top of page

By:

Waleed Hussain

4 March 2025 at 2:34:30 pm

Where Handshakes Are Apparently Optional

What a time to be alive in the grand theatre of Indian Premier League drama. In a world plagued by actual problems, the cricket fraternity has decided that the real crisis of our era is Virat Kohli refusing to shake Travis Head’s hand after SRH demolished RCB by 55 runs. Yes, dear reader, the sport that proudly calls itself the “gentleman’s game” is once again clutching its pearls over etiquette while conveniently ignoring that the field itself often resembles a verbal war zone. How utterly...

Where Handshakes Are Apparently Optional

What a time to be alive in the grand theatre of Indian Premier League drama. In a world plagued by actual problems, the cricket fraternity has decided that the real crisis of our era is Virat Kohli refusing to shake Travis Head’s hand after SRH demolished RCB by 55 runs. Yes, dear reader, the sport that proudly calls itself the “gentleman’s game” is once again clutching its pearls over etiquette while conveniently ignoring that the field itself often resembles a verbal war zone. How utterly predictable. Let’s rewind the tape of this earth-shattering incident. During the SRH vs RCB clash on May 22, 2026, in Hyderabad, sparks flew as they usually do when competitive egos collide. Kohli, ever the embodiment of controlled aggression (or so his fans insist), engaged in some classic on-field banter with Head. Gestures were made—Impact Player signals, invitations to bowl, the usual alpha-male posturing that makes T20 cricket so thrilling for viewers and exhausting for sports psychologists. Head, not one to back down, gave as good as he got. Standard fare in a high-stakes league, right? Wrong. Because after RCB folded like a cheap suit, the post-match handshake line became the new Colosseum. Human Decency Head, displaying what some might call basic human decency (or perhaps just following protocol), extended his hand. Kohli? He walked straight past, eyes fixed on the horizon like a man who had just discovered a more interesting Instagram story. Cameras caught it all, naturally. Social media erupted faster than a Rashid Khan googly. “Poor sportsmanship!” cried the purists. “King Kohli doesn’t fake it!” roared the Viratians. Meanwhile, the rest of us watched in bemused horror as a 37-year-old sporting legend treated a post-match ritual like it was optional, depending on his mood and the scoreboard. The sarcasm here writes itself. Cricket loves to lecture the world about “spirit of the game.” We’ve had entire documentaries about walking when you nick one (a quaint custom now as rare as a honest politician). Yet when a player with Kohli’s aura decides the spirit doesn’t include shaking hands with an opponent who dared sledge back, suddenly it’s “passion.” Imagine if this was anyone else—say, a young domestic player or a foreign import without the god-like status. The BCCI would probably issue a statement, sponsors would frown, and the moral brigade would demand a suspension. But for Virat? It’s just another chapter in the Legend of the Unshakable Ego. Let’s be brutally honest in that sarcastic way the situation deserves: Kohli has built a career on intensity. That fire has won India matches, carried RCB through lean years, and turned him into a global icon. Fair play. But intensity without self-awareness becomes petulance. At 37, one might expect a veteran to understand that leaving the fight on the field is what separates great competitors from those still proving something. Head, the Australian opener known for his own swashbuckling style and calm demeanor off the field, extended the olive branch. Kohli swatted it away like a bothersome yorker. The message? “I can dish it, but I won’t shake on it.” Charming. The hypocrisy meter is off the charts. Indian cricket fans, quick to criticize Australian teams for “unsportsmanlike” behavior in past rivalries (remember the 2008 Sydney Test?), are now defending this as “mental disintegration” or “not forgetting the battle.” Australian fans, who once cheered sledging as national sport, are suddenly appalled. Everyone’s a hypocrite when their guy is involved. Travis Head himself seemed unfazed, posting something cryptic on Instagram that fans dissected like ancient runes. Classy response, really—ignoring the noise while the internet burned. Personality Cult This isn’t about one missed handshake. It’s about the cult of personality in modern cricket. Virat Kohli isn’t just a player; he’s a brand, an emotion, a religion for millions. His aggression inspires, but it also excuses. Commentators bend over backward to justify it: “He’s passionate.” “Competitive spirit.” Translation: “Don’t criticize the King.” Meanwhile, young fans learn that if you’re talented and famous enough, basic courtesy is negotiable. What a wonderful lesson for aspiring cricketers. Forget technique; master the art of selective handshakes. Critics will say I’m being harsh. After all, emotions run high in a 55-run thrashing. RCB lost, Kohli scored modestly, and Head’s team won. The banter was mutual. Why villainize one man? Because leadership and legacy demand better. Kohli has spoken eloquently about respect and the values of the game in countless interviews. Seeing him ignore a simple gesture undermines that. It’s not the end of civilization, but it is disappointing from someone who positions himself as an ambassador for Indian cricket. (The writer is a senior journalist based in Mumbai. Views personal.)

The Cruel Economics of Menstruation

From unpaid menstrual leave to clandestine hysterectomies, Beed district exposes the hidden violence of informal labour.

Sugar is not as sweet as you think, especially if it is coming from Beed District in Maharashtra where hundreds of women workers in their reproductive age are not allowed paid menstrual leave. That is not the only inhuman practice invested in women. Based on 2026 reports, Beed district in Maharashtra is considered a major hub for sugarcane labour, sending approximately 1.75 lakh (175,000) workers for sugarcane cutting every year, of which roughly 78,000 are women. A 2019 government inquiry found that over 13,000 (13,861) women sugarcane workers had undergone hysterectomies (womb removal) to avoid losing wages during periods.


The findings emerged from a district-level survey and inquiry committee in Maharashtra’s sugarcane belt, particularly Beed, which examined health records of women engaged in seasonal sugarcane cutting work. The report recorded hysterectomy cases among women workers, prompting concern over consent, medical necessity, and healthcare practices. Officials and health authorities have since reviewed the issue through committees and follow-up assessments, though no single conclusive nationwide figure has been established. But nothing positive towards these women has come out till date.


Clandestine Hysterectomies

The problem does not spring from the fact that The Supreme Court of India in March 2026 refused to make menstrual leave mandatory across the nation, warning it could cause employers to hesitate in hiring women, thus impacting their career opportunities. The problem is that women workers in sugarcane factories in Maharashtra are forced to undergo clandestine hysterectomies if they are on leave during their periods. And they do not complain as they might stand to lose their jobs as they belong to unorganized labour and choose the hysterectomy over losing their jobs often dependent on their sole earnings.


While some states like Bihar have provided 2 days of monthly leave for female government employees since 1992, and Karnataka initiated a policy for private sectors in 2025, no universal, nationwide legislation exists. Women working in the unorganized sector are kept out of these provisions. The tragedy lies in the fact that many of these young women are neither married nor have they produced children. This means that they are being deprived of their basic right to motherhood with premature hysterectomies. The Supreme Court has expressed concern that mandating such leaves could deter employers from hiring women. But isn’t reproduction a woman’s primary choice? Shouldn’t the choice be best left to these women? Besides, not giving paid leave during menstruation to young girls and women violates Article 14 of the Constitutional Law of Equality which is tantamount to making the male a human of priority and the female as “the other.”


Let us take a closer look. Anant Mahadevan, an award-winning film actor and director based in Mumbai, made a fiction film called ‘Bittersweet’ focussed on this issue. His film, in Marathi, explores through the eyes of a very young girl, Suguna, the tragic lives of young and biologically productive women working in the sugar farms of Beed in Maharashtra. The first-person account of a cane cutter, Satyabhama, narrating her ordeal alongside that of other women, led to media headlines describing Beed as “the village of women without wombs.” This piqued Mahadevan’s interest in making the film.


According to a report, Maharashtra has nearly 10 lakh sugarcane cutters, half of whom are from Beed district. Figures cited by civil rights organisations allege that the rate of hysterectomies in Beed is 14 percent higher than in the rest of the state.


The bitter experience of the women cane cutters is an irony that tugs at the social conscience. No man or woman is left untouched by this story of cane-cutters pushed to the wall for survival. ‘Bittersweet’ tells the true story of Satya Bhama, the woman who condemned the ritual of having to remove her womb and compared it to the dark slave ages of America.


Catherine A. MacKinnon in her extensive study ‘Towards a Feminist Theory of the State’ (1989) states that any nation and its law courts measure their standards according to the male experience and this is used to measure female experience as well which begins with discrimination on the basis of sex because the menstruating female with its associated health issues is considered an “exception.”


22-year-old Suguna in Mahadevan’s film is just a speck in the truckloads of sugarcane cutters being transported to Beed as the cutting season of six months begins in October. Her father had already run up a debt of thousands of rupees the previous year and was forced to work for free to repay the debt and also because her father is ill. Suguna has her first experience of cutting sugarcane and is determined to increase the output each day, to earn enough to compensate for her father’s labour who falls ill frequently and has aged beyond his years.


During one of these days, Suguna discovers a harsh truth. She is absent for three days because of very painful period. She learns that she has lost a sizable amount of salary for the absence and has to further compensate the sugar contractor by paying a fine. Then the truth of the region hits her - women here are forced to undergo hysterectomy so that work is not hampered even for an hour. She is faced with a tragic dilemma: lose her womb and womanhood forever or resign to a life of poverty and debts.


Suguna looks to the social activist Goyal for advice and though he asks her to protest against the inhumane norm, the sugar contractor offers to pay her an advance to conduct the operation. The cost of hysterectomy is borne by the contractor who has an arrangement with a gynaecologist and nursing home. But the girl must pay back the money in instalments. Suguna is forced to surrender in the end explaining that she has decided never to become a mother in her life, not realising that that right to her body to conceive, carry and produce a child has been illegally, unethically and wrongly snatched from her forever.


Massive Migration

Mahadevan’s research for the film revealed that lakhs of cane cutters migrate to western Maharashtra from October to March, which is the cane cutting season in the sugar belt. As the drought in the region intensifies, the migration also doubles. Contractors have a problem with the menstrual cycle of the women because it hinders the course of work. During their periods, women would often ask for leave for a day or two. This is unacceptable in the cane cutting culture and attracts a fine, instead of allowing the leave. To get rid of this, Beed women find it better to remove their uterus instead of going through the threatening consequences. The contractors draw up contracts with the husband and wife counted as one unit.


There are 99 private hospitals in the Beed district. 11 of these hospitals have carried out more than 100 hysterectomies in the last three years. In three years, 4605 women have had their uterus removed in Maharashtra and the rate in Beed is 14 times more than that for the State or country and we feel the figures may be higher, he says.


In its bid to outdo Brazil as the numero uno exporter of sugar in the world, sugar barons end up surreptitiously exploiting women labour in the fields, says Mahadevan.


By enticing them to undergo hysterectomy, the system, besides inflicting mental stress on the cutters also defies all-natural biological progression of the human race. The people at the helm are so powerful that nothing can be pinned on them for perpetrating this horrific deed. “Suguna dared to spill the beans. This is her true story, that however was quelled and pushed under the carpet. Bittersweet is a story of survival...killing one’s present to protect their future!” he says.


(The author is a noted film scholar who writes extensively on social issues. Views personal.)

Comments


bottom of page