Bhiwani in Beijing:Two more Indian boxers near the medal zone

Akhil and Jitender are the small guys of boxing. At 54 kg and 51 kg, respectively, they walk and even stand as if on a trampoline. Like all most other boxers, they like to talk. They talk till they have to be dragged away. And in a sport drawn from the most primal fascination for a bloodfest, they bare hearts large enough to dream big and to give the credit for those dreams to anyone who’d care to wish them well.

So, a bronze or a silver will not do for me, says Akhil, I want gold. If I take a medal, it will be Akhil’s, says 20-year-old Jitender, he’s my mother, father, sister, brother.

Indian boxers have traditionally been uncomfortable with the scoring at international meets. In fact, scoring has been so contentious all-round that to write the history of boxing at the Olympics is to track the reform brought about to deal with biased judges, drunk judges, shortsighted judges, incompetent judges. But even if the judges be perfect, it is crucial that they catch it when a punch connects.

As India’s boxing coach, Gurbax Singh Sandhu, said later, “the strategy was to play the computer.” So, like Akhil yesterday, Jitender played from a distance, so that connected punches could be spotted. Jitender built on a good first round, having taken it 4:1.

A boxing match is over in 11 minutes, with four rounds of 2 minutes each, with a minute’s rest between each round. So, once a big lead had been conceded, the Uzbek’s anxiety grew. He’d lunge at Jitender, who kept backing away. By bout’s end, there was a desperation in Doniyorov’s lunges, as he probably figured he needed to knock down Jitender to make up for his points deficit. This way he played further into Jitender’s gameplan. As the Bhiwani boy said later, “I was loose, he was tight.” Jitender now meets Russian Georgy Balakshin on August 20.

Vijender, also of Bhiwani, found it in himself to make revenge sound like a tribute. “I had lost to Chomphuphuang two months ago,” he said past the midnight hour. “I don’t lose to the same boxer twice.”

But like his teammates, he knows that boxing may just be on the verge of a tipping point in India. This is already India’s best performance at the Olympics.

Indian boxing also has a smart thinking, charismatic man capable of drawing the interest of a wider audience and also of becoming a rallying point for young boxers.

Physiotherapist Heath Matthews says it is “exceptionally important” to have somebody like Akhil around: “His personality is incredibly infectious.” “Akhil Akhil hai,” says Sandhu.

Boxing, more than most other sports, feeds on human drama. As counterfoil to the brute aggression and sharp wits in the ring, its greatest dramas require gestures of decency, or the glaring lack of them. (Think Mohammed Ali and Mike Tyson for an example of the contrasts that keep fans interested.) At 27, with the experience of dashed hopes from a first-round defeat at Athens, Akhil has the flair to disarm with the clearly-phrased analysis.

Stories of his financial support to young boxers are softly recounted. His teammates — three of the five, like him, living within shouting distance of each other in Bhiwani—find themselves learning how to explain the boxer’s craft to enable an informed interest in the sport.

Matthews hints that one has to know the culture and context from where the boxers have come to understand their style. Himself smitten by Bhiwani, he explains that cricket is not the sport of choice there. “It is a modest community with a very strong boxing background.” After all, boxing is, paradoxically, not about aggression. It is, as the Bhiwani boys have showed this month, about expressing oneself.