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By:

Kiran D. Tare

21 August 2024 at 11:23:13 am

The Lady of Lord’s

Yastika Bhatia’s maiden Test century at Lord’s crowns the rise of an elegant wicketkeeper-batter who has quietly become indispensable to India’s new generation. Critics may say that there are flashier cricketers than Yastika Bhatia. She does not possess the raw power of a Smriti Mandhana or the aura of a Harmanpreet Kaur. She rarely dominates highlight reels or social media clips. Instead, she has built her reputation through reliability – a quality far more vital. At a time when white-ball...

The Lady of Lord’s

Yastika Bhatia’s maiden Test century at Lord’s crowns the rise of an elegant wicketkeeper-batter who has quietly become indispensable to India’s new generation. Critics may say that there are flashier cricketers than Yastika Bhatia. She does not possess the raw power of a Smriti Mandhana or the aura of a Harmanpreet Kaur. She rarely dominates highlight reels or social media clips. Instead, she has built her reputation through reliability – a quality far more vital. At a time when white-ball cricket prizes spectacle, the 24-year-old wicketkeeper-batter has become one of India’s finest practitioners of the understated virtues of timing, patience and composure. Bhatia’s 113 against England which powered the Indian women’s side to a historic win at Lord’s was not merely her maiden Test century but the first ever scored by a woman at cricket’s most celebrated venue. The innings helped India seal a comprehensive 270-run victory in the first women’s Test ever staged at Lord’s. Her hundred earned her a place on the Lord’s honours board, where generations of the game’s greatest names have been immortalised. Few entries have carried quite the same symbolism. Until now, no woman’s name had appeared there for a Test century because no women’s Test had ever been played at the ground. Bhatia’s career has mirrored the evolution of Indian women’s cricket itself. Born in Vadodara, she emerged through Gujarat’s domestic circuit at a time when opportunities for young women were expanding but remained far from abundant. A naturally gifted left-hander, she impressed selectors with a technique that appeared more classical than contemporary. Where modern batting often relies on innovation and improvisation, Bhatia’s game is rooted in balance. She plays late, favours placement over power and rarely appears rushed. Such attributes explain why coaches have long regarded her as especially suited to the demands of Test cricket, even though women are offered precious few opportunities to play the format. Modern wicketkeepers are expected to contribute almost as specialist batters while maintaining relentless concentration over long periods. Bhatia has embraced both responsibilities, becoming an important cog in an Indian side that has steadily shed its dependence on a handful of senior stars. That transformation has accelerated dramatically over the past year. India’s maiden Women’s ODI World Cup triumph marked a watershed for the sport, confirming that the country's women could finally translate promise into silverware. Although Bhatia missed that campaign after suffering an anterior cruciate ligament injury shortly before the tournament, her absence perhaps underscored her growing importance. Months of rehabilitation restored her confidence. If the World Cup represented the one that got away, Lord’s offered redemption. Returning to international cricket only recently, Bhatia produced an innings of remarkable maturity against England’s experienced attack. Her 113 came from 158 balls, balancing restraint with authority as India tightened their grip on the match. She admitted that six months earlier, while beginning rehabilitation, the idea of seeing her name on the Lord’s honours board would have seemed implausible. Those who know her were scarcely surprised. Former Indian wicketkeeper Kiran More, who has mentored Bhatia, has long spoken of her temperament rather than merely her talent. Scoring a century at Lord’s, he observed, is an ambition shared by virtually every cricketer. Achieving it after months away from the game simply reflected the resilience that had always underpinned her cricket. But hers was not a sentimental century assembled through fortune. It was a technically accomplished performance built on judgement outside off stump, crisp drives through the covers and the patience required by the longest format. It showcased precisely why Test cricket continues to matter. Unlike Twenty20, where brilliance can be compressed into a handful of overs, the five-day game rewards concentration accumulated over hours. For Indian women’s cricket, Bhatia’s century represents something larger than an individual milestone. It demonstrates the increasing depth of a side that is no longer defined solely by its biggest names. New heroes are emerging, backed by stronger domestic structures, better coaching and a professionalism unimaginable a decade ago. The honours board at Lord’s records statistics with characteristic restraint. It simply notes that Yastika Bhatia scored a century. Future generations may glance at the name without appreciating the path that led there. But Indian cricket will remember that the first woman to reach three figures at Lord’s was not merely making history. She was announcing that a new generation has arrived.

Cricket or Credibility? Why India Should Sit Out the Asia Cup

When lines are crossed in Kashmir, cricket between India and Pakistan cannot roll on unheeded.

As the 2025 Asia Cup approaches in the United Arab Emirates, the fixture circled in red is inevitably the India versus Pakistan encounter on September 14. Ordinarily, such matches command global audiences in the billions. They are part-sport and part-theatre wherein an outswinger from Jasprit Bumrah or a flick from Shubhman Gill acquires a symbolism that transcends the boundary rope.


But this year the spectacle is laden with unease. The reason lies hundreds of miles away, in the Pahalgam valley of Kashmir. On April 22, militants brutally killed 26 civilians, mainly Hindus after singling adult males on the basis of their religion. Families were decimated and the images still haunt India’s conscience.


The question that inexorably follows is should India take the field against Pakistan, a country accused of harbouring the attackers, so soon after such carnage? To many, the answer should be obvious.


Hollow Refrain

The standard refrain that “sport must rise above politics” rings hollow against the background of funeral processions. For India to face Pakistan at this juncture risks signalling that terrorism has been normalised, that human tragedy has been downgraded to a footnote behind sponsorship logos. Since Pahalgam, India has firmly held that “terror and talks cannot go hand in hand.” By extension, “terror and tournaments” should not either. To look away from Pahalgam for the sake of television ratings risks appearing inconsistent at best and callous at worst.


Indeed, India’s government acted decisively in other spheres. Borders were closed, trade restricted and treaties like the Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) suspended. The military launched ‘Operation Sindoor’ in May, striking militant hideouts across the Line of Control. If such measures were warranted, why should cricket, a softer but no less symbolic form of diplomacy, be treated differently?


India–Pakistan matches are never just about runs and wickets. They have always held an edge of geopolitical stagecraft, complete with subtexts of war and peace. The Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), the government and the corporate giants that bankroll these tournaments must ask what message participation sends. Does it imply that broadcast rights and sponsorship revenue outweigh the dignity of Indian lives?


History is instructive. Sporting boycotts of apartheid South Africa demonstrated how international isolation, including on the cricket field, can become an instrument of justice. Olympic walkouts during the Cold War reflected broader geopolitical fractures. India itself has repeatedly halted bilateral cricket with Pakistan after terror attacks - from the Parliament attack of 2001 to the 26/11 carnage in 2008. Each time, the stance was clear: principle over play.


To deviate now under the alibi of ‘commercial compulsions’ risks opportunism. If every previous outrage justified suspension, why should Pahalgam, undoubtedly the most serious since the Mumbai attacks, be treated with less gravity?


Beyond symbolism lies practicality. Intelligence agencies have linked the attackers to The Resistance Front, an outfit tied to Lashkar-e-Taiba in Pakistan. With militant networks still active, hosting or playing such a high-profile fixture carries security risks of its own. Protecting players, support staff and tens of thousands of spectators in Dubai would require extraordinary deployments. Those resources might be better utilised protecting ordinary citizens from ongoing threats. Moreover, in an era of live-streamed terror and drone warfare, a cricket stadium packed with India and Pakistan fans presents a nightmare scenario for any security planner. Sport may be about escapism, but in today’s climate it cannot escape geopolitics.


Commerce vs Conscience

The crux, inevitably, comes down to money. The Asia Cup is underwritten by broadcasters and advertisers who salivate at India–Pakistan clashes. Media rights can double in value for such fixtures. Betting markets surge. Social media platforms are primed to flood with hashtags and memes. For the BCCI, which commands revenues larger than many cricket boards combined, abstaining carries financial costs. Yet those are precisely the costs that test credibility. National interest is not measured in TRPs or sponsorship slots. It rests in principles upheld and in the confidence that citizens place in their institutions.


A cynical observer might note that even after 26/11, the Indian Premier League carried on, albeit with a shift to South Africa. Cricket has often demonstrated its resilience to crises. But there is a difference between resilience and indifference.


If cricket’s administrators are tangled in financial obligations, the moral burden shifts to the media. India’s press has historically shown flashes of courage: during the Emergency of 1975–77, when censorship muzzled expression, one national daily famously published a blank editorial page - an act of defiance that still resonates.


Today, the question is whether Indian media will amplify the hype of an India–Pakistan clash, or whether it will exercise restraint, acknowledging the grief that still lingers. A voluntary boycott in form of perhaps withholding pre-match extravaganzas or declining to overplay the spectacle would send a message sharper than any ministerial statement - that Indian lives matter more than TRPs.


Such restraint would not mean abandoning cricket journalism altogether. It would mean drawing a line between covering sport as sport, and glorifying sport when it collides with conscience.


Choosing Silence

Ultimately, power rests with the public. Stadiums need spectators, televisions need viewers, advertisers need eyeballs. Citizens who leave seats unfilled, who mute televisions, who scroll past hashtags, can send a powerful message. Silence, in such cases, speaks louder than roars.


Cultural icons can reinforce that sentiment. Bollywood stars, novelists, musicians, and especially cricketing legends, have an outsized influence on public mood. A refusal to glamorise the fixture, even quietly, can signal that restraint is an act of strength, not weakness. Such abstention would show that India can distinguish between the roar of the crowd and the wail of the bereaved.


There is also a broader diplomatic canvas. India at present is simultaneously negotiating anumber of global partnerships. To engage Pakistan on the cricket field, without substantive progress on counterterrorism, risks sending mixed signals abroad. It weakens India’s claim to moral clarity when pressing allies to isolate sponsors of terror. Pakistan, for its part, sees cricket as a lifeline of legitimacy. Every bilateral or multilateral clash offers a veneer of normalisation, a chance to shift global headlines from militancy to sport. To deny that stage is to deny Pakistan easy propaganda.


Conscience or Convenience?

India thus faces a stark choice. To play is to project normalcy and to return to “business as usual.” To abstain is to assert that terror cannot be compartmentalised, that a massacre is not just another news cycle. Bridges between adversaries can and should be built, but not on foundations of blood. Cricket can heal, but it can also trivialise if wielded carelessly. For now, the wounds of Pahalgam are fresh. To step onto the pitch under such shadows would be not an act of bravery but of compromise. The world will watch what India decides. To choose abstention is to sacrifice a night of entertainment for the sake of national dignity. To play is to risk signalling that nothing, not even mass murder, can interrupt cricket’s circus. In truth, the answer should be clear by now.

(The writer is a retired banker based in Bengaluru. Views personal.)

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