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By:

Quaid Najmi

4 January 2025 at 3:26:24 pm

Cricket’s Quiet Crusader

Former kca Selection Chief who helped nurture a generation of women cricketers when the sport struggled for recognition Niketha Ramankutty A prominent figure in Indian women’s cricket, Niketha Ramankutty — former Chairperson of the Kerala Cricket Association (KCA) Women’s Selection Committee and Manager of the Kerala State women’s teams — has long championed the game, especially when women’s cricket had little platform in her home state. Her dedication helped nurture girls taking to cricket...

Cricket’s Quiet Crusader

Former kca Selection Chief who helped nurture a generation of women cricketers when the sport struggled for recognition Niketha Ramankutty A prominent figure in Indian women’s cricket, Niketha Ramankutty — former Chairperson of the Kerala Cricket Association (KCA) Women’s Selection Committee and Manager of the Kerala State women’s teams — has long championed the game, especially when women’s cricket had little platform in her home state. Her dedication helped nurture girls taking to cricket in Kerala. During her tenure, which ended recently, five players from the state went on to represent India, while three now feature in the Women’s Premier League (WPL). Niketha’s journey began in 1995 on modest grounds and rough pitches in the blazing sun of her native Thrissur. At the time, girls aspiring to play cricket often drew curious stares or disapproving glances. This was despite Kerala producing some of India’s finest female athletes, including P.T. Usha, Shiny Wilson, Anju Bobby George, K.M. Beenamol and Tintu Luka. “Those were the days when women’s cricket did not attract packed stadiums, prime-time television coverage, lucrative contracts or celebrity status. Thankfully, the BCCI has taken progressive steps, including equal pay for the senior women’s team and launching the WPL. These have brought greater visibility, professional avenues and financial security for women cricketers,” Niketha said during a chat with  The Perfect Voice  in Pune. With better infrastructure, stronger domestic competitions and greater junior-level exposure, she believes the future of women’s cricket in India is bright and encourages more girls to pursue the sport seriously. Humble Beginnings Niketha began playing informal matches in neighbourhood kalisthalams (playgrounds) and school competitions before realising cricket was her true calling. Coaches who noticed her composure encouraged her to pursue the game seriously. More than flamboyance, she brought reliability and quiet determination to the turf — qualities every captain values when a match hangs in the balance. These traits helped her rise through the ranks and become a key figure in Kerala’s women’s cricket structure. “She was like a gentle messiah for the players. During demanding moments, they could rely on her – whether to stabilise an innings or lift team spirit,” recalled a former colleague. Guiding Youngsters Her involvement came when women’s cricket in many states struggled even for basic facilities. Matches were rarely covered by the media, and limited travel or training arrangements often tested players’ patience. “As a mother of two daughters—Namradha, 18, and Nivedya, 14—I could understand the emotions of the young girls in the teams. Guiding players through difficult phases and helping them overcome failures gave me the greatest satisfaction,” she said. Niketha — an English Literature graduate with a master’s in Tourism Management — believes success in sport demands not only skill but also sacrifice. Strong parental support and encouragement from her husband, Vinoth Kumar, an engineer, helped her overcome many challenges. Never one to seek the spotlight, she let her performances speak for themselves, earning respect on the national circuit. Quiet Legacy Today, the landscape has changed dramatically. Young girls are more ambitious, parents more supportive, and cricket is seen as a viable career with opportunities in coaching, umpiring, team management, sports analysis and allied fields. Players like Niketha have quietly strengthened the sport. Their journeys show that some victories are not won under stadium floodlights, but by determined women who simply refused to stop playing.

Road Rash

A few days ago, I was travelling from Bangalore to Mumbai. This was hardly my first trip to the South. I am on those roads often - sometimes for work, sometimes for the restless pleasure of the journey itself. Years of such travel have honed my instinct to notice the small details: the slope of a flyover, the placement of a milestone, the shifting patterns of truck convoys. The highway is a diary. It tells you a lot about a country, if you bother to read it.


Not long ago, the stretch from Katraj in Pune to Kolhapur was a joy. The tarmac rolled smoothly under the tyres, the trucks kept their dignified distance, and the scenery had the quiet grace that makes long-distance driving something of a meditation. You could hold a steady speed and steady thoughts.


Today, that same stretch is a catastrophe. From Katraj to somewhere near Hubballi, the road is torn apart. Not for the occasional repair, but in the throes of full-scale reconstruction. Diversions erupt every few hundred metres - a left here, sharp right there, through narrow cuts that would challenge even a rally driver. The untrained driver is not merely inconvenienced but he is positively in danger.


The problem is not just the detours or delays. It is the intent. India’s roads, it seems, are no longer built for people to travel on. They are built for contracts to be signed, for repairs to be perpetual, for profits to be skimmed. A smooth, safe, functional road is a finished project whereas an unfinished road becomes eternally a renewable source of income.


And they accidents occur with grim regularity, the official line is to blame the driver for speeding, fatigue or distraction. Rarely is there mention of sudden two-way stretches with no warning signs, of diversions that funnel vehicles head-on at night with blinding headlights, of curves sharper than they appear. It is a wonder more people do not die.


But many do. India records over 1.6 lakh road deaths each year. In a nation of 145 crore, that is barely a murmur in the news cycle. And yet, there is no outcry, no resignation and no systemic shame. Life is cheap, and the highway system reminds you of it with every jolt to your spine.


At night, the Katraj–Hubballi run turns into something close to a video game. Trucks loom suddenly from unlit corners, motorbikes dart without reflectors, diversions arrive with no reflective paint or hazard lamps. You drive not in confidence but in constant dread, as if survival is less a matter of skill and more a matter of luck.


Our highways have been proudly unfinished since independence. They are monuments not to engineering achievement but to bureaucratic inertia, political favour and contractual appetite. They are not arteries of commerce or threads stitching together a vast nation but inhuman obstacle courses laid out for the citizenry to endure.


So here is to our highways. Proudly unfinished since independence. Built not for travel, but for trials. Not for citizens, but for contracts.


Drive safe. Or better, do not drive at all.


(The writer is CMD of a private company. Views personal.)

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