The last live football match I watched in Kathmandu was a fixture between Nepal and Afghanistan in the early 2000s. The experience was hardly uplifting. This was because there has always been a section among my city’s football-watching crowd who find different ways to demonstrate their boorishness. At the aforementioned game, someone soon began the chant of ‘Taliban! Taliban!’ that got carried around the stadium. Where we should have all stood up to applaud a team just freed of the yoke of a mediaeval theocracy that prohibited all kinds of sports, they were instead taunted as being the self-same religious extremists.

One more reason why I felt justified in not being particularly enamoured of sporting events that pit countries against each other. Sports are really a lot of fun to watch and the skills on display something to marvel at. Games are also touted for its ability to bring people together, with the Olympic movement being the most prominent example. The downside, though, is that it also manages to rouse our latent tribalism and often succeeds in bringing out the basest of our instincts—as we showed our Afghan visitors back then.

Personal preferences aside, however, over the last few days it would have been quite difficult to escape the collective euphoria that swept Nepal in the wake of the South Asian Games. Coming in the backdrop of a sports bureaucracy that appeared woefully unprepared till the very last moment, there can be no doubt that the games were a success as an event. The crowning achievement though would have to be Nepal’s richest haul of gold medals in the history of this regional meet.

The darling of the nation was obviously Gaurika Singh, the teenage sensation with her multiple golds in swimming. Having held national records for years and being trained in England by coaches ‘who have produced world-class swimmers’, as her Wikipedia page says, it was only a matter of time before she made it internationally. That she did it in such style was a bonus.

Somewhat lost in the celebrations though were the stories of numerous other sportspersons who also made it. And they were the ones who faced all kinds of adversities that continues to be the lot of a large number of Nepalis. In the rest of my column, I highlight the struggles of some of these sports heroes—as a tribute to their perseverance against all odds.

Official indifference

First, let me deal with examples of the callousness of officialdom. Nepali shooters had guns that did not work. Hence, they had to make do with pistols borrowed from the Pakistani competitors while bullets were provided by the Indians. It was certainly in the spirit of regional cooperation but hardly the kind of situation any athlete would want to be in.

Soni Gurung won gold in triathlon and this was despite the sports officials. Although promised one, a new bicycle never materialised. That did not deter Soni from giving her best. In fact, she said the indifference from the authorities actually spurred her to go for gold. She said: ‘In running, swimming and cycling in a triathlon, the most effort is expended in cycling. But, since my cycle was old, I put in 80 percent effort in the others and 120 percent in cycling.’

Kamal Bahadur Adhikari had won gold in weightlifting at the 2006 Games. This time he failed partly because his weightlifting shoes arrived just three days before the games and that, too, of the wrong size. He had to be content with a bronze, although he could share that achievement with his wife, fellow-weightlifter Rajya Laxmi Adhikari, who also won a bronze.

True heroes

It was the report of a plaintive wail from Kajal Shrestha after winning gold in taekwondo that spurred me to write this piece. Before choking with emotion, Kajal had cried: ‘We are not rich. We are poor. My father has been struggling in the Gulf for the sake of our family. That’s why I remember him so vividly now.’

Another story that made headlines was about national champion Tulasa Khatri, who went to Qatar as a labour migrant. That an athlete with an army job and who had just broken the national 400-metre record at the Military World Games in China one month earlier, should quit on the eve of a major sporting event at home speaks volumes about the conditions our sportsperson have to perform under. We later found out that Tulasa’s father has been toiling in Malaysia for years and her mother has a heart condition. As the eldest of five siblings, she felt she had no choice but to kill her athletic ambitions and help with family finances.

There was the endearing story of Nima Gharti Magar, who won her second South Asian gold in wushu. Despite his daughter having reached the finals, Nima’s father nearly did not make it in time since the pick-up he drives for hire broke down.

Gold medallist in downhill cycling Rajesh Magar is apparently somewhat of a legend despite his young years. Raising him and his sister, his mother did the rounds as domestic help while his casual alcoholic of a father worked in construction. The first cycle Rajesh bought was disposed of for peanuts by his mother worried about his studies. Not having any money, he crafted his own mountain bike, including even parts from a motor scooter. If you have not watched it yet, the film about him, RJ Ripper, is definitely worth it.

Sangita Dhami’s father abandoned her, her mother and two sisters because they were not sons. Raised by a single mother who raised buffaloes and sold milk for a living, Sangita’s dedicating her gold medal in wrestling to her mother should be a well-deserved slap to her father’s face.

Another athlete abandoned by her father is judoka Poonam Shrestha. After winning gold, she said that her sister had to quit studies to go abroad for work and had bought a piece of land in Chitwan. ‘I hope to build a house with the money the government will give me for my gold medal,’ said Poonam.

Sanju Chaudhary’s father works in a hospital, presumably as a lowly staff. Feeling great pressure to make a living, after winning gold in wrestling, she wished she could get a part-time day job so that she could continue training in the mornings and evenings.

‘Syowambhu, Teendhara. One room. A gas stove near the doorway. Two beds. A small space in between where two people cannot pass…’ Thus began the description of the dwelling of Mangal Tharu—Mangal, the three-time national wushu champion. He has a job with the Armed Police Force but that is hardly enough for anything else apart from sustenance. He was hoping for a gold medal at the Games, but a fracture in his left leg after a third-round victory left him distraught. Distraught also because he missed his daughter’s birth because he had to be under training at the time.

A salute to all these heroes and others like them.

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