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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.

Marathi Manoeuvres

Last week, the cavernous Worli Dome in Mumbai played host to the rare spectacle of the two estranged Thackeray cousins - Uddhav and Raj – sharing the dais. The atmosphere brimmed with a thundering invocation of Marathi pride. Days later, the scene shifted to Mira Road, where both factions once again marched shoulder to shoulder in a Marathi Manoos Morcha. What began as a cultural assertion is quickly shaping into a potent realignment of Maharashtra’s political chessboard.


Though the ostensible cause remains the defence of the Marathi language and identity, the deeper game is unmistakably political. With elections to municipal corporations and zilla parishads on the horizon, both Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena (UBT) and Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) are testing the waters for an electoral understanding. It is an experiment loaded with possibilities and pitfalls.


There are two competing lenses through which to view this mobilisation. One is cultural — a defensive response to the perceived marginalisation of the Marathi language in urban enclaves where demographic shifts favour Hindi, Gujarati and other tongues. The other is political: a calculated manoeuvre by the Thackeray cousins to reassert themselves in a fractured Marathi political landscape and revive the legacy of Balasaheb Thackeray by merging charisma with arithmetic.


Raj Thackeray, a fiery orator with enduring appeal among disaffected Marathi youth, has long struggled to convert crowds into votes. His political rallies routinely draw thousands, but his electoral performance has remained anaemic. Part of the problem is fragmentation: his natural base overlaps with that of Uddhav’s Sena (UBT), leading to a dilution of the Marathi vote.


In theory, a UBT-MNS alliance could present a formidable challenge in urban and semi-urban seats. But stitching such an alliance requires painful trade-offs. Loyal local leaders may be asked to vacate seats in favour of joint candidates, stirring resentment in both camps. A divided rank-and-file benefits neither Uddhav nor Raj but their mutual rival Eknath Shinde.


Shinde, the breakaway Sena leader turned Deputy Chief Minister, is laying claim to the same Marathi identity terrain. His faction is backed by the BJP, which brings organisational heft, financial muscle and a formidable non-Marathi voter base of Gujaratis, North Indians and South Indians, especially in Mumbai, Pune and Thane. A messy or overzealous assertion of Marathi pride risks alienating these groups, driving them deeper into the BJP fold.


Recent speeches at the Marathi Manoos marches have not spared the BJP, with accusations that it is a party of ‘outsiders’ indifferent to Marathi cultural concerns. The strategy seems aimed at polarising the electorate along identity lines, hoping to consolidate the Marathi vote while casting the BJP as alien. But it is a dangerous gambit. The BJP’s urban footprint is wide, and painting it as an interloper could provoke a backlash in cities where coalitional support from multiple linguistic communities is necessary to win.


A wildcard in all of this is the BJP’s own thinking. With Uddhav out of favour and the Shinde faction floundering in some quarters, the BJP might quietly welcome a UBT-MNS entente if it helps further destabilise Shinde’s base. A weakened Shinde benefits the BJP, which then emerges as the dominant partner in their alliance. From this vantage, letting Uddhav and Raj cannibalise each other’s space — or even experiment with short-term unity — is not necessarily a bad outcome.


For Raj Thackeray, this is a moment of unusual leverage. He can bargain with Uddhav for seat-sharing, potentially reviving his sagging electoral profile. Or he could realign with Shinde and the BJP, trading cultural capital for ministerial posts, administrative muscle and strategic visibility. The BJP might welcome him as a useful Marathi face to shore up its image amid growing resentment over centralisation and ‘Gujarati dominance.’


Yet an alliance with Uddhav is no easy proposition. The former chief minister is still reeling from the departure of key leaders and a poor performance in recent polls. His ties with Congress and Sharad Pawar’s NCP (SP) are strained, and his party machinery is fragile. Aligning with Raj may appear like desperation, but it could also be the only path to political survival.


The question is whether either side has the patience or pragmatism to pull it off. For all his flamboyance, Raj remains a volatile actor. For all his experience, Uddhav today faces an existential crisis.

The Marathi Manoos rallies have turned into a full-blown political drama where power, identity and credibility are all up for grabs. One thing is certain: the Thackeray cousins have lit a match. Maharashtra now waits to see whether it sparks a flame or burns the house down.


(The writer is a political observer. Views personal)

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