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These iron-willed women from Assam, West Bengal and Haryana are jabbing at hardship, poverty and subjugation, with the hope of striking gold in life. Text and photographs by Sharbendu De
T
he boxing ring is a rare space where the laws of a nation are temporarily suspended. Perceived traditionally as an arena for men, the ring has witnessed a gradual rise in the number of women boxers – in pursuit of their dreams, and in search of an escape pod that teleports them from subservience to self-reliance. It is a quest for individual space. Predictably, it’s been a long fight for women’s boxing, against institutional and societal apathy. In 2012, when the sport was included for the first time in the Olympics at London, 30-year-old M.C. Mary Kom, a wife and mother of two boys 52
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(now three), from the north-eastern state of Manipur, won a bronze medal. It set a butterfly effect in motion for many young girls across the country. Over a decade ago, nine-year-old Nabanita Chakraborty from the coalproducing town of Margherita in Tinsukia, Assam, was introduced to boxing by her
doting father. Her coach Sam Daniel is a former athlete and a self-styled boxing coach, with a reputation for performing miracles with amateur boxers, and winning medals for Assam. “I dream of playing like Mary Kom didi, and winning a medal for my country,” says Nabanita. Crediting her presence in the sport to her father, who
Jennifer Daniel, who has won several championships, says, “When Laila Ali’s matches were aired late at night, my father would wake me up and force me to watch”
passed away a few years ago, she promises: “I’ll continue to box in my father’s memory. I will accomplish his dream of seeing me as a boxing champion.” Twenty seven-year-old Jennifer Daniel – sprightly, quick-witted – is coach Daniel’s daughter and an accomplished boxer, with stacks of medals and shields that speak for her. “When Laila Ali’s matches were telecast late at night, my father would pour water on my face to wake me up and force me to watch,” Jennifer recalls. Today, Jennifer has won over 20 regional, state and national level championships, and attended over 10 national camps. At one such meet, she and Mary Kom were roommates. She remembers the day in 2001, when she was welcomed by the sports minister of Assam with a cash reward of ` 10,000, for winning the gold medal at the National Games in Punjab. “That was the first time I had ever seen a ` 1,000 note in my life,” she says. In 2000, at a national championship in Kolkata, she won the ‘Best Boxer Award’. And yet, she awaits recognition, and a job, as acknowledgement of her contribution to the sport. Petty politics over regional identity have reined in Jennifer’s growth. Her Tamilian Christian lineage comes in the way, Jennifer alleges. “Since Daniel, my father’s surname, is attached with my name, I’m not given preference over other Assamese boxers, despite the fact that I’ve lived here all my life,” she says. Subtlety earns no quarter inside the ring, but outside, there’s a certain tenderness at play when Daniel’s young trainees – both girls and boys – huddle post-training around Katherine, his four-year-old. While they play, Surjan Begum, Jennifer’s 36-yearold stepmother (Sam remarried after his first wife died of cancer), toils in the kitchen, dishing out breakfast for the young trainees. An erstwhile boxer herself, she had hoped her career would get a lift courtesy her marriage to the 56-year-old Daniel. Dominant gender roles eventually confined her to the kitchen, an arena from where she could look at the trainees prepare for glory, but not participate. At the Ananda Mela Boxing Club, a neighbourhood club in Howrah, West Bengal, coach Sanjib Banerjee promotes
From top: Jennifer Daniel, Nabanita Chakraborty and other boxing trainees out for an early morning warm-up jog; Jennifer Daniel shows the string of medals; Surjan Begum, an erstwhile boxer and stepmother of Jennifer, quietly watches over the young boxers practising in their backyard
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A women’s boxing match at the 8th Junior Women’s International Boxing Championship held in September 2012 at Patiala, Punjab; 15-year-old Chaitali Kapat practises boxing under a tree in their neighbourhood in Howrah, West Bengal
“Every time I enter the ring I think of my father. I have a lot of anger inside me,” says Chaitali Kapat whose father was murdered the sport as a discipline to his pupils. “It’s more than just winning medals,” says Banerjee. “It is a demanding sport that needs both brawn and brain,” he says. “Boxing trains adolescent minds to control their anger and channelise it in a constructive manner.” Fifteen-year-old Chaitali Kapat, Banerjee’s student, is a case in point. Her father Lakshi, a hot-tempered man, was called out by his friends one evening seven years ago. He was found murdered the next morning. Left behind with two daughters to fend for, Chaitali’s mother works as a labourer at a garment factory earning 54
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` 2,000 per month. Not only has Chaitali inherited her father’s looks, but also his temperament. Coach Banerjee used to train youngsters in a small field in front of her house, and Chaitali would observe them sparring. “She would often pick fights with the older boys in the neighbourhood,” recalls Banerjee. “That’s when I asked her mother to send her for boxing, sensing that her anger could be due to the pent-up frustration from her father’s murder.” But her family was severely starved of resources; affording essential nutrition, let alone Banerjee’s fee, was beyond their reach. Banerjee took her under his tutelage for
free, and even bought her a jersey for practice sessions. Two years later, Chaitali has already won five state and national level championships. “I always liked fighting. I’ve got a lot of anger inside,” she confesses. “Even today, I wanted to go to school to beat up a boy who has been troubling my older sister.” Anger is the prevailing emotion with this lean, young girl. “This anger reminds me of my father,” she says. “Every time I step into the ring, I think of him.” Inside and outside the ring, Chaitali’s battle continues. “My mother keeps scolding me, and stops me from meeting my friends, out of fear that I might meet my father’s fate. At times I’ve considered running away. Earlier, I disliked my mother and wasn’t particularly attached to the rest of my family, but ever since I started boxing, I have found love in the sport.
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17-year-old Sonika Dhillon from Bhiwani practises boxing with other trainees, on the roof of their house, Bahalgarh, Haryana; Trainees hang around in coach Sam Daniel’s house after their morning training session in Margherita, Assam
My relationship with my mother and my family has improved,” she says. “I didn’t know of Mary Kom or the career prospects at first. All I knew was that I felt happy while boxing. I will continue for as long as I can, and get a job to support my family,” says Chaitali. “I tell my aunt that one day I’ll become famous as a boxer, win medals and loads of money. Then I will take care of all of you.” Boxing has begun to change her life, the heartless opponent with whom she has to spar daily for survival. There are several roadblocks along Chaitali’s way: hunger, acute paucity of resources, the need for high-energy
nutrition, training equipment, criticism from neighbours. “There are days when I don’t eat anything in the morning or afternoon, but go for practice. I feel extremely hungry after the training, but can’t afford better,” Chaitali says. “I was playing for gold in the 7th Sub-Junior Women’s National Boxing Championship in the 36-38 kg weight category in Kolkata last year, but had not eaten anything that day.” When Banerjee came to take her to the stadium, he enquired if she’d eaten, to which Chaitali quipped, “Don’t worry, Sir, I will still win gold.” He took her to his house and fed her a basic Bengali meal.
These women are not scared of being harassed as they know how to defend themselves. Men don’t mess with them either 56
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Chaitali won gold that day. Like Chaitali, 17-year-old Sonika Dhillon from the Bhiwani district in Haryana dreams of winning gold, to commemorate her dead brother, another aspiring boxer. She is now training at the Sports Authority of India stadium in Bahalgarh, under coach Amanpreet Kaur. The shadow of death has touched the life of all these girls, leaving scars behind. On one hand, their reasons for boxing seem to have been inspired by the men in their lives; on the other hand, the men in their neighbourhood no longer mess with these girls, nor are these girls afraid of them. They are equivocal in this assertion: “We know how to defend ourselves, and don’t need protection from men.” In such trying times, these boxers stand tall as harbingers of hope for a better tomorrow.