At the start of the Women’s World Cup, I heard many versions of “women can’t play cricket. Go to the kitchen and cook.” But ever since I played my World Cup in 1978, and was told by strangers to go stand “chulhey ke saamne”, I knew what would happen next. The blood boils first, and then turns so icy that nobody can stop you from winning. You tell yourself that these men only know of women working at the stove.
On the day of the final, I heard something else. A big fan of men’s cricket said that they had no clue the men’s team were playing a T20I series in Australia at the same time. On that day, I also heard about a top woman player, a star, whose family faced criticism for letting her play. By the end, we were talking about the big endorsements she can earn. That, for me, is the 1983 parallel with 2025.
Both teams broke ground but to those who say it was easier for the women — please pick up a bat, face the crowd’s pressure while chasing a 300-plus score against Australia, win, and then blubber. Results speak. All of India fell in love with cricket after Kapil Dev, and India fell for the sport, once again, after Harmanpreet Kaur. When we played in the 1970s and 1980s, our matches barely had any spectators except in Eden Gardens. Now, not only has the women’s team defied those who didn’t even want them to play, it has used this defiance to earn a world title. Women’s cricket has changed forever. We want players beyond Smriti Mandhana and Harmanpreet to earn millions in endorsements — show them the money. The fact is, nobody can ignore women’s cricket now.
Some personalities from 1983 resonate with 2025. It’s not just the last catch running back, but Harmanpreet is like Kapil — quiet, speaking only when spoken to, with immense intelligence and intuition. Jemimah Rodrigues is like Sunil Gavaskar — focussed, correct on the field, but jovial off it. Smriti’s batting is elegant like Sandeep Patil’s, and Renuka Singh is like Roger Binny. Deepti Sharma is Mohinder “Jimmy” Amarnath, a fearless all-rounder. Amanjot Kaur, like Jimmy, has a short run-up. Richa Ghosh can be compared to Kris Srikanth, happy-go-lucky and a buccaneer, but also like Virender Sehwagfrom 2011.
Kapil’s team faced the fastest bowlers of the day, on challenging English wickets. And Harmanpreet’s team faced Australia. Although the Cup was won with teamwork, just like in 1983, the semi-final needed a special one-woman show from Jemimah. She is, incidentally, from my school, St Joseph’s, Bandra. We Josephites are known for our fighting spirit and teamwork, and knowing what to do in any match situation. Away from the field, we bring the roof down with jokes and songs, and on it, we are on our toes, letting the fielding speak for our fitness.
Jemimah faced a lot of odds and I know when she’s down, she speaks a lot to Jade Joy Rodrigues, her Jack Russell terrier. I did not move an inch after she came out to bat against Australia in the semi-final, and she proved to be a godsend for India, a blessed soul who brought the team back after three losses. She took me right back to the 1983 feeling. Like Gavaskar, she was a pillar forthe team, and held fort doggedly. But I still get goosebumps replaying the lastHarmanpreet catch.
The difference between then and now is that this team had a lot of support from the BCCI unlike Kapil’s team, from whom nobody expected anything. Both teams held their nerve, and the women had to fight to restore the faith of their fans after three losses. Both teams fought their battles silently, and proved why they shouldn’t be underestimated.
Like the men in the 1983 squad, the women in the 2025 team come from all corners of India. This diversity, fighting spirit and assertive body language are lovely to see. But the “zidd” they displayed is very Indian, very 1983. They wanted to show that you can’t give up on Indian women.
The writer was a memberof the 1978 World Cup team
