The human urge to find parallels and reduce anything and everything to its lowest common denominator for the sake of simplification often presents an incomplete picture of a complex issue.
To equate the Indian women’s cricket team’s maiden World Cup victory on Sunday to their male counterparts’ similar achievement back in 1983 may not be completely misplaced but is certainly reductive.
It’s true that the men’s cricket team in the 60s, 70s and 80s didn’t have the best of facilities to hone their skills and compete with the likes of Australia and England. They used to play for pittance and hardly anybody expected them to play well, let alone winning the World Cup. In the 1975 and 1979 World Cups, India didn’t win a single match. The unexpected victory was followed by fame, money and facilities.
In women’s case, it’s quite the opposite. The victory followed the facilities, money and fame. Since the Board of Control for Cricket in India ( BCCI) took over the running of women’s cricket in the country in 2006, following a similar move by the International Cricket Council ( ICC) in 2005, it has seen a steady investment in training amenities, domestic structure, increase in number of matches and pay hike. Three years ago, they also got their own T20 league.
The World Cup win was also not out of the blue. India were hovering around the trophy for some did come close to winning the ICC title on multiple occasions before that fateful night of November 2. In the 2017 ODI World Cup, held in England, they fell short by just 9 runs. They also reached the final of the 2 0 2 0 T 2 0 Wo rl d C u p i n Australia. If anything, it was only a matter of time before Indian women got their hands on that elusive trophy. That’s not to say women had it easy, or easier than men. In this country, no achievement comes easy for women. For centuries, the society at large has ensured women stay away from sports by establishing norms and values that created unsuitable conditions for them to pursue interests that weren’t ‘meant’ for them.
From a young age, they were told what they could do and could not, what they should wear and should not, what time they could go out and return home. Their lives were more or less preplanned for them: study (if lucky), marriage, motherhood and household chores. Their own parents, a product of the same prejudicial system, were almost always willing participants.
The bias also seeped into other aspects of life, including institutions where all positions were held by men, the development of the infrastructure (if there were no women, what was the need?), sponsorships, career paths and media visibility.
So much so, having a girl child is still considered a burden in some parts of the country. Shafali Verma, the player of the match in the final, comes from a state that has a long history of female foeticide — Haryana’s gender ratio at birth (GRB) stood at 876 girls per 1,000 boys as recently as 2015 (it improved to 910 in 2024). It’s not just about one state, India’s overall GRB is also abysmally low — 923 girls per 1,000 boys (natural level is considered at 952/1,000).
To recover from hundreds of years of prejudicial practices and start believing in themselves took time, heroic efforts and some support. The glass ceiling is yet to be broken but it has been pushed up gradually, one win at a time. From Eduljis and Ushas to Mirzas and Nehwals, the barriers were pulled down, and footmarks were created for the young ones to follow and carry the baton forward.
In that sense, the 2025 triumph may probably have a much bigger impact on the societal attitude towards women than all the previous achievements because of the humongous popularity of cricket in India.
To go back to the beginning, 1983 was definitely transformational for men’s cricket. But 2025 could have a much wid- er impact, not just on the women’s game but society at large.
To equate the Indian women’s cricket team’s maiden World Cup victory on Sunday to their male counterparts’ similar achievement back in 1983 may not be completely misplaced but is certainly reductive.
It’s true that the men’s cricket team in the 60s, 70s and 80s didn’t have the best of facilities to hone their skills and compete with the likes of Australia and England. They used to play for pittance and hardly anybody expected them to play well, let alone winning the World Cup. In the 1975 and 1979 World Cups, India didn’t win a single match. The unexpected victory was followed by fame, money and facilities.
In women’s case, it’s quite the opposite. The victory followed the facilities, money and fame. Since the Board of Control for Cricket in India ( BCCI) took over the running of women’s cricket in the country in 2006, following a similar move by the International Cricket Council ( ICC) in 2005, it has seen a steady investment in training amenities, domestic structure, increase in number of matches and pay hike. Three years ago, they also got their own T20 league.
The World Cup win was also not out of the blue. India were hovering around the trophy for some did come close to winning the ICC title on multiple occasions before that fateful night of November 2. In the 2017 ODI World Cup, held in England, they fell short by just 9 runs. They also reached the final of the 2 0 2 0 T 2 0 Wo rl d C u p i n Australia. If anything, it was only a matter of time before Indian women got their hands on that elusive trophy. That’s not to say women had it easy, or easier than men. In this country, no achievement comes easy for women. For centuries, the society at large has ensured women stay away from sports by establishing norms and values that created unsuitable conditions for them to pursue interests that weren’t ‘meant’ for them.
From a young age, they were told what they could do and could not, what they should wear and should not, what time they could go out and return home. Their lives were more or less preplanned for them: study (if lucky), marriage, motherhood and household chores. Their own parents, a product of the same prejudicial system, were almost always willing participants.
The bias also seeped into other aspects of life, including institutions where all positions were held by men, the development of the infrastructure (if there were no women, what was the need?), sponsorships, career paths and media visibility.
So much so, having a girl child is still considered a burden in some parts of the country. Shafali Verma, the player of the match in the final, comes from a state that has a long history of female foeticide — Haryana’s gender ratio at birth (GRB) stood at 876 girls per 1,000 boys as recently as 2015 (it improved to 910 in 2024). It’s not just about one state, India’s overall GRB is also abysmally low — 923 girls per 1,000 boys (natural level is considered at 952/1,000).
To recover from hundreds of years of prejudicial practices and start believing in themselves took time, heroic efforts and some support. The glass ceiling is yet to be broken but it has been pushed up gradually, one win at a time. From Eduljis and Ushas to Mirzas and Nehwals, the barriers were pulled down, and footmarks were created for the young ones to follow and carry the baton forward.
In that sense, the 2025 triumph may probably have a much bigger impact on the societal attitude towards women than all the previous achievements because of the humongous popularity of cricket in India.
To go back to the beginning, 1983 was definitely transformational for men’s cricket. But 2025 could have a much wid- er impact, not just on the women’s game but society at large.
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