Let Bengaluru play again

Since the 1800s, when the British shifted their cantonment from Srirangapatna to Bengaluru and thereafter Christian missionaries established educational institutions, the city cultivated a distinctive sporting ethos.
Parade grounds, clubs, regimental contests and school competitions embedded physical culture into everyday life. Over time, that ethos deepened, spreading beyond cantonments and educational institutions into neighbourhoods and public grounds. 

For decades, this so-called “sleepy” tier-two city punched far above its weight. Bengaluru produced national champions and Olympians across disciplines, often outshining India’s larger metros. Yet, sometime around the 1990s and early 2000s, as the city’s economic trajectory changed, something in its sporting rhythm faltered. Despite its rich legacy, Bengalureans have struggled to replicate the scale and consistency of earlier achievements.

At the recent Deccan Herald 2040 Summit, cricketer Rahul Dravid made an impassioned plea: as Bengaluru grows, access to play must not become collateral damage of traffic, congestion and infrastructure pressures. A sporting city, he argued, is defined not merely by stadiums and related infrastructure but by how easily a child can step outside and play.

In today’s Bengaluru, playgrounds, parks and open spaces are increasingly scarce. Gated communities and high-rises have replaced open fields. Children navigate packed schedules and longer commutes in a city choked by traffic. The result is not only fewer hours of play but also a slow drift towards sedentary lifestyles — hardly fertile ground for nurturing sporting excellence.

It is worth recalling what this city once represented in Indian sport. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, boxing flourished here, producing pugilists of national and international repute. The sport’s popularity has since faded.

Karnataka’s men’s football team, powered largely by Bengaluru players, won national titles in the late 1940s, 1950s and again in the late 1960s — then endured a 54-year wait before lifting the trophy again. In hockey, while the men’s side rarely dominated nationally, the Karnataka women’s team — composed almost entirely of Bengaluru players — clinched six consecutive national titles in the 1960s. That golden run remains unmatched.

In tennis, Bengalureans such as Laura Woodbridge, Dechu Appaiah Moola and Udaya Kumar captured national women’s singles crowns across the 1940s, 1950s and 1970s, respectively. The city has not produced a national champion of similar stature since.

Badminton offered perhaps the most glittering symbol of Bengaluru’s sporting prowess. Prakash Padukone rose from local courts to conquer the All-England Open Badminton Championships, a feat that transformed Indian badminton and inspired generations.

Table tennis, too, had its legends. Usha Sunderraj dominated the national scene through the 1960s and 1970s, winning five singles titles and finishing runner-up seven times. Krishna Nagaraj achieved a milestone that remains unequalled by any Indian — reaching the quarter-finals of the World Table Tennis Championship in 1956.

In athletics, Eric Prabhakar and Henry Rebello represented India at the 1948 Olympics, while Kenneth Powell ran in the 1964 Games. Bengaluru’s women athletes — Marjorie Suares, Deanna Syme, Nirmala Uthaiah, Irene Saldanha, Angel Mary, Reeth Abraham and Ashwini Nachappa — consistently excelled from the 1950s onwards, setting benchmarks at national and international levels.

In sports such as cricket, basketball, swimming, and billiards/snooker, Bengaluru has spawned several stellar players.

This roll call of excellence underscores a question: if a pre-Independence cantonment town and a modest post-Independence city could produce such champions, why has a wealthier, globally connected Bengaluru struggled to do the same in recent decades?

Part of the answer lies in the city’s spectacular transformation. From the mid-1980s and especially after the 1990s, Bengaluru evolved from a “pensioner’s paradise” and “garden city” into India’s technology capital. The growth of IT, biotechnology, start-ups and higher education has been nothing short of extraordinary. Yet this economic boom has come at a cost. Expanding roads, flyovers and real estate have steadily consumed open spaces. Informal play areas have vanished. What were once accessible public grounds are now commercial complexes or gated enclaves.

Aspiring athletes increasingly depend on private clubs and academies, often expensive and out of reach for many families. Schools, citing safety and accountability issues, frequently restrict access to playgrounds after school hours. Children rush to waiting buses to beat traffic, trading games in playgrounds for games on smartphones.

Bengaluru’s challenge, therefore, is not nostalgia but renewal. The city’s past proves that sporting excellence does not require glamour or money; it requires access, community spaces and a culture that values play. If policymakers, educational institutions and corporates can collaborate to protect and create public sporting spaces — and if urban planning recognises play as essential infrastructure — the city can reclaim its identity as a sporting powerhouse.

As Dravid reminded us, greatness begins with a simple act: a child stepping out to play. Bengaluru must ensure that that act remains easy, natural and possible for the long-term health and sporting potential of the next generation.

(The writer is a Bengaluru- based independent journalist)