Why A Field Has No Gender

Both Smriti Mandhana and Virat Kohli have swashbuckling cover drives. Both can be aggressive chase masters and a picture of calm under intense pressure. Imagine them playing on the same team—chasing a total together. Smriti on strike, Virat at the non-striker’s end, ready to convert ones into twos.
Mixed-gender teams have immeasurable advantages. To begin with, there would be sound technique, greater resilience, and more variety in stroke play and power hitting. Remember Richa Ghosh sending the ball out of the park in the ICC Women's Cricket World Cup final against South Africa.
But we are not so fortunate. We get to see the men’s team play at Wankhede, and the women’s team at DY Patil Sports Academy in Navi Mumbai. We are told that physicality and muscularity of men’s game can pose a danger to so-called 'soft' and 'delicate' nature of women's game — be it hockey, football, or cricket— men’s and women’s teams should, therefore, remain separate.
Unlike cricket, hockey, and football, which can involve more physical contact, tennis and table tennis have long had mixed doubles teams. Martina Hingis and Leander Paes, two modern-day greats, won three Grand Slams together: Australian Open, Wimbledon, and US Open. In tennis, as in cricket, hockey or football, power matters too. Imagine facing a serve at 130 mph. More than physicality, one needs tactics, presence of mind and just enough racquet on the ball to land it on the opposite court. Similarly, in cricket, a ball approaching at 150 kmph doesn’t need to be met with fear; it needs to be met with a compact stance and a calm head.
In the movie Chak De! In India, coach Kabir Khan makes women's team play against the men’s to convince officials that girls can compete on a global stage. Men and women need not play hockey on separate teams; they can play on mixed-gender teams, with 6 women and 5 men on the field at a time.
When physical dominance cannot be taken for granted, technique becomes central. In football, first touch, spatial awareness and quick passing gain priority over brute force. In hockey, stick work, body positioning, and anticipation are sharpened. Players rely more on timing, coordination, and intelligence than sheer strength. The game becomes smarter.
Vedanta reminds us that we are not the body; we are the Atman—pure consciousness. The body is a garment, a temporary costume worn in the grand play of existence. Gita declares, just as a person changes clothes, the Self changes bodies. The essence remains untouched. If so, what exactly are we dividing on a field? Height? Muscle? Hormones? These belong to Prakriti. They fluctuate; they evolve.
But the awareness that sees, decides, responds — is the same in all. When boys and girls play together, an illusion of separation begins to thin. The ego that says, “i am stronger,” “i must dominate,” or “i must prove myself,” slowly yields to something subtler: collaboration.
Vedanta speaks of lila—the cosmic play. Life is not a battlefield of identities but a divine game where consciousness expresses itself in countless forms. What is sport if not a microcosm of this lila?
In cricket, bowlers and batters appear opposed—but both serve the game.
In football, defenders and strikers seem like adversaries—but without one, the other has no meaning. In hockey, strategy and spontaneity dance together.
Opposition is functional, not existential. Similarly, masculine and feminine are expressions of the same underlying Reality. Vedanta transcends differences. It says that unity belongs to the Self. On a mixed-gender team, this truth becomes experiential.

Authored by: Sonal Srivastava