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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.

Democratic Mirage

Somalia’s flirtation with universal suffrage promises democratic renewal but risks entrenching elite power in a country where the state remains perilously thin.

For the first time in more than half a century, residents of Mogadishu queued up to choose their municipal leaders by direct vote. To foreign diplomats and Somalia’s own weary reformers, the images carried a powerful symbolism of a country long synonymous with state collapse gingerly reclaiming the rituals of democracy.


The last time Somalis voted directly in national elections was in 1969, months before Mohamed Siad Barre’s coup ushered in two decades of authoritarian rule, followed by one of the modern world’s most complete state implosions. Since Barre’s overthrow in 1991, Somalia has been governed by improvisation: warlordism gave way to Islamist rule, foreign intervention and, eventually, a fragile federal order stitched together under heavy international tutelage. Elections, when they returned in 2004, were indirect by design. Clan elders selected lawmakers and lawmakers chose the president. In a shattered polity riven by clan rivalries and stalked by jihadists, consensus mattered more than ballots.


Two decades on, that ‘pragmatic’ logic has curdled into something else. Indirect elections have ossified into an elite cartel, lucrative for politicians and brokers who thrive in the shadows of clan arithmetic. Parliamentary seats are bought and sold. Presidents are chosen not by citizens but by carefully managed caucuses. Mogadishu’s mayor, until now, was appointed from above. Ordinary Somalis, particularly the young, have watched politics become a closed shop.


Against this backdrop, the municipal poll is meant to be a rehearsal for universal suffrage in a country where more than 70 percent of the population is under 30. A 2024 law restored the principle of one person, one vote, and federal elections are notionally slated for next year.


In theory, Somalia is turning the page. But in practice, the script remains familiar. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud has already cut a deal with segments of the opposition ensuring that, while lawmakers will be directly elected in 2026, the president himself will still be chosen by parliament. This has led Opposition figures to complain that the rushed introduction of a new system favours the incumbent, who controls the levers of state and the flow of foreign funds.


Security concerns provide the most obvious alibi. Al Shabaab, al-Qaeda’s East African franchise, still controls large swathes of the countryside and retains the ability to strike at will in major cities. Mogadishu may be safer than it was a decade ago, but it remains one of the world’s most dangerous capitals. Asking millions to vote under such conditions is no small feat. Yet security has long served as both a real constraint and a convenient excuse. Somali leaders invoke it to delay reforms that might dilute their influence, even as they struggle to extend the state’s writ beyond a few urban islands.


Somalia’s political order rests on an uneasy bargain between clans, regions and foreign patrons. Federalism, meant to accommodate diversity, has instead produced mini-fiefdoms dependent on external backers from Ethiopia and Kenya to Turkey, the Gulf states and the West. Each has its own interests: counterterrorism, port access, Red Sea trade routes, or simple geopolitical leverage. Elections, direct or otherwise, unfold within this crowded chessboard.


History offers sobering lessons. Somalia’s brief democratic experiment in the 1960s collapsed under the weight of corruption, patronage and Cold War meddling. Barre’s dictatorship promised unity and delivered ruin. The Islamist interlude of the 2000s imposed order of a grim sort before provoking invasion and insurgency. At each turn, institutional shortcuts produced short-term stability at the cost of long-term legitimacy.


That is why Mogadishu’s municipal vote matters and why it should be viewed with scepticism rather than sentimentality. Democracy cannot be reduced to polling stations guarded by soldiers, nor can it flourish when elites reserve the right to choose the chooser. Universal suffrage is not merely a technical reform; it is a wager that citizens, not clans or patrons, should ultimately arbitrate power.


Somalia deserves that chance. But unless its leaders are willing to relinquish some control and unless foreign sponsors stop treating the country as a security project rather than a political community, the ballot box risks becoming yet another prop in a long-running charade. 


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