The kadwa Paris Olympics daal has left an unpleasant aftertaste… quel dommage!
The fiasco of started with the washed-out opening ceremony, which had several French Can-Can knickers in a twist. First off, grey Parisian skies rained on the parade, as a galaxy of glittering rain-soaked global athletes floated down the Seine on barges. The Indian contingent stood out, looking depressingly drab, dressed in ill-fitting shabby outfits that screamed “Third World”. Personally, I loved how daring, risqué and imaginative the French were, when they dramatically broke all the previous opening ceremony rules. Merci beaucoup for doing away with the standard (and very boring) marchpast of athletes strolling casually inside a stadium, idly waving national flags. But once the watching world was done with bitching out the crazy elements of the presentation (excuse me, folks, but that wasn’t a parody of Da Vinci’s iconic Last Supper, but a tableau of a Greek bacchanalian scene with Dionysus, the god of wine, at a “feast of the gods”). Alas, the creative French effort turned into a real-life Greek tragedy.
By then, the cauldron of bouillon was bubbling over, as nitpickers found fault with everything!
For us back home, the asli Greek tragedy revolved around 100 grams of heartbreak as Vinesh Phogat was disqualified at the nth hour from fighting for a gold in her wrestling event finals, despite all efforts by her vigilant team. India went into deep shock, as disheartened fans looked for convincing explanations. Conspiracy theories were widely circulated by those insisting Vinesh was victimised by her own countrymen, for taking on her politically well-connected tormentor, Brij Bhushan, who controls the dark, dirty, dangerous and highly lucrative world of wrestling. Vinesh became a desi Joan of Arc as a hyper-emotional nation made her an overnight superhero, a martyr. Thank God for the sobriety, wisdom and dignity of her uncle and coach Mahavir Phogat, who silenced critics and reduced many to tears when he declared he would prepare his niece for the next Olympics. Her emotional retirement speech (“Kushti won, I lost”) will reverberate for years to come. She has got a permanent place in history as a powerful symbol of immense courage. For millions of her supporters in India, the missed medal only added to her aura. Vinesh’s “worth” far exceeds 100 kg of gold in our hearts. Those maamuli 100 grams that changed her destiny will be suitably avenged.
The closing ceremony on Sunday may spring more shocks than surprises. The French have had the time to fix major cultural faux pas, as the Games shift to Los Angeles in 2028. But this is as good a time as any for the IOA to review all that is amiss and has gone awry in Paris this year. Similarly, India would do well to undertake a detailed exercise examining why a country of 1.4 billion cannot bring back more than a paltry five medals! We have remarkable athletes, an entire roster of potential medal- winners. And yet, despite enjoying world-class training facilities, we cannot deliver: killer instinct is lapataa. In the old days our excuse was a lack of funds. It’s not so today. While I vehemently disagree with Prakash Padukone belittling Lakshya Sen’s performance, Padukone did make a few valid points about the far superior conditions today’s athletes enjoy. There’s no paucity of funds! Then it must be a paucity of sound policies that derails us, what with pompous, mediocre, power-crazed officials in their comfortable offices, lording it over athletes sweating it out in the sporting arena. I remember my tweet on “khaali haat” and “selfies” during the Rio Olympics, when India struggled to win two medals despite sending 118 players. I was massacred and slammed by those who assumed my tweet was aimed at our hard-working, committed athletes! It was not! I was in attack mode against the bloated number of babus, freeloaders, pile-ons, who are always a part of the Indian contingent. What role do these people play? Do we need them? How brazenly they jump on to the bandwagon and treat the Olympics like a paid picnic. Besharams!
Whether it’s Vinesh or Neeraj Chopra, it’s easy for us, sitting in India, to damn those competing fiercely thousands of miles away. Critics who’ve never run 20 meters in their lives are the first to diss athletes when they lose. The most gracious voice from India is Saroj Devi’s, when she applauded the golden throw by a Pakistani construction worker’s son, who beat Neeraj, her own son, saying: “Arshad Nadeem is also our child”.
Vinesh has appealed against her disqualification and demanded a silver. This is only fair! The CAS (Court of Arbitration for Sport) verdict is awaited, at the time of writing. If it’s a silver, so be it. Vinesh has sweated blood for it.
Strange. The heart-rending story of a female grappler being denied a shot at winning gold swept aside every other Breaking News -- including the carnage in Bangladesh. Even the meme factory swiftly shifted from “Ek Hasina Thi… Ek Diwana” jokes, to focus on Vinesh and express support, the exciting live Olympics coverage on Jio Cinema ensured bloody wars in Gaza and Ukraine took a back seat as we remained glued to a different sort of action in Paris. That’s how “deep” or “shallow” our concerns are.
Back to Bangladesh… India has never read the neighbourhood right. As we approach yet another Independence Day on August 15, perhaps we can brutally examine why we antagonize everyone. The Bangladeshis don’t like us. They don’t trust us. We share a 4,096-km border with Bangladesh. But India’s Big Bully attitude has always backfired. While Hasina cools her heels as our mehmaan, let’s see how warmly the shrewd Muhammad Yunus negotiates future engagements with Delhi, given our thanda relationship over the years. Yunus is a master tactician, more than capable of juggling the Chinese, Americans and Pakistanis, while pretending to get into bed with India. Very few political watchers are buying into the story of infuriated students toppling Hasina’s government all on their own. The deadly mob violence unleashed appears to have been masterminded by ace international agencies intent on keeping the region on the boil.
Till peace and order are fully restored, Dhaka and New Delhi can figure out a working relationship, with less empty bak bak and more constructive talk. Meanwhile, S. Jaishankarji… do consider a longish chai break. Let the 84-year-old Nobel laureate next door do his job, without a meddlesome Big Brother interfering. His country. His people. His rules.
