The girls arrive at the makeshift cricket ground on their bicycles, a narrow file of white athletic uniforms breezing down a dirt track that cuts through lush wheat fields in India’s Punjab region. They wear their names and numbers on their backs, their hair tied in long, neat braids. The youngest is 9, the oldest 14.
It’s time for practice: a two-mile run, a couple hours of batting, bowling and catching drills, and lots of giggles. Overseeing it all is Gulab Singh Shergill, a police officer by day, their manager, mentor and champion by evening. The girls, including his own daughter, all refer to him as “veera,” meaning elder brother in Punjabi.
But there would be no team, no dream, without the women. When someone is struck by a ball — made of hard cork and leather — Mr. Shergill’s mother, Harjeet Kaur, is there to offer comfort until the sobbing stops and the girl runs back to the pitch. Mr. Shergill’s wife, Kamaldeep Kaur, helps coordinate with the 20-odd families through the team’s WhatsApp group. His sister, Jasvir Kaur, acts as a physical therapist of sorts: tummy rubs and deep breaths for the 9-year-old who arrived for practice after overindulging at a wedding function, facedown stretches for the girl struggling with leg cramps.
For the girls, the daily…
