Cricket has grown, yes. But has it remembered its women?
I speak not as a bystander, but as someone who has lived this game, who has seen its triumphs, contradictions, and blind spots. Although I was born in Kolkata—a city I love for its warmth, wit, and that magnificent cricketing coliseum called Eden Gardens—Mumbai has been my home since the day I dreamt of playing serious cricket. This city doesn’t merely play the game; it breathes it. The maidans are nurseries of ambition. The clubs are crucibles of competition. Mumbai cricket runs on pride, preparation, and pedigree.
Edulji was the pillar of the women’s cricket team in the 1970s–80s. The city has given India some of its greatest names: Vijay Merchant, Polly Umrigar, Sunil Gavaskar, Dilip Vengsarkar, Sachin Tendulkar, Ajinkya Rahane, and, last but not least, Rohit Sharma. Each is a chapter in Mumbai’s cricketing story, marked by discipline, consistency, and excellence.
But what about Mumbai’s women?
At a time when women’s cricket was treated as the stepchild of the sport, Mumbai gave us Diana Edulji. Lady Diana, as I like to call her, was more than a pioneer. She was a force. She played when women cricketers travelled with light pockets, earned next to nothing, and were barely acknowledged by the system. Yet she played on—for pride, for passion, for love of the game.
Diana learnt her craft playing with boys, never asking for favours, proving every day that she belonged. For a time, she was mentored by Aloo Bamjee, one of the unsung champions of women’s cricket. Diana became the face of the women’s game in India: bold, uncompromising, and unwilling to stay silent in the face of injustice.
Strong voices are often seen as inconvenient, but they’re the ones that make history move. If women’s cricket in India stands tall today, it’s because of women like her—who stood their ground when no one was watching, who played in anonymity and still carried the badge of India with dignity.
Mumbai cricket is as much about its culture as its records. The Mumbai Cricket Association has done well to honour its greats. Sunil Gavaskar and Sachin Tendulkar have stands and statues. There’s the Dilip Vengsarkar Stand too, and one hopes the elegant former captain will have a statue of his own soon. Those of us who admire Ravi Shastri—the quintessential Wankhede performer—hope he, too, will be recognised in time.
But amid these tributes, one name is missing: Diana Edulji.
Her name isn’t spoken often enough. Not in the boardrooms. Not at grand ceremonies where men are hailed and garlanded. Not in the narrative of Mumbai’s cricketing pride. We speak endlessly of women’s empowerment, yet cricket—a game that prides itself on fairness—still remembers selectively.
These women played without contracts, comforts, or complaints. Their contribution is no lesser than that of the men; it’s equal, perhaps greater, when measured by sacrifice.
Thankfully, winds of change are blowing. The Women’s Premier League (WPL) has become a revolution in just two seasons. Launched in 2023, it has already changed the face and finances of women’s cricket in India. Franchise valuations and sponsorships are soaring. In 2025, top players earned over ₹3 crore; uncapped youngsters fetched bids close to ₹2 crore.
The opening match of WPL 2025 drew more than 30 million viewers—numbers once unthinkable for women’s cricket. Even more tellingly, the WPL ecosystem grew by eight per cent last year, while the IPL’s value dipped. That’s not just a statistic; it’s a statement. The game is finally paying its women back, and the fans are showing up.
Smriti Mandhana said recently that the WPL has proved women’s cricket can generate serious revenue. She’s right. But beyond money, it’s generating belief among girls who now see cricket not as a dream, but as a profession.
Still, as we celebrate progress, we must remember the pioneers who made it possible. Diana and her generation played in the shadows so that today’s players could play under lights.
If there can be a Rachael Heyhoe Flint Gate at Lord’s, there can surely be a Diana Edulji Stand at Wankhede. It’s time for the BCCI, and especially for Mumbai cricket, to honour her as it does its male legends—with the same pride, the same permanence.
Indian cricket has many heroes. It’s time we recognised all of them, including the women who played when no one was watching and who gave everything to a game that gave them little in return.
https://www.mid-day.com/news/opinion/article/a-game-that-forgot-its-women-23597859