A World Cup Win, and Why We’re Still Counting Seconds on a Kiss, India’s Uncomfortable Dance with Public Displays of Affection
The night India lifted the T20 World Cup, the field dissolved into the usual delirium of fireworks and woofers pumping out victory anthems. Wives and girlfriends spilled onto the turf, followed by parents and toddlers waddling in to join the afterparty. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a nation celebrating a hard-fought triumph. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Hardik Pandya appeared to be having a particularly sprightly time. Which involved a fair amount of on-field garba, some skipping about the turf, and a bout of public display of affection—or PDA—with his girlfriend, Mahieka Gaur. It lasted long enough for the social media town square to promptly split into warring camps and unleash an avalanche of memes, all debating a single, peculiarly Indian question: how much PDA is too much PDA?
Some called it “wholesome” and “couple goals,” charmed by the sight of love in the air alongside the confetti. Others were rather less impressed, declaring it all a bit dramatic, even a bit much, a breach of the unspoken code of the “gentleman’s game.” The season of PDA, it seems, is upon us, and the internet, being the internet, has opinions. Entire Reddit threads have been devoted to the question of whether Hardik ought to have been quite so “intimate” with his girlfriend on the victory podium. “Y’all need to chill,” shrugged one commenter. Another pointed out with some exasperation that images of Western players hugging their partners rarely summon the same moral thunder. A third observed, with a keen eye for the absurd, that in a country where public urination causes less alarm than a public kiss, the hierarchy of outrage may perhaps need a fundamental rethink.
Over the years, these digital juries have tried, with Talmudic intensity, to codify the rules of acceptable PDA. “Anything beyond a hug, peck on the cheek, or holding hands,” one Redditor declared, drawing a clear line in the sand. Another adopted a grandmother’s rule of thumb, a kind of moral litmus test for the digital age: “If you wouldn’t want your grandmother to see it, keep it to yourself.” The measuring rod can get surprisingly technical, too. Hand-holding is widely acceptable. Arms around the waist, borderline. A quick hello-goodbye kiss passes muster. A smooch, however, is red alert. Then there’s the four-second rule, a piece of amateur time-and-motion study that suggests, “A kiss longer than four seconds begins to make observers self-conscious.” My personal favourite is one that doubles as practical security advice: “If the kiss lasts long enough for someone to steal your wallet, it is probably too long.”
What emerges from these social town halls is that the rules of romance in public are oddly, and revealingly, elastic. In the fantastical world of Indian cinema, lovers can prance around flowering meadows or engage in high-velocity, rain-soaked choreography without raising an eyebrow. It is make-believe, and make-believe is fine. But in real life, couples in parks and on beaches are often asked to keep a respectable two-feet distance. Many of us grew up in homes where we never saw our parents hold hands or display any overt sign of affection. The result is a culture that is deeply comfortable with the simulated intimacy of the screen, but profoundly uncomfortable with the real thing.
And sometimes, that discomfort escalates far beyond online debates. Hardik Pandya now has a police case filed against him in Pune, not just for the PDA, but for wrapping the Indian Tricolour around his body, an act that some found disrespectful. This is not the first time such a moral panic has gripped the nation. Long before this T20 World Cup win, the country gasped in collective shock when a 15-year-old Padmini Kolhapure greeted Prince Charles with a garland and a peck on his cheek during his visit to Mumbai in 1980. The shocking display of “westernised” boldness from a young Bollywood star triggered a media frenzy. It was seen as a violation of Indian decorum, a sign of cultural corruption.
But the undisputed “gold standard” of Indian PDA scandals arrived in 2007. Hollywood actor Richard Gere, at an AIDS awareness event in Rajasthan, planted one too many kisses on the cheek of actress Shilpa Shetty. The fallout was swift and vicious. Effigies were burnt in the streets. Legal complaints were filed, charging the actors with “obscenity.” It took nearly 15 years for the courts to finally clear Shetty of the charges. The image of a burning effigy, a symbol of such disproportionate rage over a consensual, public, and utterly harmless act, should give us all pause. It reveals a deep, unresolved anxiety about intimacy, about the body, and about the influence of the West.
Which brings us back to the cricket stadium. A stadium, after all, is not a quiet, private corner of a movie hall. Here, private moments are captured by dozens of cameras and broadcast instantly to millions. They travel in the same stream as the match highlights. The “WAGs” (wives and girlfriends) themselves have changed. The old guard sat in the stands, stylish and watchful, their presence noted but their behaviour beyond reproach. The new ones are on the field post-match, inside the confetti, next to the silverware, in the same camera sweep as the victorious team. They are active participants in the celebration, not distant observers. Fans chuckled when MS Dhoni was recently seen calming an overexcited Sakshi after she prematurely celebrated a wicket. Cameras have also caught Rohit Sharma and his wife Ritika bickering on the field like a perfectly normal, slightly exasperated couple. These moments humanize our heroes.
New love, however, produces a sort of giddiness, a temporary suspension of self-consciousness that convinces its participants the world around them has briefly vanished. Something like that was on display with Hardik and Mahieka, and also with Ishan Kishan and his partner Aditi. They were not performing for the cameras; they were simply lost in the moment. An anxious viewer, quoted in the social media debate, fretted about the example it might set for his school-going kids, who idolize these cricketers. It is a fair concern, as most parental anxieties are. Though one suspects that most children, in that moment, were rather more interested in the fireworks, the victory lap, and the gleaming trophy than in the precise duration of a kiss.
Some of us, perhaps, are on the more forgiving side of this mosh pit. The team has just won a World Cup, a career-defining achievement. For a few minutes, they are behaving less like “national treasures” encased in glass, and more like young people who are deliriously, exuberantly happy. If a cricketer wants to celebrate that moment with his partner in the immediate afterglow, it is hardly the collapse of civilization. At its best, and at its worst, it is a moment of heroes briefly looking human, relatable, and gloriously alive.
So yes, times they are a-changin’, if only slightly. The conversation around PDA is slowly, incrementally evolving. And if we are still intent on having rules, perhaps we can rely on a version of the grandmother test, updated for the 21st century: if she doesn’t faint, and if no effigies are burnt, it’s probably fine.
Questions and Answers
Q1: What was the specific incident involving Hardik Pandya that sparked the online debate about PDA?
A1: After India won the T20 World Cup, Hardik Pandya was seen celebrating on the field with his girlfriend, Mahieka Gaur, engaging in what was described as a prolonged public display of affection (PDA). The incident, captured by cameras, led to a fierce online debate about how much PDA is acceptable in public.
Q2: What are some of the “rules” for PDA that emerged from the online discussions and Reddit threads?
A2: Commenters proposed various informal rules, including:
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The “grandmother test” : If you wouldn’t want your grandmother to see it, don’t do it.
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A technical scale: Hand-holding is fine; arms around the waist is borderline; a peck is okay, but a smooch is not.
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The “four-second rule” : A kiss longer than four seconds makes observers self-conscious.
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A security rule: If the kiss lasts long enough for someone to steal your wallet, it’s too long.
Q3: What historical examples of PDA scandals in India does the article cite?
A3: The article cites two major examples:
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1980: A 15-year-old Padmini Kolhapure kissed Prince Charles on the cheek, triggering a media frenzy over “westernised” boldness.
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2007: Richard Gere kissed Shilpa Shetty on the cheek at an AIDS awareness event, leading to burnt effigies, legal complaints for “obscenity,” and a 15-year-long legal battle for Shetty.
Q4: What is the irony the article points out about Indian attitudes towards romance in cinema versus real life?
A4: The article notes that in Indian cinema, elaborate romantic sequences and songs are widely accepted and enjoyed. However, in real life, simple acts of affection like holding hands or a quick kiss are often met with disapproval, moral outrage, or even police cases. It highlights a cultural comfort with “make-believe” romance and discomfort with the real thing.
Q5: What is the article’s overall argument about how we should view such moments of PDA from public figures?
A5: The article argues for a more forgiving and less judgmental perspective. It suggests that after a career-defining victory, players should be allowed a moment of human, exuberant celebration with their partners. It frames the incident not as a “collapse of civilization,” but as a moment of heroes looking “briefly human” and relatable, which should be celebrated, not condemned.
