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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.

Faith Under Siege

Updated: Mar 6, 2025

Pakistan’s relentless persecution of the Ahmadiyya is a stark illustration of the state’s wanton submission to extremist groups.

Pakistan

Pakistan’s leaders routinely decry Islamophobia abroad, demanding protection for Muslim minorities in the West. Our neighbour’s hypocrisy is breathtaking, given that within its own borders, Pakistan presides over the relentless targeting of one of its own Islamic sects – the Ahmadiyya.


The latest chapter in this painful saga of persecution is the destruction of a 120-year-old Ahmadiyya place of worship carried out by the police, under pressure from the radical Islamist group Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP). Five Ahmadis were detained for protesting the demolition. The authorities, when questioned, cited complaints that the building’s minarets resembled those of a traditional mosque - an offence under Pakistan’s draconian religious laws.


Pakistan’s Ahmadiyya Muslims have long been subject to systemic repression, but recent events suggest a dangerous escalation. What was once the work of vigilantes has now been institutionalized, as law enforcement authorities have begun tearing down houses of worship with its own hands.


The Ahmadiyya movement was founded in British India in 1889 by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, who claimed to be a divinely appointed reformer and messiah. His teachings, which diverged from mainstream Sunni and Shia interpretations of Islam, led to immediate backlash. However, under colonial rule, the British largely protected the community from violent repression. That fragile security collapsed after Partition.


In 1974, Pakistan’s Parliament, under Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, officially declared Ahmadis ‘non-Muslims,’ a decision driven by a mix of political expediency and religious orthodoxy. A decade later, under the military dictatorship of General Zia-ul-Haq, laws were enacted making it a criminal offense for Ahmadis to ‘pose’ as Muslims. Their crime? Using Islamic greetings, calling their places of worship ‘mosques,’ or reciting verses from the Quran in public.


The religious apartheid embedded in Pakistan’s legal framework laid the groundwork for what has followed: mob violence, targeted assassinations, desecration of graves and the demolition of Ahmadiyya religious sites carried out with impunity.


Enter Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan, a hardline Barelvi Islamist movement that has weaponized street power and religious extremism. Founded in 2015, TLP burst onto the scene demanding the execution of blasphemy accused and leveraging mass protests to paralyze the government. Time and again, Pakistani authorities have capitulated to its demands.


The group’s primary ideological fuel is the defence of Pakistan’s notorious blasphemy laws, under which minorities - Ahmadis, Christians, Hindus - live in perpetual fear of being accused, arrested or lynched. But TLP’s vendetta against Ahmadis is particularly intense. The movement’s narrative frames the Ahmadiyya faith as an existential threat to Islam, and its leaders have repeatedly called for their complete exclusion from society.


A wave of Ahmadiyya mosque demolitions last month shows how far this ideology has seeped into state institutions. In Lubbay, Sialkot district, the police detained a local Ahmadi leader and then destroyed his community’s mosque. In Pasrur, law enforcement officers stood by as a TLP-led mob razed an Ahmadi place of worship. And in Rahim Yar Khan, the authorities assured Ahmadis of their protection, only to personally demolish their mosque a day before TLP’s deadline.


The targeting of Ahmadiyyas isn’t limited to places of worship. Their graves are vandalized, their businesses boycotted, and their jobs stripped away. Just this year, 91 Ahmadiyya graves were desecrated across Pakistan. Teachers, doctors and engineers have been harassed out of their professions. In public discourse, the word “Ahmadi” is often hurled as an insult.


In the country’s electoral system, Ahmadiyyas are effectively disenfranchised. Unlike other religious minorities who vote under a joint electorate, Ahmadiyyas must register separately, declaring themselves non-Muslims in the process. Many refuse, leaving them politically invisible.


International human rights organizations have long condemned the country’s Ahmadiyya policies but Western governments, preoccupied with security cooperation, have often looked the other way. Pakistan’s refusal to protect its minorities is a major crisis of governance. The more the state succumbs to extremist demands, the more it undermines its own authority.

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