Like most Indians, my love for sports was pretty much limited to cricket. I was part of that generation of fans who were drawn more to Kapil Dev’s rugged charisma than Sunil Gavaskar’s polished finesse. Yet, PT Usha remained part of my world, shaped as much by her achievements as by the time in which I came of age. Milkha Singh’s fourth-place finish at the Olympics was already part of sporting folklore, but PT Usha stood out as a rare exception in a country obsessed with cricket. She became a familiar face, helped along by that iconic Doordarshan spot, Mile Sur Mera Tumhara.
While The Day I Became a Runner features PT Usha and eight other remarkable yet lesser-known athletes, it was the subtitle that truly caught my eye: ‘A Women’s History of India Through the Lens of Sports’. That sounded far more intriguing. The book tells the stories of nine women athletes, a training facility for young women, and a chapter dedicated to those who didn’t make it into the spotlight or even the sports. Like Muslim women.
All it took was the first chapter to pull me in—and surprisingly, it wasn’t about a famous athlete. Instead, it focused on the author’s own experience of running in public spaces and what it meant in a deeply patriarchal society. It was a personal account, but insightfully captured the slice of time and society we live in. The first chapter set the rhythm and tone for the rest of the book. The stories shifted gears effortlessly, never falling into monotony or losing their momentum. From delving into the contours of her own body and mind to exploring the lives of the athletes she profiled and the places they lived and played, the writer moved through the narrative with remarkable grip and depth.
The female athletes profiled in this book have encountered adversities—whether in the form of controversy, injustice, heartbreak, or a combination thereof. Like PT Usha’s agonising near-miss at the Olympics, where she missed the bronze by a whisker, stories of athletes like Dutte Chand, Pinki Pramanik, and Santhi Soundrajan, who were humiliated and kept away from the glory they deserved due to confused notions of sex and gender in the games. Then there are stories of Kamaljit Sandhu, Mary D’Souza and Lalita Babar with their share of success and distinctions. Their names may not ring out, but their stories resonate, leaving a trace in a discerning reader’s memory.
A striking feature of the book is that it never slips into being a collection of sob stories or tales of defeat. The writer has brought each athlete’s journey on and off the track with honesty and nuance, without falling into hero worship or pushing any ideological agenda. Readers are fully convinced that these were stories that demanded to be told and she has done full justice. The book doesn’t just chronicle the uphill battles these women faced—often without the glory they deserved—it also captures their personalities, small details that capture their character, and their quiet resilience in the face of injustice and neglect. The prose is tender and vivid, with many personal references that add another layer to the narrative.
Books like these often run the risk of overwhelming the reader with too much data, especially when the subject isn’t very popular or ‘mainstream’. This book sidesteps that trap. It’s rich with facts—players, games, records— all of it perfectly blended with anecdotes, sharp observations, critiques of social norms, and the challenges women face in modern times. The result is a textured portrait of women who ran, not just on tracks, but through the margins of history.
Not all interviews with the athletes yielded the information the writer would have preferred. Yet, every time she comes up with a fresh approach, without getting repetitive. The profiles are rich with social commentary. They include a complex relationship arc of the coach and the athlete, women’s place in a society, and how their lives may not have caused a revolution, but lit the fuse for change. Such shifts may be subtle, as seen in PT Usha’s story, but their impact runs deep and wide.
Engaging with athletes past their prime—reconstructing their lives with all their triumphs and setbacks and doing so without judgment—is no small feat. Add to that the modern-day views of someone like PT Usha which may seem at odds with her legendary status in the eyes of some readers. Even the writer, a devoted admirer of Usha, has admitted to struggling with this dissonance. Yet, she has navigated these tensions with remarkable poise, keeping her narratives balanced and grounded.
The final chapter, which explores the absence of Muslim women in Indian athletics, draws a compelling parallel between sports and cinema. As a National Award-winning film critic, Sohini Chattopadhyay brings equal insight into both worlds. She delves into the careers of Muslim film stars and athletes like Sania Mirza, offering a layered analysis of their journeys.
More than simply profiling the athletes featured in the book, it offers readers a fresh lens on the society that shapes—and often distorts—their stories. In essence, it’s not just about the games these women play, but also the games society plays with them.
Author: Sohini Chattopadhyay
Publisher: HarperCollins/Novisit
Price: Rs599
(Urvish Kothari is a writer, translator and columnist whose work spans history, politics, culture; he is also a popular online humourist and satirist.)
