She cut her hair short; another one played disguised as a boy; one player’s parents broke FDs to fuel her dreams; another one’s sibling gave up on her own sporting dreams to power her sister’s chances.
When the final wicket fell at DY Patil Stadium, history didn’t just happen – it erupted. For Sports Producer Suprita Das, standing by the boundary as Harmanpreet Kaur’s team sealed India’s first Women’s Cricket World Cup title, it wasn’t just victory; it was vindication. Vindication for every woman who had trained on dusty maidans, changed behind towels held up by teammates, and played in ill-fitting hand-me-down jerseys once designed for the men.
Das’s words carry the weight of decades of struggle. Author of Free Hit: The Story of Women’s Cricket in India, she has seen up close how legends like Mithali Raj and Jhulan Goswami played without salaries or contracts, getting their own kits sewed, borrowing equipment, and depending on parents who pawned jewellery or broke fixed deposits to buy a bat. “They built Indian women’s cricket on two things – love for the game and family support,” she says. Their courage transformed adversity into fuel.
These women came from villages and small towns, from Moga to Siliguri, each story a script of defiance. Harmanpreet Kaur, who once cut her hair short against Sikh tradition to train freely; Shafali Verma, who disguised herself as her brother to play; Radha Yadav, whose father sold vegetables until she bought him a grocery store with her first earnings — each player’s journey is stitched with grit and sacrifice.
At the World Cup final, that shared history came full circle. As the new champions lifted the trophy, they paused before their predecessors — Mithali, Jhulan, and others — and handed them the cup. “It was cinema,” Suprita recalls, “but it happened in real life.” The tears, the embraces, the unspoken understanding between generations of cricketers – that was the true victory.
The coach, Amol Muzumdar, and his backroom team forged not just players, but a family. Before every session, the squad would stand in silence for two minutes, eyes closed, to reflect, to visualize, to give thanks. That collective calm powered one of sport’s greatest comebacks: India lost its first three matches, then stormed back to lift the title.
Today, the image of a triumphant Harmanpreet leaping into her father’s arms, or Richa Ghosh being welcomed home by cheering schoolgirls, has changed how India sees its daughters. This is more than a cricket story. It’s a story of visibility, resilience, and women rewriting their destiny. “They’ve played in anonymity for years,” says Suprita. “Now the world finally knows their names.”