On Saturday India’s poster-boy pugilist Vijender Singh will return to New Delhi for his second home bout, and eighth overall, since turning professional in 2015. Vijender currently holds a remarkable 7-0 unbeaten record. But with opponents getting tougher and the stakes becoming higher, his induction period is truly over. Things are only going to get harder for India’s pre-eminent pro boxer.

On 17 December, against 34-year-old Tanzanian Francis Cheka, a veteran of 43 bouts and currently a title holder himself, Vijender will put his World Boxing Organization Asia Pacific Super Middleweight title on the line. And if the old adage is anything to go by, defending the crown will likely be tougher than winning it.

The fight will take place at New Delhi’s Thyagaraj Sports Complex, the venue of the boxer’s last appearance in the public domain. Most of his days are otherwise spent in Manchester, training while battling the infamous British cold and adapting to a much quieter life.

Professional boxing is unique this way: the fighters train almost daily even if they have no scheduled fights, stay out of the limelight for several months and then explode onto the scene for a few weeks either side of a bout. Before going underground again.

For Vijender, opportunities to make an impact on home soil will come few and far between. He must make full use of them.

In his previous bout, he certainly did that.

***

Five months ago, on 16 July, Vijender introduced the nation to professional boxing with aplomb. Fighting as a pro boxer for the first time in front of his home crowd, a boisterous one in the capital, he had clinched his maiden professional title by defeating Australia’s Kerry Hope in a wholly absorbing 10-round battle.

While the Indian had outboxed his antipodean opponent, beating him on points by unanimous decision, the bout, which capped off a spectacular night, also served its ultimate, broader purpose. Which was to enthral a boxing audience of first-timers.

For Vijender, it had been an all too familiar, albeit tougher, challenge.

India’s pro boxing avant-gardist today had previously served as the standard-bearer of amateur boxing. In 2008, the fresh-faced boy from Haryana’s Bhiwani district, India’s nursery of boxing, had performed similar wonders to raise the profile of amateur boxing in the country. He won bronze at the Beijing Olympics—India’s first-ever Olympic medal in this discipline.

Eight years ago, though, with lesser-known faces, amateur boxing came with fewer expectations. No event in amateur boxing centred entirely on one bout or one boxer—which is nearly always the case in pro boxing. The added context of an Olympic medal hunt, with a whole host of boxers in pursuit of it, also made it easier to sell the sport in India and secure its future.

Vijender, though, gradually outgrew the amateur scene and eventually left it behind last year when he turned pro—a decision met with criticism back home because, at the time, it meant he could no longer represent India at the Olympics. (Although the Amateur International Boxing Association or the AIBA decided to let professional boxers fight in this year’s Rio Olympics for the first time ever, Vijender, like most of his pro boxing fraternity, rejected the opportunity.)

However, India’s disapproval of Vijender’s choices—of labelling him a mercenary in many ways—only exposed the country’s lack of understanding of the sport. He is only following in the footsteps of every legendary boxer you can name today, from Muhammad Ali to Joe Frazier to Mike Tyson. Even Sweden’s Badou Jack, Vijender’s first-round opponent in Beijing, is the current World Boxing Council Super Middleweight champion.

Vijender, too, set upon an altogether new, somewhat solitary, mission to put India on the pro boxing map and, tougher still, to put pro boxing on the Indian map.

To this end, his first home-bound venture proved to be a giant step; so much so, in fact, that it convinced his fellow Beijing Olympians Akhil Kumar and Jitender Kumar to go the professional way.

***

On the night of the fight, while hopes of a knockout victory weren’t met—all of Vijender’s six previous bouts, most of which were in the UK, had ended in knockout triumphs—the boxer and his promoters ended up delivering much more than any stakeholder, including the spectator, had bargained for.

Sponsors gained visibility—essential for continued investment in the sport; the broadcaster benefited from airtime—vital to draw viewers to a sport of unpredictable duration; organizers saw footfalls—a key parameter for an event’s actual and perceived success; and the country was injected with pride—Vijender’s first title in pro boxing was also India’s first ever. All of this had gone according to script.

Most significant, though, was the manner in which the 5,000-odd crowd inside the stadium found itself wooed and entertained. A series of undercard duels, or preliminary fights, had preceded the hour-long main event, but for the majority of the four-plus hours, the crowd had not relented.

It had cheered, jeered, whistled, chanted, danced, sung and celebrated—to the sound of jabs and punches; to the iconic ring of a boxing bell; to renditions of Singh is King; to countless choruses of Chak De India!; to the vocals of Punjabi singer Guru Randhawa and his popular song Patola; and finally, to the famous tune of Rocky Balboa when a triumphant Vijender left the ring.

It was a crowd with an opinion—“rassi pe hee rakh usko" (“keep him on the ropes"); an expression—“mooh pe maar, mooh pe!" (“hit him in the face, in the face!"); and an acute sense of hostility—“Kuldeep, khatam kar chhotu ko!" (“Kuldeep, finish the tiny one!"), when India’s Kuldeep Dhanda fought Thailand’s Vachayan Khamon, a man of short stature.

It was a soulful audience; a refreshing departure from the apathetic, selfie-grabbing fans who so often pass for a sports audience in New Delhi. Rarely had a crowd in the capital been so deeply engrossed in a sporting event before.

A sense of fulfilment, a feeling of paisa vasool (money’s worth), while returning from the Thyagaraj Stadium felt wonderfully new. Stadium visits aren’t meant to just watch sport; you can see much better on high-definition TVs at home. Stadium visits are meant to feel the sport; with spectators playing a major role in the entire experience. And while New Delhi has frequently disappointed in this regard, the Vijender-hailing crowd offered some welcome respite.

Most people in the stands were attending their first boxing match and they were transfixed by the action. Sitting to my right was a mother with her two sons, both no older than 10 years, who were visibly overawed. To my left was a man in his 50s—a first-timer, I confirmed—whose favourite pastime was asking me to identify celebrities for him as they entered the arena.

Speaking of celebrities, actor Randeep Hooda was a huge hit. Not more than Virender Sehwag, though, who entered to chants of “Viru! Viru!" from all corners. Among other big names were Bollywood’s Neha Dhupia; cricket’s Yuvraj Singh and Suresh Raina; sports minister Vijay Goel; and Rajeev Shukla, chairman of the Indian Premier League (IPL).

Congress vice-president Rahul Gandhi made an appearance too and was instantly drowned in screams of “Modi! Modi!"—could an Indian mega event ever pass by without an undercurrent of politics?

And some of the preliminary fights weren’t just sideshows. An emotional Siddharth Verma, 32, declared his IBC Super Welterweight Championship win as “the fruits of 10 to 20 years of hard work", while another bout saw two young female amateur boxers put in an energetic display—both of them were products of the Mary Kom Boxing Foundation, which is doing great work to nurture talent in Imphal.

Mary Kom, the former Olympic bronze medallist and five-time world champion boxer, herself stepped into the ring for an interview, drawing a spontaneous standing ovation from all quarters—a sight to behold, a sign of genuine appreciation that formed the most glorious non-Vijender moment of the night.

Eventually, things settled down—it was time for the main event.

Hope entered first; his brigade rallying the crowd and trying to garner as much support as possible. Indians, to be fair, responded kindly enough. There was no jeering or booing.

Up next was the showstopper himself. Nearly two minutes of an elaborate entrance video gave way to Vijender, finally making a much-awaited appearance to a feverish frenzy in the stands. Singh is King blasted through the speakers while the stadium roared.

That a 10-round battle took place next wasn’t surprising. Hope, a veteran of 30 fights (23-7), was no pushover and had been handpicked as Vijender’s opponent for his ability to compete till the end.

Following a cagey start in round one, the Indian landed a magnificent right, flush on Hope’s face, and then rubbed it in by grinning at the Aussie, the crowd enjoying every bit of Vijender’s swagger—“Vijender! Vijender!" followed chants of “India! India!"—as the boxers continued to size each other up.

Tight rounds followed. Hope returned a few punches and repaid Vijender’s taunt. A proper battle was now on the cards. A series of wild swings had the crowd out of its seat (nearly all of them were on the edge of it anyway). Body blows, upper cuts, jabs—both boxers worked on wearing each other down.

Vijender appeared to be on the brink of a knockout triumph after showering Hope with punches in a splendid sixth round. His right as well as his left pounded the Aussie, who survived and laboured on.

With three rounds remaining, Hope, a cautious boxer by nature, was forced out of his comfort zone. The Aussie’s camp had rightly felt he was behind on points. They wanted him to get closer to his opponent and attack him more. Meanwhile, the crowd was tense, knowing a knockout blow, from either corner, was only one solid punch away as the boxers became weary.

At the end of the 10th round, the moment the bell rang to signal the end of the fight, both fighters were lifted by their respective trainers in a pretty farcical double celebration. For Hope’s camp, though, it was only a last-gasp attempt, not uncommon in boxing, to sway the decision of the judges in his favour. They knew that Vijender had done enough. The atmosphere inside the stadium was celebratory as well.

Even without a grasp of boxing’s scoring aspects, you could see that Vijender had been dominant and thus ahead on points.

When Vijender was announced as the winner, the stadium erupted in unison. So did confetti, on cue, from each corner of the ring, marking a spectacular end to a fabulous night of boxing. He had renewed his pedigree and done so fighting in front of his home crowd after a break of six years.

A tearful Vijender stood, draped in Indian colours, as a symbol of triumph—and relief. Stakes in pro boxing are always high, let alone when fighting in front of an audience as fickle as the one at home.

The reward, though, was sweet. As Vijender left the ring, he was mobbed by hordes of supporters-turned-worshippers wanting one final glimpse of their hero—a level of reverence seldom seen towards a sportsperson outside cricket. Those felt like seminal moments for both Vijender and pro boxing in India.

***

It was hard to recall, at the time, another sporting event, aside from the IPL, which felt so tailor-made for an Indian audience. “It was absolutely thrilling to watch the fight live," said 28-year-old marketing manager Neha Verma, who, although a regular at sporting events, had just attended her maiden fight. “Boxing is really fun to watch!" she declared.

Indeed, pro boxing, even at the highest level, is a seamless fusion of sport and entertainment, with the right elements to entice a desi crowd across various age groups. Celebrities, high-octane fights, showmen in the ring, loud music, cheerleaders and even stage performers—all of these tick the right boxes.

Even purists who cringe on seeing leagues such as IPL and IPTL (Indian Premier Tennis League) destroy the sanctity of sport, could not resent a night of pro boxing. “I have come to accept flashiness as a pointless yet unavoidable part of India’s sporting customs," laments 31-year-old Rishabh Mahajan, a business professional who has both attended and organized several sports events in New Delhi. “But, for a change, the razzmatazz of a boxing night did not feel out of place."

Pro boxing is essentially one big tamasha—and who in this country doesn’t like tamasha? It appeals to our innate sadistic desire of watching men try and beat the living daylights out of each other. In India, you could be running late for a meeting or be on the verge of missing a flight, but there’s always time to watch a roadside bust-up. Cars slow down, traffic comes to a halt, onlookers gather around, necks crane—even the pettiest of quarrels find an audience here.

There are no half-measures in the sport either. Weigh-ins are pro boxing’s equivalent of pre-match press conferences. But there are no M.S. Dhonis here, pledging to “give it our best shot and see how it goes". There are only promises of smashing faces in and ending careers (which, incidentally, is what Cheka said he intends to do to Vijender in the next fight).

Pro boxing is a tremendously attractive package. A grand show where boxers have little choice but to build themselves up and pander to the crowd, in order to raise their profiles. The bigger the name, the higher the stakes, the larger the audience, the greater the pay-off. Some of sport’s greatest quotes arrive from the world of boxing—it has no place for dull personalities.

And Vijender certainly has the personality to pack a punch. Stardom isn’t new to him: he has walked ramps in the past and even featured in Bollywood films. But with bouts held several months apart, he remains out of sight and out of mind for too much time at a stretch in a country with a low attention span and a propensity to forget its sportspersons.

Over time, though, his stock is bound to rise further. And who knows, maybe someday, in India’s modern sporting pantheon, next to Virat Kohli with his flexi wrists will be Vijender Singh with his iron fists.

Akarsh Sharma is a New Delhi-based writer who contributes to various publications. His work is collated on akarshsharma.com and he occasionally tweets here.

Comments are welcome at feedback@livemint.com

Subscribe to Mint Newsletters * Enter a valid email * Thank you for subscribing to our newsletter.

Share Via