Vinesh Phogat achieved what seemed impossible: she defeated an undefeated opponent, reached a pinnacle no wrestler before her had attained, and was poised to claim a gold medal that could have been the crowning moment of her career. Yet, her journey ended in a heartbreak that no one could have anticipated—disqualification by a rule that had never been so harsh to any Olympian. This was a fate Phogat didn’t deserve.
What should have been a historic moment for Indian sports—an underdog woman overcoming systemic challenges to become the country’s first female gold medalist—turned into a day of sorrow. While athletes across the globe were basking in their victories at the Paris Olympics, Phogat found herself in a somber corner, grappling with the emotional weight of her disqualification.
Phogat’s story is one of resilience. She had the determination to challenge Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, a five-time BJP MP and the dominant force in Indian wrestling, forcing the court to address the sexual harassment charges against him. On the mat, she displayed an equally formidable resolve by defeating the seemingly invincible Japanese wrestler Yui Susaki.
It’s tempting to question the fairness of the situation, to rage against the rulebook or the cruel hand of fate. But at this point, that would serve no purpose. Outrage might offer some temporary relief, but it won’t change the fact that Phogat won’t be standing on the Olympic podium. The reason? She weighed more than her competitors, just a small amount—like the weight of a pinch of salt. But that slight difference was enough to end her gold medal dream.
In the days ahead, life will move on. Attention will shift to celebrating other victories, perhaps a javelin medal or the consistency of the hockey team. Phogat will receive sympathy and recognition. She’ll be invited to ceremonies, awarded prizes, and lauded as a winner. Yet, the events in Paris offer important lessons, not just for athletes but for those in positions of power.
Let’s start with Phogat herself. If anyone in Indian sports is capable of handling such a shock, it’s her. At the age of nine, she experienced a devastating loss when her father was shot dead by a mentally disturbed relative outside their home. Phogat later recounted that from that day, her mother, a young widow, lost the ability to smile. Despite this, she raised a daughter with an indomitable spirit, one who would never be easily intimidated.
Phogat’s cousins, who lived nearby in Balali, Haryana, were the more famous members of the family—wrestling royalty with a movie made about them. As a junior, Phogat was, at best, the fourth Phogat. But she was never content to be a side note. Her journey is more complex than her cousins’, as she faced greater challenges. If there were ever a sequel to the film *Dangal*, it wouldn’t be a Greek tragedy but an uplifting story. While it might not end with a podium finish, Phogat’s experience in Paris has placed her on a higher pedestal than any Olympic medal could have.
Phogat possesses qualities that many Indian athletes lack: courage and the conviction to challenge the system without concern for the consequences. Even among taller, stronger male wrestlers, she stands out, her eyes burning with determination. During the tense days of protest at Jantar Mantar, she was the backbone, the one with the strongest resolve. There were moments when others considered compromising, but Phogat’s anger and determination kept the fight alive.
Those who followed her Olympic journey in Paris noticed the same fierce spirit. After each victory, she wouldn’t linger for applause or appreciation. Her eyes ablaze, breathing heavily, she would stride into the tunnel, focused and driven.
Phogat had channeled her anger systematically, catching her opponents off guard. Susaki, who had never lost before, was defeated by Phogat. Perhaps Susaki had never faced an opponent with the kind of raw determination and pent-up anger that Phogat brought to the mat. No one wanted that medal more than Phogat. In one of her many defiant interviews during her battle against Singh, she declared, “I will look him (Singh) in the eye and medal leke aoongi main, tu dekh (I will bring a medal, you see).” While she might have missed the medal, she made an important point.
By reaching the gold-medal match, Phogat exposed the ignorance of the government and sports officials about the nation’s sporting icons. When she highlighted the importance of women’s safety in sports, she was dismissed as someone merely trying to blackmail the federation into meeting her demands. Not even the detailed accounts of sexual abuse in the police complaint, filed by the country’s top wrestlers, moved the authorities. She was branded a “has-been” and a “khota sikka” (worthless coin). Stories were planted against her: “She didn’t want to attend the trial, she is scared of young wrestlers,” or “This is politically motivated,” they would tell the media. But how wrong they were about the only woman in the world to defeat the great Susaki.
Phogat’s remarkable journey, until it took a nightmarish turn, highlighted the failures of those who remained silent when the wrestlers needed them the most. Memes and speculations circulated, and there were even unfounded rumors of an insider conspiracy. It’s an unhealthy “Us vs Them” atmosphere where a win is seen as vindication rather than a celebration of the sporting community. This is far from ideal for a nation that dreams of hosting the Olympics and climbing higher in the medal rankings.
Phogat channeled her personal rage into wrestling success, but now she faces an even tougher challenge. She must find a way to move past her Olympic heartbreak. Although she was denied a medal, she will always be remembered as the one who wasn’t intimidated by Singh or shaken by Susaki.
