Rolling Beyond Boundaries: Silent Fight of Kashmir’s Wheelchair Cricketers

Budgam, Oct 13: No roaring crowds, no banners, no cameras, no reels on social media. Just a group of determined men in wheelchairs, their movements graceful yet defiant, fighting both gravity and indifference.

They were not just playing a game; they were proving a point.

At the heart of it all was Wasim Feroze Matto, the president of the Wheelchair Cricket Association of Jammu and Kashmir. Calm and articulate, he speaks of his team’s latest event, a wheelchair cricket match organised in collaboration with the Social Welfare Department in central Kashmir.

“Our association stands for Rehabilitation, Education and Sports for Persons with Disabilities,” Wasim said. “We frequently organise such events. This one had two objectives: capacity building and an outing for persons with disabilities, as well as to support the Nasha Mukt Bharat Abhiyan.”

For him, cricket is not just about competition. It is about connection. “I am the founding member of wheelchair cricket in J&K,” he said. “I started it because I wanted to end isolation. If ten of us come together, we can end the loneliness of ten lives.”

We have won 8 national tournaments, but who knows us?

“We have represented Jammu and Kashmir in nine national tournaments and have won eight of them,” Wasim said. “But still, we don’t get any recognition, not from authorities, not from dignitaries. We have never even received a word of appreciation.”

For most players, the applause fades before it even begins. Wasim admits the lack of public response hurts them deeply.

“When we play, people stop for a few minutes, watch us, and walk away,” he said. “But when a normal cricket match happens at the same ground, hundreds turn up. There are reels, cheers, and posters. We never get that kind of attention.”

Wasim said that with time, they have “learnt to live with it.”

“We don’t expect much now,” he said. “We are used to being ignored.”

Same land, same people, yet we are isolated

Wasim’s words carry both dignity and disappointment.

“Same religion, same land, same community, it doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “We belong to a community that has been neglected ever since the freedom of our country.”

He pauses before adding something that sums up their struggle and resilience.

“I did not start wheelchair cricket to make heroes. I just wanted to make friends, to bring together people who were isolated like me. Society did not give us much, but maybe we can give something back, a positive message.”

Cricket gives us energy; it heals us

For these players, cricket is not an escape; it’s therapy.

“Cricket gives us positive energy,” Wasim said. “The pressure, the depression, the trauma inside us – it all comes out when we play. We dive, we take shots, we celebrate. It gives us purpose and pride.”

But the passion for the game constantly battles practical challenges. Their biggest problem is the lack of sports-grade wheelchairs.

“We have around 15 wheelchairs but need at least 15 more,” Wasim said. “There is a company which makes special wheelchairs designed for both movement and safety. If we could get those, our game would improve a lot.”

Each wheelchair costs thousands, far beyond what these self-funded players can afford. “With government support, we could organise at least one wheelchair cricket tournament every month,” Wasim said. “If matches are held in colleges or universities, it would send a positive message and inspire many others with disabilities.”

Letters unanswered, appeals unheard

Wasim says their association has written repeatedly to officials, bureaucrats, and commissioners, seeking help.

“I have written letters to many people, but not a single one responded,” Wasim said. “A few NGOs help us with refreshments, and we are thankful for that. But no one helps with equipment, which is what we really need.”

The Social Welfare Department collaborated with them for this recent match, but Wasim believes their involvement needs to be deeper.

“If the department wishes, they can solve all our problems,” he said. “They just need to write to the ICRC for special wheelchairs; they will get them. But nobody takes that pain.”

He was careful, however, to add a note of appreciation.

“Whenever a physically challenged person has any other issue, the district social welfare office helps immediately. We are thankful to them for that.”

Beyond sympathy, they seek recognition

Wheelchair cricket in Kashmir is not a spectacle of pity. It is a story of strength, of men who dream, play, and celebrate despite limitations that most can’t imagine.

What they seek is not sympathy, but spectators. Not charity, but recognition.

“We don’t need people to feel sorry for us,” Wasim said. “We just want them to watch us, to cheer for us like any other team. That’s all.”

Wasim’s dream is simple yet powerful: “I want every young person with a disability to see that they can play, compete, and be proud. Society hasn’t given us much, but if someone gets hope from our effort, that’s our victory.”

The sound of courage

It was the sound of courage rolling beyond boundaries, the sound of men who have learnt to rise without standing.

Because sometimes, in the quietest corners of Kashmir, heroes don’t walk, they roll.