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By:

Bhalchandra Chorghade

11 August 2025 at 1:54:18 pm

Applause for Cricket, Silence for Badminton

Mumbai: When Lakshya Sen walked off the court after the final of the All England Badminton Championships, he carried with him the disappointment of another near miss. The Indian shuttler went down in straight games to Lin Chun-Yi, who created history by becoming the first player from Chinese Taipei to lift the prestigious title. But the story of Lakshya Sen’s defeat is not merely about badminton final. It is also about the contrasting way India celebrates its sporting heroes. Had the same...

Applause for Cricket, Silence for Badminton

Mumbai: When Lakshya Sen walked off the court after the final of the All England Badminton Championships, he carried with him the disappointment of another near miss. The Indian shuttler went down in straight games to Lin Chun-Yi, who created history by becoming the first player from Chinese Taipei to lift the prestigious title. But the story of Lakshya Sen’s defeat is not merely about badminton final. It is also about the contrasting way India celebrates its sporting heroes. Had the same narrative unfolded on a cricket field, the reaction would have been dramatically different. In cricket, even defeat often becomes a story of heroism. A hard-fought loss by the Indian team can dominate television debates, fill newspaper columns and trend across social media for days. A player who narrowly misses a milestone is still hailed for his fighting spirit. The nation rallies around its cricketers not only in victory but also in defeat. The narrative quickly shifts from the result to the effort -- the resilience shown, the fight put up, the promise of future triumph. This emotional investment is one of the reasons cricket enjoys unparalleled popularity in India. It has built a culture where players become household names and their performances, good or bad, become part of the national conversation. Badminton Fights Contrast that with what happens in sports like badminton. Reaching the final of the All England Championships is a monumental achievement. The tournament is widely considered badminton’s equivalent of Wimbledon in prestige and tradition. Only the very best players manage to reach its final stages, and doing it twice speaks volumes about Lakshya Sen’s ability and consistency. Yet the reaction in India remained largely subdued. There were congratulatory posts, some headlines acknowledging the effort and brief discussions among badminton enthusiasts. But the level of national engagement never quite matched the magnitude of the achievement. In a cricketing context, reaching such a stage would have triggered days of celebration and analysis. In badminton, it often becomes just another sports update. Long Wait India’s wait for an All England champion continues. The last Indian to win the title was Pullela Gopichand in 2001. Before him, Prakash Padukone had scripted history in 1980. These victories remain among the most significant milestones in Indian badminton. And yet, unlike cricketing triumphs that are frequently revisited and celebrated, such achievements rarely stay in the mainstream sporting conversation for long. Lakshya Sen’s journey to the final should ideally have been viewed as a continuation of that legacy, a reminder that India still possesses the talent to challenge the world’s best in badminton. Instead, it risks fading quickly from public memory. Visibility Gap The difference ultimately comes down to visibility and cultural investment. Cricket in India is not merely a sport; it is an ecosystem built over decades through media attention, sponsorship, and mass emotional attachment. Individual sports, on the other hand, often rely on momentary bursts of recognition, usually during Olympic years or when a medal is won. But consistent performers like Lakshya Sen rarely receive the sustained spotlight that their achievements deserve. This disparity can also influence the next generation. Young athletes are naturally drawn to sports where success brings recognition, financial stability and national fame. When one sport monopolises the spotlight, others struggle to build similar appeal. Beyond Result Lakshya Sen may have finished runner-up again, but his performance at the All England Championship is a reminder that India continues to produce world-class athletes in disciplines beyond cricket. The real issue is not that cricket receives immense attention -- it deserves the admiration it gets. The concern is that athletes from other sports often do not receive comparable appreciation for achievements that are equally significant in their own arenas. If India aspires to become a truly global sporting nation, its applause must grow broader. Sporting pride cannot remain confined to one field. Because somewhere on a badminton court, an athlete like Lakshya Sen is fighting just as hard for the country’s colours as any cricketer on a packed stadium pitch. The only difference is how loudly the nation chooses to cheer.

Drama on Two Fronts

When Parliament starts sounding like prime time, even the soap opera feels more sensible.

On July 29, India bore witness to two spectacles - one inside Parliament and the other on prime-time television.  One was a high-stakes debate on Operation Sindoor; the other, a reboot of the iconic ‘Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi.’ Though ostensibly worlds apart, they mirrored each other in ways that were both uncanny and unsettling.

 

Let’s start with the Parliament. What was meant to be a serious national security discussion quickly devolved into political karaoke with everyone singing their own tune, entirely out of sync. The opposition demanded the government label Donald Trump a ‘liar,’ which, last anyone checked, is not standard protocol in counter-terror strategy. It is unclear whether they believed this would rally global condemnation or just rack up retweets. Either way, it was a request so baffling that it made one long for the relative sanity of TV melodrama.

 

Then came the familiar grievance: “No country condemned Pakistan!” True. What they did condemn, with machine-like precision, was terrorism. The opposition seemed to take this as a slight - as if the global diplomatic community had sent India to sit in the naughty corner with Pakistan. It is a logic spiral that would make a daytime soap proud: “If you didn't say exactly what I wanted, you must be against me.”

 

The ruling party, refused to be outdone, fired back with its own greatest hits. Nehru and Indira Gandhi made surprise posthumous appearances, Sonia Gandhi’s personal anguish was paraded about, and the ghosts of Congress's past were summoned to settle present scores. The Prime Minister, always a compelling speaker, chose pathos and sarcasm over clarity, and we got yet another round of “Back then, we were weak; now, we’re winning.”

 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi made its grand return. Tulsi Virani, still emotionally resilient and inexplicably ageless, glided across screens, resurrecting the same family tensions that first aired in the early 2000s. Smriti Irani’s character might now be a national memory, but the show remains firmly rooted in its DNA.

At least the soap opera does not pretend to be a governing body.

 

Both events trafficked in nostalgia. Both clung to old storylines like a security blanket. And both featured people switching sides with astonishing speed, be it in political alliances or family feuds. There is a certain irony in watching leaders berate each other for things done decades ago while forgetting they have often sat on both sides of the aisle. It's like watching a TV family where every argument begins with “You always hated me since 1998,” and ends with a group hug no one believes.

 

What is truly galling is the performative nature of it all. The Parliament debate had the choreography of a prime-time serial: strategic pauses, impassioned monologues, dramatic interruptions and a final flourish that left viewers exhausted but unenlightened. There were no answers about the strategy behind Operation Sindoor, no clarity about long-term objectives, and indeed no cross-party unity - just rhetoric, recycled and reheated.

 

The rebooted Kyunki, for all its dramatic indulgences, at least knows what it is. It is not pretending to solve national issues. It is not trying to defend border policy with decade-old grudges. It does not expect the viewer to believe that emotional outbursts are evidence. And unlike Parliament, it stays on script.

 

Well, will it actually stay on script? After all, Tulsi is now played once again by Smriti Irani, who these days is better known for her role in national politics and unwavering support of the Prime Minister than her TV stardom. She does not just do monologues on screen anymore; she has delivered them in Parliament with just as much conviction. So, it is fair to wonder if Kyunki stick to family drama, or sneak in a little ideology along the way? If a few “Jai Shri Ram” moments start echoing between emotional confrontations and kitchen showdowns, do not be too surprised. This reboot could well be rehearsing a new kind of message.

 

Perhaps our lawmakers could take a cue from television after all: stick to the story, do not drag in unnecessary plotlines, and above all, remember your audience.  

 

July 29 gave us two shows, one on prime time and the other aired in Parliament. The former tried to repackage nostalgia for entertainment. The latter, quite alarmingly, tried to pass entertainment off as governance.

 

You be the judge of which one did it better.


(The author is a learning and development professional. Views personal.)

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