The following is an excerpt from Witness, an account by Olympic bronze winning wrestler Sakshi Malik, written with Jonathan Selvaraj, and published by Juggernaut.
There is a tradition in wrestling that when you know you have wrestled your last match, you leave your shoes on the mat. It’s not an Indian tradition, but it’s always made sense to me.
Although they look like your regular high-top sneakers, wrestling shoes are very unique. Their soles are very thin. You can’t wear them like you would your regular jogging shoes. The only place they really belong is on the synthetic mat.
‘Witness,’ Sakshi Malik with Jonathan Selvaraj, Juggernaut, 2024.
They’ve always been special to me. It’s when I bought my first pair of shoes that I actually felt I was a real wrestler. People would sometimes think my attachment to my shoes was a little extreme.
If wrestling was a form of worship for me, then my shoes were one of the instruments of my devotion. That was what I truly believed.
They were as sacred to me as the Hanuman murti at the Chhotu Ram akhara.
The only time we wore our shoes was when we were going to wrestle. When we finish our practice, we take those shoes off and touch them to our head before we step off the mat. That’s the only place you are supposed to wear them. In India, you will not see a wrestler wear his or her shoes to the washroom or any place where they think they’d get dirty.
When I went to the world level, it always struck me as odd to see some of the international wresters wear their match shoes as they stood in line outside the toilets. I couldn’t ever get used to that.
On the other hand, if we Indians had to visit the toilet, we’d always have a pair of open-toed slippers handy. We would wear them over our shoes when we went to the washroom. I just couldn’t bear the thought of my wrestling shoes directly touching the washroom floor.
There was only one time of the year where my wrestling shoes would leave the competition or training hall, and that was on the eve of Diwali when we celebrate Lakshmi Puja. On that day, we Hindus worship the instruments of our trade. I’ve seen people worship books.
I’d always put my wrestling shoes in front of the image of Lakshmi and pray over them. To a lot of Indian wrestlers that might seem a little too extreme, but I’ve always insisted on it. I started doing the same after I moved to Satyawart’s home after my marriage, and although he found it odd in the beginning, he follows the same practice now.
After the Commonwealth Games, I had come to terms with my approaching retirement, but I wanted it to be on my terms. I expected to qualify for the Asian Games, and based on how I did there I’d have a good idea as to whether I was still good enough to wrestle with the best in the world. If I was, I’d try to qualify for the Olympics at the 2023 World Championships. If I managed to make it to the Paris Games, then after my final match, whether I won a medal or not, I would leave my shoes on the mat there. As it turned out, I didn’t go to the Asian Games or the World Championships after that. I wasn’t able to take the trials for those competitions, but I still had hopes that I would be able to qualify for the Olympics, and there I would go out the way I wanted.
At least, that’s what I had hoped for. On the evening of 22 December, after the federation elections, I knew I was never going to be able to get to Paris. We had already announced a press conference. I told the press just what I felt about what had happened. I said I didn’t feel I would be able to wrestle any more. I wanted to make it clear that I would not be going back on my word at any point.
As I spoke I started tearing up but got the words out of my mouth. On that day I had been squarely beaten. I’d put in my best efforts, but I was nothing in front of the machinations of a man who was much more experienced at another kind of game than I was. Since I could no longer wrestle on his terms, I had to leave.
With that I took out a pair of blue Asics wrestling shoes. They weren’t the shoes I would have worn in competition, but with our press conference just a few hours after the federation elections I didn’t have time to get them. These blue ones were the ones I had with me in New Delhi. I’d been training in them every morning at Karnail Stadium, getting ready for what I thought would be a final shot at the Olympics. I took that pair and placed it on the table. I announced my retirement from the sport and walked away from that press conference and from twenty years in the sport. I didn’t expect anything to come of that gesture. It did get a few people excited on social media. For a few hours it trended on Twitter.
I remember one channel came up with the headline ‘Dabdaba joote ki nok pe. (The fate of “power” resting on the tip of a shoe).’ But that wasn’t what I had planned. I just did it to leave the sport at least somewhat on my terms. It didn’t give me as satisfying a closure as I hoped it might. I knew that the federation was still going to be in Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh’s hands. For a few weeks after I announced I had quit the sport, I’d just cry for no obvious reason. I knew that my career as a wrestler was over.
It’s something I’m still coming to terms with.
Sakshi Malik is a freestyle wrestler. She won bronze in the 58-kg category of the 2016 Summer Olympics. She is the first Indian female wrestler to win a medal at the Olympics.
Jonathan Selvaraj is a sports journalist.
