BHUBANESWAR: Shortly after 5.00 PM on a hot Monday afternoon at the Kalinga Stadium in Bhubaneswar, Savita Punia looked at a life-sized poster of herself in the stadium. "Savita," it read. "300 appearances." The goalkeeper, who had taken her place in the centre of the turf for the national anthem, couldn't stop smiling. Even as a few tears escaped her eyes, she was felicitated.
Savita -- or Savi-ta as she's known thanks to her skills between the sticks -- had become just the second Indian women's player (first since Vandana Katariya) to reach the milestone. During the felicitation function, the other Indian players looked at her with awe and admiration, a look of reverence plastered on their faces. Among them was 17-year-old, Sunelita Toppo.
Around the time Toppo was born, Punia came into national reckoning. A new generation of centennials may be coming through the system but this millennial remains fundamental to the team's cause. The irony, though, and there are plenty, is this. When Punia was 17, she didn't have any intentions of being a regular for the national team. "I told myself I would give this sport one chance," she says.
It feels right by beginning to narrate her story at a time when she didn't like the sport all that much. At the hostel one random Friday in 2007, Punia was the happiest she had been in a while. The reason? Leaving behind her hockey life and going back home. Homesickness. The 'lack of courage' to gel with fellow students at the 'English medium school I was in'. "I wanted to learn but I feared I wouldn't be able to compete," she says. The bland sabzis... she used to do whatever her coaches asked her to do for fear of punishment. "I had no goal."
When she was told her father was coming to pick her up, she had excitedly packed her luggage the previous night before 'having a great day of training'. "I had just assumed it was my last day there," she says. A rude shock awaited her. Her dad had struck a deal with the coach after the latter convinced the former of her potential as a goalkeeper 'because of my long reach and height'. Her dad had even paid `18,000 as fees.
"I didn't stop crying that night," the now 34-year-old reminiscences. "I didn't even like hockey... I thought I would try it just once."
Over the next few months, her stature grew to such an extent she was knocking on the India door. So she had a new goal even if, in her head, she had decided to leave the sport for good. "I just want to play for India once.
"Bas ek baar India khelna hai."
Eighteen years later, she's on 301 caps.
How did the custodian go from not wanting to play more than once to 'play till it becomes physically impossible to not play?'
Like most things in her life, this also involves a story from the heart. Shortly after she was picked for the senior national camp, a few scribes had knocked on her house for an interview. Once it was published, her brother read out the piece to her grandfather, Ranjit Singh Punia.
"My grandfather always remained aloof," she says. "He had seen multiple tragedies in the form of untimely deaths in our family. I never saw him happy but when the article got published, he broke down. He promised me that 'I will learn how to read within the year so that I can read the article myself'." He wanted to read his and his granddaughter's names with his own two eyes.
"I felt that because of this one thing, if he can forget all the bad times and get motivated to do something, then I'm never leaving this sport. I will continue playing till it is physically impossible for me."
From 2007 till now, she has had a ringside seat to how far the country has progressed in sport. One area, though, that is yet to completely evolve, pertains to safety at the grassroots level. "Safety," she says, "shouldn't be a reason for a child to decide whether to pursue sport."
She picks up an incident from 2008 to drive home this point. En route home from Kurukshetra following a selection camp, the bus she was in broke down. "I had called dad from an STD booth and we had decided he would pick me up in our second-hand car at Hisar bus stand at around 4.30 PM. From Hisar to Sirsa, we were supposed to drive. Just before Kaithal, the bus broke down. I was stranded in the middle of the highway, with a goalkeeping kit in a big bag apart from my clothes in another bag.
"I was still in Kaithal at 8.30 PM. When a bus finally arrived, I stopped it and requested the conductor to help with the luggage. He looked at me and said 'you are a girl; ek ko bulao, dus aaenge'. I froze. It was getting late. One aunty who had been watching me for a while helped me when the next bus came. After that incident, my dad decided to get me a phone and a better second-hand car for the family."
From 2008 to 2018, she slowly progressed from reserve keeper to mainstay but one thing continued nagging her. The lack of a job. "Earlier, women players gob jobs only in Railways," she says. "After Tokyo, other departments began to step in. From 2008 to 2018, I know how much I struggled. I could manage only because of my father. There have been times when I had to think twice even before having a cup of tea. Especially when travelling outside India.
"Before my first tour, my brother gave me Rs 2,000 at the airport. I felt so rich! I had never seen more than 500 in my life. But there, I realised it wasn’t even pocket change and you couldn’t buy coffee for anyone.
In 2018, I called home after it was announced that I’d get the Arjuna Award. Mummy didn’t know what the Arjuna Award (was). She asked, ‘so does this mean you’ll now get a job?’ Tears started flowing. She knew a job would secure my future."
There are no such worries for the custodian today. These days, she hopes 'someone else would pick up a stick after reading my story'. "When you get something after struggling a lot, the happiness you feel after that is tough to express."
It was the kind of happiness she felt when she saw the poster in the stands on Monday afternoon.
