets down, clouded even with their run-rate climbing to eleven an over. A few daredevils have toyed with the idea, only to be put off by abject insolence of those who would not think twice to wave the national flag of another country at a cricket match. They say, it is love of the game.

Allow me to say, it is nonsense.

We have defeated practically the best side in the world. Imagine the ruthless manner in which they crushed in the last few months some of the other great Test-playing sides. Contemplate the ease with which they were winning hands-down trophy after trophy, compelling bookies to shorten the odds. Well, at sundown yesterday we had crushed them. Although not recommended, anyone who would have dared to put one hundred pounds on Bangladesh before yesterday's match would have been a very rich man this morning with fifty times that in his pocket. Happier he may not have been for happiness this morning is franchised only to the Bangalee.

Yesterday, we almost did nothing wrong. We could not because were essaying the downfall of one of the best cricketing sides in history. Even had we lost, we would have perhaps recalled this morning Aminul Islam's dismissal with contempt, Khaled Mahmud's missed run-out attempt and left-handed Mohammed Rafique's return dropped catch on his right.

We could drain another cup of tea arguing that a batsman-captain needs to be more responsible, use his feet more often. We could have slapped the table and bellowed that Mahmud should have made a Rhodes-like dive. We could have expressed our punditry that at this level a semi-uppish shot centimetres above ground should have frozen in Rafique right hand.

They only go to show that three mistakes do not cost a match.

It was won by the best opening partnership by miles against the menacing Pakistanis in this tournament. Perhaps the two-match rest that gave Shahriar Hossain enough time to ponder. It was the first time that our best bet Akram Khan played with arrogant conviction. Unwittingly perhaps, but the idea of letting Mahmud open paid dividends on the damp slow wicket.

Yesterday's fielding was the result of inspiration that every team management tries to inculcate in a team. It was the sort of brilliance that make people sit up and look each time Hansie Cronjie leads his men on to the field.

And let it not be even suggested that Pakistan took it easy. They even had the toss to their advantage. Obviously they thought this was not a wicket to get some batting practice. Rather a wicket that will make the ball come late and put the side in into trouble. We will have a small total to chase. And go home early.

Only Aminul Islam and his boys stood in their way. It's a wonderful feeling.

This win will have pushed our cricket one notch up. Okay, two. Our boys have proven that it can be done. They will start believing in themselves. They will encourage thousands of other schoolboys to dream of further World Cup glory and cricket celebration. Ready or not, as grudging Gordon Greenidge would like to argue, Test status is on its way to Bangladesh sat on a Concorde.

Mind you, we did all this without a coach.