Delhi was in a state of transition. There was excitement everywhere as the city acquired a modern look ahead of the 9th Asian Games. The youth lined up to volunteer and athletes prepared to seek glory. Television sales boomed as live coverage of a sporting event was a new and much-awaited phenomenon. The Capital was hosting the 1982 Asiad. And there was promise yet for sportspersons — even those who chose the more obscure, undervalued sports in a single-sport country.
Amidst all the hype, teenager Intezar Fatima Naqvi was nurturing her dreams. When girls of her age stayed indoors, she toiled on the field, running sprints and playing kho-kho with her classmates till the day was done. “I loved sports,” she says. But her mother didn’t. Naqvi’s conservative background threatened to hamper her sporting ambitions. And her father was the only one who welcomed her decision to play hockey when she joined college.
But why hockey? “I got admission under the sports quota. So I had to pick a game. I chose hockey, that’s all,” she says. At the Asiad that winter, India won gold in women’s hockey, even as Naqvi, part of the cheering crowd at the Shivaji Stadium, firmed up her own plans.
In a cricket-crazy society, yet to accept women’s sports as worthy of attention, Naqvi embodied the spirit of determination. Opposition came from various quarters, especially relatives, but nothing could deter her. Naqvi offered to keep goal, a tough proposition for a newcomer, and loved it, particularly since the protective equipment, helmet included, masked her identity. “Even if they came to the ground, my detractors couldn’t recognise me,” she says, now amused by the incident.
An India cap was the holy grail, but Naqvi hardly allowed herself to dream of it. Every time her mother chided her for playing hockey, Naqvi, with the tacit support of her father, took a firm step towards her goal, eventually landing a class IV appointment (a government job was a boon in late ’80s). What followed was a few appearances at the National championships... But Naqvi quickly faded into oblivion as a player, continuing to be associated with the game only as an official. Now a technical judge on the field, off it, she works as a senior clerk in the Northern Railways.
Yet Naqvi says she has “no regrets at all”. “There are many like me, chasing their dreams all their life. Some make it and some don’t. Not everyone can be a champion. But there is room enough for the runners-up too.”
Why would anyone in India want to be a gymnast? People applaud the acrobatic performers in a circus but don’t appreciate the flexibility of a budding gymnast in a sweltering training hall. Infrastructure is alien to the gymnastics fraternity here and competitions, rare. Hats off to the youngsters who still aspire to be champion gymnasts.
There’s little money in the game and certainly no glamour. Even the media attention is negligible. But Ashish Kumar has been undeterred. A non-descript athlete, he was mocked when he pledged to win an international medal in gymnastics — a great feat for someone who took to the sport only because his parents wanted him to stay ‘fit’. But all his hard work and persistence paid off at the 2010 Commonwealth Games in Delhi where Kumar won silver. His ‘pipe dream’ was now a reality.
A few months later, Kumar claimed the country’s only bronze medal at the Asian Games. That too, by finishing ahead of a Chinese contender backed by a packed stadium at Guangzhou.
Despite his performance, Kumar is not a celebrated sportsman in India. I doubt he’d ever be. Yet the young man doesn’t regret being denied what some mediocre cricketers and footballers may earn in terms of fame and money. If the world recognises a champion, Kumar is one by any yardstick, but sadly not in India.
“It’s worthwhile to invest in gymnastics. The game is gaining a little bit of popularity. The government should make it a point to build gymnastic halls and provide good infrastructure in every State,” he had said in an interview to Sportskeeda four years ago. But nothing has changed. Kumar is all but forgotten, lost in the race for the number one slot.
There are enough sporting greats like Vijay Amritraj — among the finest gentlemen on the tennis court, yet never seen on the podium of a Grand Slam. Sport is not about winners alone. There is space for a Naqvi or Kumar as well. As spectators, we need to recognise their effort and passion. For there will always be champions, but there will be runners-up too.
(The writer is deputy editor, sports, The Hindu)