Interaction Not, Injury: The Indian Social Machinery Against Women Journalists in Cricket Media

24 years ago, I sat in the press box at Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai. The shirt-twirling celebration of England annoyed Ganguly, but that day my concern was not just the cricket match—it was the beginning of a new era in journalism. From that press box, I stepped into cricket writing, and along that journey, many questions accumulated—questions whose answers are now being washed away by the assault of social media. In the first decade of my career, cricket journalism was a bubble. If someone wanted to speak to a writer, they needed to know the name, know the work, know the context. Press conferences had questions that were credible, limited, and almost always traveled only through publications. Being inside that bubble meant you were part of a specific community. That community had rules: you knew the context before you offered an opinion. Cricket stories were stories of the game, of statistics, and to some extent, of humanity. Being a female journalist in that time meant entering a male-dominated structure, but that structure had its own rules. Those rules were strict, but they offered some safety. Questions were direct, answers were responsible, and assaults were limited—isolated incidents like groping in a crowd, a stalker, but those were personal, local, and ended with time. The 2026 World Cup, the 2026-08 Monkeygate Test series, the 2026 T20 World Cup, and the 2026 World Cup—these were milestones in my career, but they are not just moments of cricket; they are also images of the media environment of those times. I conducted interviews with Warne, Lara, Tendulkar, edited Tendulkar in Wisden—these are not just items on a work list; they are proof that I reached an established position in cricket media. But that established position is now unstable in the face of social media's storm. The core reason for this instability is the transformation of cricket media's commercial structure. Before, cricket stories were on the pages of print media, on television screens, and the audience for those stories was limited. But now, cricket media's economy stands on impressions. Every moment is measured, every clip is counted, and every question's answer is not what determines what you say, when you say it, and to whom—impression counts determine it. This audit culture has reduced context in cricket media and increased controversy. One- to two-minute clips are now trailers for the main show, and those who watch those trailers do not read the context; they only react. And when that reaction is directed at a female journalist, it is not just an opinion—it becomes a sexualized assault. When I spoke about cheerleaders and politicization in a mere three-minute opinion segment, the stream of abuse began. The abuse was sexualized, political, and racial. 'Go back to the kitchen,' 'randi,' 'sleeping with powerful men to get the job,' 'take her clothes off,' 'black Indian bitch,' 'servant who married her white English colonial master'—these abuses are not just words; they are reflections of a machinery. A machinery where a female journalist's opinion is not limited to cricket, but is confronted by politics, color discrimination, and gendered degradation. Sunil Gavaskar's opinion is a clear example of this machinery. He wrote that buying Pakistani players could indirectly lead to the deaths of Indian soldiers and civilians—this opinion is not just beyond cricket; it translates cricket into the language of national security. This translation is also expanding into cricket's commercial structure. When Indian-owned Hundred franchises like Sunrisers Leeds buy Pakistani players, that purchase is not just a part of the game; it has become the center of political discussion. The politicization of cricket is now not just bilateral ceasefires; it is expanding at the league level. The cheerleader issue is another example of the same structure. I wrote that cheerleading is a Western import, not part of Indian sporting tradition, and after 18 IPL editions, the cheerleaders remain primarily Caucasian—in a country with a centuries-old obsession with light skin. This import is not just a commercial decision; it is a combination of color discrimination and sexualized demand. The NFL comparison is relevant here—8 of 32 NFL teams have dropped cheerleaders, deeming the practice sexist and degrading. The IPL has not yet moved in that direction, and this delay is not just a commercial habit; it is a result of governance and cultural preference. The machinery behind all this abuse is not just social media—it is the fundamental restructuring of cricket media's economy. The influencer economy—Instagram, TikTok, influencers—is now dominating traditional cricket coverage. Context is gone; impressions come. Questions are gone; reactions come. And when that reaction is directed at a female journalist, it is not just an opinion—it becomes a sexualized assault. The risk of this abuse is not just mental; it is also physical safety. Groping in crowds, a stalker—these were previously personal and local. But now abuse is continuous, digital, and anonymous. 'I hope you get stabbed in London by a militant'—this threat is not just words; it is linked to cricket's politicization. The abuses are sexualized, political, and racial—the combination of these three dimensions keeps it from single-dimension solutions. The absence of governance and institutional response is clear here. No institution has established a process to protect female journalists. No franchise or league has taken a clear position against the politicization of cricket. No platform enforces effective policy against abuse. This vacuum is a significant weakness in cricket media. When cricket is a matter of national pride, the assault on female journalists within that pride is not just a human problem; it is a structural weakness of cricket. This weakness affects cricket's future. When female journalists are victims of abuse, the pipeline of cricket media dries up. When context decreases, cricket stories decrease from being stories of the game, and controversy stories increase. When the impression economy rewards controversy, abuse is not just a problem; it becomes a feature. And that feature destabilizes cricket media's future. This instability is not just for female journalists; it is also a problem for all cricketers, all fans, all institutions. Because when cricket stories lose context, the story of the game ends, and only the story of abuse remains. And that story of abuse does not build cricket's future; it breaks it. A new structure is needed. Where impressions are not the main measure, but context will be. Where assault is not the norm, but respect will be the main value. Where politicization of cricket is not the focus, but the story of the game will be the main subject. This structure is not just for female journalists; it is necessary for cricket's future. Because when cricket stories lose context, the story of the game ends, and only the story of assault remains. And that story of assault does not build cricket's future; it breaks it. I sat in the press box at Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai when cricket stories were stories of the game. And today, when cricket stories have become stories of assault, I know that this assault is not just for female journalists; it is also risky for cricket's future. Because when cricket stories lose context, the story of the game ends, and only the story of assault remains. And that story of assault does not build cricket's future; it breaks it.