Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
-Robert Frost

Few amongst us wouldn’t have come to cross roads in our life. That juncture in our life, when we have to choose where we want to head next. Whether it is what you want to study, where you want to work, whom you want to spend the rest of your life with - choices are one thing you cannot run away from. The most significant decision in my life was my choice of giving up the one thing that I loved very much, Badminton. I still play for fun, but it has been over 10 years since I gave up dreaming about being a professional Badminton player.

Robert Frost could have “kept the other road for another day”, but for most of us, there is no turning back. We choose, we decide and move on. The best we can do is wonder how life would have turned out, if we had chosen, in my case, the road less traveled. And if wondering so makes our heart ache, we often decide never to ponder about that path again. It then becomes one of the little closed boxes in our memory rack that we refuse to open. To me, badminton is the one that has been given the strongest lock. That nook of my memories that I never bother to look back at.

So, why today? I chanced upon a post about Nikhil Kanetkar today. I remember Nikhil from the time we attended a National Badminton camp in Goa, and then from several Sub-junior and Junior National championships. We even had a weird nickname for him in the girl’s dorm (which I won’t mention here), because he was freakishly clean (by the standards of 12-year olds in a sports camp). The other names in that post conjured up several memories too. In one of my best matches, I remember beating Aparna Popat & partner in doubles, the victory made all the more sweet because I had woefully lost in singles to her just the previous day.

From the time I could remember to when I was 16, I lived, breathed and dreamt about Badminton. While most kids worried about exams and the cute boy around the corner, I just had one obsession - and that was to win. On the Badminton court. I think I had my very own racket at 3. A small wooden one. As I grew older, the rackets grew lighter and my trainings grew longer. I trained with the Sports Authority of India (SAI) facilities in my home town. A typical day would see us at the courts from 6 am to 8 am and then from 4.30pm to 8.30pm. And this was five days a week, 52 weeks a year. Pepper it with the all-important tournaments where you pit your skills against the rest who have been undergoing pretty much the same grueling training in different parts of the country, and you have an idea of an aspiring sportsperson’s life. On most days, it was well past 9pm when I started my homework. Stressful as it might seem to an outsider, I loved those days. I traveled to many parts of India to participate in the tournaments. I had friends in different parts of the country. Above all, I loved the sport. And I seriously believed that I would make it big, one day.

Yet here I am, 10 years hence, in a world far removed. As I think back to the time when I was presented with the two diverging roads in my yellow wood, I wonder why I didn’t take the road I wanted to. If I had let the naive teenager choose the rosy path, as seen with her tinted shades of optimism, I probably would still be playing Badminton now. No, I borrowed some logic from the future risk analyst I was to become, some wisdom from the world weary traveler I am, and some pessimism from the disillusioned old woman I might become - and decided that it was not to be. Why did I decide to follow my head, rather than my heart? I could be just one among the millions who chose a less risky route, but the answers to my questions could well be relevant to anyone pondering the sad state of sports in India.

Reason numero uno was politics. From the time I was young, my mother, who was a successful sportsperson in her days, used to tell me - be the best; far better than the rest, so that they can’t ignore you. Because if you are number 2, you could just as well be the dust on the carpet, swept away to make way for the bold and the beautiful. I still remember the time when I came runners-up in a state tournament, and I should rightfully have been selected to represent the state in both singles and doubles. Young as I was, I was happily sidelined, by the coach and team manager who decided to play up a minor shoulder injury I had. It took a lot of tussle between my parents and the organisers before they let me play the singles, while they still didn’t let me play the doubles, because they had to somehow fit in the district collector’s daughter into the whole equation. I could play that day because I had very supportive parents, but in subsequent years, I have seen many kids being sidelined because they don’t know the right people. The lack of meritocracy can sometimes reach appalling heights. Forget team selections, I have even seen coaches advising trainees to lose matches on purpose. Whatever the reason might have been, match fixing, even in its most crude lame form, is never acceptable. And yet that happens in India, even in the lowest level of sports.

The second was lack of support, lack of exposure, lack of opportunities. Sports were encouraged in my school, to a large extent. That is, as long as it did not affect your studies. I was lucky enough to be able to manage both relatively easily. So, I got by without many problems till I was in the 10th standard. But with the board exams looming near, many were those who told my parents they were crazy for letting me play sports and miss so many classes. To the ordinary man, sports is still a waste of time, with not much hope for the future. And I wouldn’t fault them for that mentality, because it is true to a large extent in our country. At least if you are not playing cricket. Only because my father was willing to spend money to buy me shuttles and rackets and sports gear, and even pay for the trips for the tournaments, could I play even as much as I could. I wouldn’t kid myself that there weren’t more talented kids with less support from parents.

In most other countries, there is infrastructure for children to play a variety of sports in school, and then if someone shows talent, the national bodies of that sport, or private sponsors would pick up the tab for the child’s sporting needs, as long as he is willing to choose that career path. But not so in India. By the time sponsors come knocking at your door, you must have made a very significant name for yourself. And many are those we drop on the way, just because they couldn’t hang in there till they were good enough. Indian sports collectively lack the infrastructure to pick up young talent, nourish them and bring them to fruition. Who is to blame? The government who has to bear the primary responsibility (though I believe that the SAI schemes are a step in the right direction), the media who with their excessive hype on cricket and tennis forget all else, and private companies, who should consider sponsoring local sporting talents as a way to contribute to the community they operate in.

And the third reason for me, was lack of exit options. Just about the time I finished high school and had to think seriously about my future, three of my friends and fellow Badminton players were off the Baddy scene, because of various injuries. Add to that a nagging knee injury I used to have every once in a while, and I was forced to think of what would my future be like, if I had to quit somewhere halfway through. And the fact is, it looked bleak. If I were to decide not to invest in academics, and then not be able to complete the race to sporting glory, there weren’t too many options. Forget falling by the wayside, even if you retired with fanfare and glory, it doesn’t get much better. How many of India’s sportsmen remain truly rich? Or attain the kind of iconic status like those in other countries? Fact is, not many. Haven’t we all read about old champions pawning their gold medals to buy food?

If I had to choose between aspiring to be a businessman like Narayana Murthy or an economist like Manmohan Singh or a successful professional like Rajat Gupta or a sportswoman like P.T.Usha, and if quality of life, especially after the heydays, were a criteria, sadly P.T.Usha fares way behind. And that is because, for all our occasional rant about lack of sportspeople in India, we just don’t care enough about those who fly the national flag in the sports fields. Sports is a high risk game. If the rewards don’t make up for the high risk, it is just not worth playing. Be it money, power, prestige, popularity - there ain’t enough for sports in India.

I won’t prolong this post any longer. I don’t follow the Indian sports scene much these days, and thus I don’t claim to know all about what ails Indian sports. These are just the reasons why I personally chose to ignore the grassy road that wanted wear and took the one that looked nice and fair. I don’t blame the pathetic nature of Indian sports infrastructure for the decision I took - in fact, I look back and am amazed at the prudence and clarity of thought I showed at that age. If I had to do it again, I might probably choose the same road I did back then. Yet, I would be lying if I said that the state of affairs in Indian sports had nothing to do with it. Somewhere, someday, when I have enough resources and capabilities, I hope to do something about it. But for now, it will remain the closed door of my mind. And I will just be happy wishing all the Badminton players of India the very best, as they prepare for the National Championships.