Asawari had a full blown affair in Delhi with Rhythmic
Gymnastics beginning year 2003 and ending 2007. It had all the elements of a
passionate engagement. There was drama, intrigue, heartbreak and betrayal.
Fortunately one can look back now and laugh but it was a painful familiarization
with the murky Indian Gymnastics world while it lasted.
Having been brought up to expect fair play and assume
personal responsibility for one’s own condition, there was this constant self
doubt and self examination while the open book cheating was going on. The fact
of the matter was that she was “nobody’s child” in the intrigue laden stadia of
Indian Rhythmic Gymnastics. She did not belong to any of them, not Shampa Saini
Ma’am, not Kalpana Debnath and certainly not the dynamic and talented Varsha
Upadhayaye. There was no Mama Coach to push her case and fight for points on
the judge’s table. Despite her obvious talent, desire and drive, she remained
an outsider until the end.
Professionals related to India’s Rhythmic gymnastics would
say, “She stands out a mile away.” “I would give her five points straight away
for the way she stands on the mat.” And this final straw from the honorary secretary of Delhi
Gymnastics Association (DGA) Ram Dulare, coming over his Bank counter in
Chandni Chowk, “Your daughter’s biggest drawback is that she is good. They will
never let her get ahead.”
All the coaches had their daughters and nieces in the same
group as Asawari. They were one age and moved up with her through the Sub
Junior, Junior and Senior brackets. There was open talk that two sets of gold
medals were made during every State Championship; one went to Asawari and the
other to one of the nieces or daughters. Chalk would get told from Cheese
however, at the nationals where the insipid relatives invariably fell way short
of the final eight. And yet the institutional blinders continued in place,
shutting out a potential champion completely.
Asawari’s reaction was denial, and understandably so. She was too young
and too much in love with the mat routines to believe the worst or read the
writing on the wall that said, “India’s sports world is run by self-serving,
arrogant officials whose expertise lies in mutually beneficial networking and
back scratching with a zilch interest in promotion of the disciplines.”
Every day, around 3 pm, we would be at the Indira Gandhi
Stadium right after school. While I sweated it out in the heated car under the
shade of a tree in the company of other drivers or walked the outer track of the
stadium, Asawari worked out inside, going through her paces by sheer hit and
trial. The coach sat on the broken sofa or did her own desultory warming up
exercises. It was right under her nose that Asawari struggled to make sense and
order of her elements. Completely at the mercy of an indifferent training
regimen, the gymnasts looked to their seniors for inspiration who in turn waited
for these pests to leave so that they could rehearse their elements in peace.
There was secrecy about routines for fear of copy cat work in the forthcoming
competitions. Her coach’s only golden pearl of wisdom shelled out grudgingly to
Asawari was, “Read the Code of Points.”
There was a shroud of
secrecy such as you have over the Carnation wearing Italian mafia. Cliques huddled
together and avoided looking into the eyes of bewildered parents like me. No
coach would come outright and say what her potential was or what the future
held for her. They made vague statements about the, “touch of ballet in her gym
lines” and “the new crop that has been sowed” and “the amount of politics in
Indian gymnastics”. All this while, Asawari was happy enough to accompany teams
on way to National competitions in unreserved or wait listed bogeys, at times
parked near the toilets in ill fitting gym attire provided by the State Sports
body, once at Sheila Dixit’s residence, if you please.
As a family, we agonized over the vast chasm between her
dream and the real potential of realizing it ever. At the completion of her Xth
from DPS R K Puram, we even considered the Open School for the duration of her
senior years. She and I made a pilgrimage to Varsha Upadhayaye in Mumbai to try
and understand what needed to be done for her to be able to wear the tricolour
on the sleeve. That was the crux. Asawari fancied herself entering the mat with
the “Tiranga” on her gym leotard. She heard the Indian anthem in her head all
the time. She pictured herself standing in an international arena as her
country’s flag went up and the notes sounded out.
Many an evening did this flexible child of mine spend poring
and crying over videos of Nadia Comaneci, Kerri Strug and Dominique Moceanu. Try as
I might, those images do not go: a fatigued young Indian sports girl, vainly
trying to grasp at quicksilver moments that simply refused to happen. How could
they? There was absolutely no instruction or preparation forthcoming. She was
adrift alone.
To set the record straight, lest it be said that there was
lack of dedication, it is true that Asawari was taking Ballet lessons from
Fernando Aguilera at the same time as she was training in Gymnastics. But
rather than discount it as a distraction, I would have counted it as a huge
plus to be the only Rhythmic Gymnast in India at that time to be seriously
training in Ballet. The world over, Ballet lessons are an integral component of
a Rhythmic gymnast’s training.
There was talent, there was desire, and there were the means
as well as support at home. I have not been able to figure out what was
missing. Did I not “hi hello” enough with the coaches and the judges? Was there
some “adjustment” that I missed out on completely? Did her obvious talent threaten to upset the
apple cart where the coaches took turns to award each other’s protégée the
first place, the market principle being of living and letting live?
Asawari’s gymnastics story has long been done but even
today, in her significant moments, whenever she is particularly happy or sad;
she has just one request, “Can we drive to the IG stadium?”Once past the Delhi Secretariat, I slow down
near the stadium gate, she alights from the car, goes up close to peep through
and always asks the guard, “Bhaiyya, practise kaisi chal rahi hai? “
One day she told me, “When I finally go, scatter me around
the stadium. I know my spirit is going to be roaming this stretch for a long
time to come!”
Is ours a case of sour grapes? Have others had similar
frustrating encounters with a phenomenon called Indian sports?
PS: The Gymnastics Federation of India (GFI) has had their recognition
withdrawn by the Sports Ministry in the past once. Other luminaries we
interacted with during those years of IG stadium were Mr Prem Kashyap and Mr
Kan Singh Rathore. Dr D R Saini also made some promises of advanced training.
