Surely not when Gurjit Kaur scored her first goal against Australia at the start of the second quarter, her light-saber special drag flick stick from a company called Flash? There were still 38 minutes left and for Indian hockey in a big event, the apocalypse was always waiting around the corner. Gurjeet of 100 drag flicks in a day gives us the adrenaline to jump off the couch, but is it the full throttle of magic? Maybe not so soon.
Should we have seen this even earlier, actually minutes into the match?
Sharmila Devi - a weak-looking speed devil who eats space on the wings like candy - attacked the Australian goalkeeper, landed on his back, went to straighten the kink and returned a few minutes later. Are superpowers being distributed in that dugout? Finally, for five minutes, Navneet Kaur is hit in the face near the Indian goal mouth, puts her hand up to alert the referee and, when ignored, runs back, snatching the ball back under her control. is taken. Wait. Take a breath
When a penalty corner referral was made by Udita Duhan for an illegal tackle on the Australian attacker, with almost three minutes left at the end, what happened? It takes forever, the paint dries out, the teeth lose enamel. But Udita's senior colleague Deep Grace hangs around her clearance line while shooting Ekka Hawa.
As if defending against Australia, 13 goalscorers are cool beans. With one hand on the stick and with the other hand in the pocket. Goalkeeper Savita Punia is pacifying Udita, who turned defender in 2019 after a knee injury, many koi-nahi (that's okay, no problem) pats on her back.
Savita's face widened, another day in the goal, God knows how many kilograms of equipment (in the old days, 7.5), five penalty corners saved. Big deal, bring five more. Coach Sjoerd Marijne and captain Rani Rampal are smiling, exchanging crap on the sidelines. Like a good practice session has come to an end. Do they know what's at stake? What could happen on the humongous-ness or could it crash?
This is enough to fry the brain, as the game jargon began to spin. Maybe this is what the zone looks like. Or Zen. India is playing the world's rival beast Australia, from world No. 2 to its No. 9, Olympic No. 1 seed India that cares about seeding. In the national anthem, Australians are smiling, laughing, talking. Each of them is a head taller than the Indians, clearly carrying a pound for a pound weight advantage over their opponents.
He has scored only one goal in Tokyo and the English commentators are talking to him as if he has never seen Indians play. Or knew they drew Australia 2-2 in the 2019 Tokyo Test Event. Certainly, going by pure numbers against strong teams - the Netherlands at 1-5, Germany at 0-2, Britain at 1-4 - the Indians look like lightweights and pushovers. Barring every match, Indian women were given painful punishments for their tactical errors and loose play. But on their faces and through their bodies, in the prescribed set of jaws and chins and how they carried themselves on the field, it felt like something else was boiling beneath the surface. If the opportunity comes, there may be an explosion.
It was visible in Vandana Katariya's fist pumps two days ago as she scored goal after goal against South Africa, even as the Indian defense was in a panic. On Monday, it was found in Monica Malik's every tackle and clearance against Australia's nine penalty corners. The confidence with which he made the referee question why the PC was being given to Australia, only to then claim a wrong referral. Did not make any difference.
In Tokyo, it can be said, even in this Indian team no one was going to give up wondering if they had done enough. Pushed hard, pushed hard enough, pushed hard, run harder, faster, more fearlessly. Three times he was shown his place in the pecking order of international hockey, was beaten badly, but he refused to give up.
Defending seven minutes less than three full quarters required more ice than fire and, as time went on, the Indians became glaciers. Ahead of the final quarter, Australians are shouting slogans at the exit. Even the most angel and cherub of Indians walks into the field, empty, business-like faces. Have to work, get it done. It's as if the entire team's attention, energy, and experience have accumulated on that single patch of turf in that corner of the world at the moment. They just want control. Of emotions, of his game, of the clock. The midfielder is confidently pushing the ball out of the Australian forward line, earning turnarounds, the defender taking the ball out of sticks, legs, body swoop with a surreal calm in the final cluster of penalty corners.
We are faltering, we are spending. What are these women made of? As English commentators call on Australians to rally, the Indians appear to be accelerating, to the point where they can only see a dazzling finish line. One pass at a time, one second at a time. When the Hooters are gone, we finally meet them as they are.
Young women with soul and energy and desire and ambition. Like all of us screaming, screaming, crying. The first of them is a native of the Indian team that won the Women's Junior Hockey World Cup bronze medal in 2013 and dreamed of doing big things together. Last year's Olympic postponement put older players under more pressure to leave and 'settle down' from their families. One of them has lost his father but could not return home to say goodbye. More than half a dozen contracted COVID-19 a few months before Tokyo and were placed in quarantine for two weeks in their dorm rooms.
Frustrated, angry, impatient as strength and fitness built for Tokyo over the months leaked out of them. When they get up and go again, they know that for many, Tokyo will be their last chance.
On Monday, he made it count in what is arguably the biggest upset in modern hockey history. This takes him to his first Olympic semi-final with two shots on a medal, and emphatically informs us that we are witness to the golden generation of Indian hockey. Throughout the Olympics, this team has been given names that mean courteous, but are mostly patronizing. Eves, maidens, women, girls or daughters of India (daughters of India).