Who Runs Women's Sport

I weigh each momo filling to fifteen grams, because if the portions aren't fair, the customer knows. So when the federation board stays the same for twenty years and the pay gap for women doesn't close, I ask: where is your data on fairness? The tawa scrapes slow, but at least it's honest scraping.

You tell me who is running women’s sport, and I will show you whose daughter is still waiting for a new blouse because the good thread got priced out of the bazaar. My daughter wants to play badminton for her school team, but the federation’s fancy board has no time for a mother who counts each reel of cotton. Last month I heard a man on the radio say “level playing field,” and I laughed till my shoulders ached — bas, from this verandah I can see that the ones who make the rules have never sat on a rented stool, stitching uniforms for other people’s children.

आज एउटा मामी आइन्, भन्छिन्— "डेभिड जोन्सनले भन्यो रे, महिला खेलको पैसा र नियम किताब पुरुषले नै चलाउँछन्।" मैले भनें,

My son sent a newspaper cutting about Narendra Modi saying women’s sports will get more funds. I looked at it and thought of our village school’s only girls’ kabaddi team—last year their coach bought a second-hand ball from his own salary. Big promises are like the new polyester thread I once bought; it looked shiny but broke in the first stitch. Let the money come down to the last girl who still practises with a torn shoe—then I will believe. May the needle pass where the cloth is weakest, that is all.

See, whenever I see these federation board photos, I count the faces. In our local panchayat office, it’s the same story—all big-name folks, and the village girls who actually run every morning with chappals in hand have no seat. Last month a bride’s mother told me her daughter’s school dropped the kho-kho team because “no sponsor,” but the MLA’s son got a new car for cricket. Rules should be like my jasmine vine—water it evenly, don’t let one stem hog all the sun.

The women at Ima Keithel say the new sports federation board is like a machine-loom phanek—quick to produce, but the thread pulls wrong and leaves frayed edges on the weakest cloth. My mother always taught me to check the dhoti’s strength by the weaver’s hand, not the price tag, so I ask: who in that room has held the yarn of a young girl’s first race? If the answer is only men with suits and sponsors, the pattern will tear where it matters most.

हमारे गाँव के डाक्टर साहब की बेटी खो-खो में जिले भर में अव्वल रही, पर उसके टूर्नामेंट का पैसा हमेशा कोई बाहरी एजेंट ले गया। मैं जब अपने पिताजी की दुकान पर मडगार्ड गिनता हूँ, तो सोचता हूँ—खेल के नियम भी उन्हीं के बने हैं जिनकी जेबें भरी हैं। सबसे कमजोर खिलाड़ी के कैंप का खर्चा निकलता है या नहीं, यही असली सवाल है, न कि वोटों की गिनती।

My son showed me the bills last week, and even in my small salon, I see how contracts matter — one chair artist left because the big chain offered better pay. In women's sport, if the boards don't have players who've lived that life, *kaise kaam chalega, beta?* You can't make rules about the roof if you've never been in the monsoon rain.

My cousin's old projector at the community hall finally gave out last monsoon, just before the big fight night. Now we're saving for a new one, so everyone can gather and watch together properly. I hope this new film of his means more people will chip in.

Only, no? That XXXX beer — our village panchayat’s biggest loan ever, for the new canning line. My daughter asked why the label has a smiling lady in a sari, but when the factory flooded last year, the women who sort the barley had to stand knee-deep in water for three hours before anyone called a supervisor. Same story everywhere: pretty picture on the bottle, nobody asks who washed the bottle.

Kargil Vijay Diwas-ல வீட்டுக்கு வர்ர வாடிக்கைக்காரர்கள எல்லாரும் பேசறாங்க. ஆனா எனக்கு ஞாபகம் வரது, என் மருமகன் அந்த பார்டர்ல இருந்ததுனால தபால் காரன் வந்து "சேவை" செஞ்ச நாள். இந்த ஞாபகத்தோட, அவங்க குடும்பத்துக்கு இன்னைக்கு ஒரு எக்ஸ்ட்ரா டோஸா பேட்டர் பாக்கெட் கொடுத்திட்டேன்.

Arre yaar, this Dipke case—it’s like tuning my old harmonium when the reed is bent and everyone says “just press harder.” You fix the electronics shop, you fix the amp, but how do you fix a federation where the rulebook is written in invisible ink and the only women on the board are there to make the photo look nice? I see the same pattern at my little music class—parents fight over who pays, and the kid who practices the most gets forgotten. If the boards don’t match the players on the field, the whole scale goes out of tune, no matter how much you oil the keys.

You know, at my stall I watch these big samosa chains come and go—they have committees, fancy recipes, but my regulars still queue up for my aloo-pyaaz because I listen to what the garma-garam oil tells me. Same with women's sport boards: I'd rather see a federation run by the players who sweat on the field, not by some uncle in a tie who never held a bat. The rent doesn't care about your title—only what leaves the stall better off.

The other afternoon, mixing indigo in my steel bowl, the neighbour's radio was playing a match commentary — and I thought about how the platform commissions bite my margins before

Last week I fixed the tapri wali's router so her daughter could stream a women's match — that girl knows every player's contract down to the travel allowance. Meanwhile our district federation board? All retired uncles, same three surnames, never once stood on a dusty ground in chappals. Bhai, if the people writing the rulebook never sweated for the game, how will they know what fair pay actually tastes like?

Here in the village, my neighbour's daughter is a runner with a state medal. Her federation's travel form took longer to process than my apple saplings take to bear fruit. One wonders who is sitting in those boardrooms, deciding these things over tea, far from the muddy tracks where the real race is run.

Our MLA came to the shop yesterday, saying Pradhan’s new rules will bring more women into sports committees. I asked him—fine words, but who is paying for the girls’ bus fare to practice? My neighbour’s daughter runs three kilometres every morning because her family cannot afford the autorickshaw. Boards full of names mean nothing if the ground is empty, hmm? Rain is coming, good for crops, but let us see if it waters the roots or just the leaves.

In my shop, I see every rupee counted — the new supermarket in town

Last week, repaired Didi’s old radio to hear commentary of the women’s cricket match. The batteries cost more than my dinner, but her smile was worth it. Makes me wonder if the aunties and uncles in the big federation offices ever fix anything that’s actually broken.

আমি সাইকেলে চড়ে গাঁয়ের মেয়েদের ফুটবল মাঠে যাই — দেখি ওদের জার্সির পিছনে স্পন্সরের নাম নেই, কিন্তু টাউনের ছেলেদের দলের জার্সিতে বড় কোম্পানির লোগো। সেই কোম্পানিগুলো কখনো আমাদের গ্রামের খেতের ধান কেনে না, অথচ ওদের বোর্ডে বসে থাকে। তাই যখন বলবেন "কে মহিলা ক্রীড়া চালায়", আমি ভাবি — যে টাকা আসে আসামের চা-বাগানের মেয়েদের পকেটে যায় না, সেই রুলবুক কার?

It reminds me of teaching the quadratic formula – the rulebook is important, nakki, but if only a few students ever get the chalk, what is the point? I see the federation elections and think of our old municipal school committee, where the same faces kept the keys. My wife’s medical bills make me understand the weight of pay; true talent shouldn't need to solve that puzzle first.

Aaj subah ek mom’s group mein dekha — kisi school ne NCC ke liye girls' sports budget kaat diya, "academic priority" bolke. Mera ek student, Simran, she’s the fastest runner in her block, but her family can’t afford private coaching. Jab Ministry of Education talks "holistic development", I wonder — holistic kiske liye? Uss ladki ke liye jo roz apne bhai ke pehne hue shoes mein dauraan aati hai?

Yesterday, I finally got the kaali mirch I needed from a tiny supplier in a nearby qasba. Took three courier attempts because everyone said "outside city limit hai, madam." It made me wonder about the boards running women's sport — if they've ever tried sending a package to a smaller town, maybe they'd understand why just having rules on paper isn't enough. The people who actually face the delays should be in the room where the contracts are signed, yaar.

Bhai, Modi ji ki baat karein toh — mere gaon mein koi badi board nahi hai, na koi federation. Maa aur dadi radio pe women’s cricket sunti hain, aur woh kehti hain “jab se yeh bade bade rules aaye, hamari ladkiyon ki game ka maza hi chala gaya.” Main sochta hoon — jo yahan se door baithke faisle kare, usein patta hai ki ek pahadi ladki ko practice ke liye kyun sirf apne baag ka rasta milta hai

ఆడపిల్లల క్రీడల్లో పైసా-పైసా లెక్క, ఆట నియమాలు — ఎవరు నిర్ణయిస్తారు? నేను బజ్జీ అమ్మేటప్పుడు కూడా సరుకు మరియు లాభం రోజూ టాలీ చేస్తాను, లేకపోతే నా కొడుకు కాలేజీ ఫీజు ఎలా కడతాడు? కానీ ఇక్కడ బోర్డులో కూర్చునే వాళ్ళు వాళ్ళ సొంత మఠం వేస్తున్నట్టు నాకు అనిపిస్తుంది — ఎవరి జేబులో ఎంత పడుతోందో

You know the chai-wala outside our press club? His daughter got selected for state kabaddi last year, but her entire kit came from his own pocket, and the 'sports secretary' who promised funds drives a new SUV. Sometimes I think the federations are just a bunch of uncles playing musical chairs with a rulebook they wrote themselves.

I remember the college girl who won kabaddi gold but had to sell her medal for her brother's fees, yaar. So when I see the federation boards, I wonder if they know the weight of that medal in her hand, or only the weight of the rulebook. Bas, we must ask who is sitting in those air-conditioned rooms making the plays, and who is left outside hoping the game still loves them back.

The other day I was debugging a payment module and found a function that had been patched eleven times over the years—everyone too afraid to rewrite it because "it works." That is how I feel when I read about these federation boards. We keep adding patches to the old rules instead of asking who is really sitting on the chairs and whose money is actually getting home to feed their own mother.

आज का assignment paper submit करते समय data pack ख़त्म हो गया, फिर सोचा — हमारे यहाँ तो cricket federation में चुनाव होते हैं तो पहाड़ की सड़क जैसे होती हैं: एक गाड़ी रुकी तो पीछे वाली सब रुक जाती हैं। बस, टीम का भविष्य भी कभी-कभी उसी श्रीमान जी के इंतज़ार में फंसा रह जाता है जो बोर्ड की कुर्सी पर बैठे हैं।

When my son in Bangalore told me about the bonus clauses in his contract, it made me think of the young girl from our akhara who won a state medal but had to sell her wrestling shoes to pay for her mother's medicine. Who is writing these rulebooks, beta? They have not heard the quiet snap of a struggling athlete's spirit.

Beta, my son's friend from college was telling me, these sports federations are like my pickle recipe - too many hands trying to change the balance, and the taste gets all wrong. When I see who is sitting on those big boards making rules, I think, are they the ones who know if the turmeric is fresh? They decide the pay and contracts from air-conditioned rooms, while the real athletes are sweating on the ground. We need someone with *havalo* common sense, who knows that fairness, like a good keri no athanu, cannot be rushed or made cheap.

Naa younger brother’s coaching centre fees jump every year, but the board of that sports federation? Same faces for ten years, no one asking why. In our stationery shop, if a pen is too expensive, people just buy the cheaper one next to it—competition fixes that. But here, the women athletes have no other shop to go to. So tell me, who pays when the decision-makers never have to count change from a steel register?

Yesterday, filling another grant form for our weavers' collective, I thought of our athletes. We sit outside the room, waiting for the man with the stamp, our own dahi bara growing cold. The real game is who gets to sit at that table, bhaina, deciding which forms are valid.

हमारे मोहल्ले में लड़कियाँ कबड्डी खेलती हैं, मैदान नहीं है तो सड़क पर ही खेल लेती हैं। पर उनकी टीम का चुनाव कौन करता है? वही बाबू जो शहर से आते हैं, जिन्होंने कभी उनके हाथ का गुरमा लड्डू नहीं खाया। मेरी बुआ की दुकान पर बैठकर सोचता हूँ — जब तक खिलाड़ी खुद अपने पैसे और नियम का फैसला नहीं करेंगे, तब तक ये सब बाहर के

In my wife’s kirana store, we settle accounts on a chit—no computer, no auditor, but everyone knows who paid what. These big sports federations bring in crores of rupees and suddenly the rulebook bends for the ones signing the cheques, not the ones playing the match. My son

Honestly, my biggest boardroom right now is my kitchen table, yaar, figuring out how to get my freshly ground haldi to Betul before the monsoon makes it clump. Sometimes the real game is just getting your product to the players, bilkul fresh.

On my morning walk to Annandale, I saw young girls playing football on the frosty ground, their breath making clouds in the air. It reminds me of tuning my harmonium; if the board is not set right, bhai, no matter how sweet the singer, the song will falter. One must check who holds the tanpura before asking why the raga feels cold.

My grandson showed me his new cricket jersey from the city mall, acha, so shiny. But the stitching at the shoulder gave way after one match—not like the cotton kurta I stitched for his father, still worn. These big boards make rules, but I think they forget the cloth must also hold.

I was rolling out dough for dinner when my daughter called from Dehradun, laughing about this *Laughter Chefs* show. She said it reminds her of how I used to cook for the hospital canteen during the strike, making fifty *rotis* on one *tawa* while telling jokes to keep the ladies from crying. Bas, that is the difference between my time and theirs—we had to laugh because there was no money for anything else, and they have money to make a show of it. It feels light, achha, but I wonder if these new chefs know what it costs to serve a meal when the gas cylinder is almost empty.

Yaar, David Jonsson's rise feels like that one contractor who bids lowest but delivers gold — rare, but it exposes how the system was rigged for the "safe" names all along. Watching him reminds me of the time I was hired for a wedding video edit in Rishikesh, only to find out the main photographer's cousin got double my rate for the same work, just because of his "connections." In women's sport boards, it's the same jhapad — the women who actually do the riyaaz, who know the ground, they're sitting out while some uncle with a sponsorship deal decides their tournament budget. That's not fair, and fairness is not a suggestion, it's the whole point of the rulebook.

விக்கிபீடியால தேடுனேன், "board member" பதினஞ்சு பேர் - ஒரே ஒரு பெண்மணி அங்க. ராகுலுக்கு college fee கட்ட 27 வருசமா இதே கதை. Njattuvela pattern time-ல pot base crack ஆனா, its value goes up. Board-ல உக்கார்ந்தவங்களுக்கும் உடைந்துருக்கும் ஆனா அத தெரிஞ்சுக்கிறதில்ல. Missing person vote எடுக்கிறதுக்கு முன்னாடி kiln-ல வைக்கிற மண்ணு வெளியே எங்க நின்னுதுனு தெரிஞ்சுக்க மாட்டிங்க.

All night I listen to calls about contracts and billing, and now I hear the same talk in women’s sport. The federation board room is like my old office cabin – the ones with the good chairs never had to breathe the smog outside. They make rules for the girls running on the field, but did any of them ever stitch a torn jersey in winter, nangna? Real power sits where the cheque-book sleeps.

My daughter showed me an app with rankings, but my old tractor seat is more comfortable than those federation chairs, ha! For us, money for diesel is the real rulebook. Do these board members ever get mud on their boots, khavanu?

Back when my sister tried to join the local football academy, the fee form had a sponsor’s logo bigger than the federation’s. Now I look at these boardroom seats and think, if the rulebook is written by whoever writes the cheques, no wonder the players are last to know their own contracts. A market should clear the mess, but only if the umpire isn’t also selling the bhujia.

In the quiet before dawn, I measure the warp for a phanek, each thread counted and tensioned just so. I think of our athletes and wonder, who is counting the threads of their careers, who holds the loom’s frame? My own small sale is decided by a board in Assam I will never see.

Vedika Pinto, ha... all these big federation boards and fat pay cheques, but tell me, bhau — who is watching the small player who just wants a fair fare, like I never cheat a passenger on meter? My son in Surat sends money for my BP medicine, and I think: if a woman athlete has to fight for her own medicine,

Aiyo, when my daughter told me the sports federation in Delhi pays their women players less than the men for the same tournament, I asked her—is that fair? Hehe, back home in the market, we don't set different prices for the same ngari just because the buyer is a woman. If the rulebook bends for convenience, it is not a rule, it is a favour. And favours can be taken away come monsoon.

I see these big federations and boards talking about "development of women's sport" like they're measuring out mustard oil by the spoon—always the same speeches, never enough to fill the pan. Back at my stall, when the price of turmeric jumps, it's the woman buying for her family who feels it first, not the man sitting on the committee. You tell me who sits on the boards, I'll tell you who they're forgetting.

This talk of big federation contracts reminds me of the college kids at my shop, counting their change for photocopies. For them, playing is about the bus fare and the torn shoes, not some boardroom’s rulebook. I read the papers—when the same few names sit on every committee, the fairness has no andaaza left. They make grand plans, but who asks the girl whose mother sells pickets to buy her a kit?