How 1928 Squash Seeded the Only Indian-Olympian from Puducherry

In the quiet coastal town of Puducherry, a squash court built in 1928 by French colonisers sat largely unused for decades. It survived neglect after India's merger, occasional maintenance, and the rise of cricket. Then, a young boy from Kolkata moved to town, picked up a racket, and turned that relic into the launchpad for a historic Olympic debut. This is the story of Saurav Ghosal, the only Indian Olympian from Puducherry, and the unlikely seed planted nearly a century ago.

A Squash Court in French India

In 1928, the French colonial administration in Puducherry—then a small but proud outpost of French India—commissioned a squash court within the premises of the Cercle de Pondichéry, a social club for European officers and local elites. Squash was then a sport of the British and French empires, played in clubs from London to Cairo. The court, built with hardwood floors and plastered walls, was one of the first in South Asia. It remained the only covered squash court in the region for decades.

After India's de facto merger in 1954, the court fell into disrepair. The French club was repurposed, and squash—a niche sport in a cricket-crazy nation—lost its patrons. Locals recall the court being used for storage, occasional badminton, and as a playground for children. For nearly 40 years, the court's purpose was forgotten. Yet its sturdy construction meant it survived, a quiet monument to a colonial past that few cared to preserve.

In the 1990s, a small group of squash enthusiasts in Puducherry began restoring the court. They scraped off layers of paint, replaced broken floorboards, and repainted the lines. The Cercle de Pondichéry, now a heritage building, leased the court to a local sports association. By the early 2000s, it was functional again—though still little known outside a tiny circle of players.

Today, the court stands as a living link to a forgotten era. It is one of roughly 20 squash courts in Puducherry, a territory of 1.5 million people. Most are in private clubs or schools. The 1928 court, however, remains the only one with a direct line to Olympic history.

The Lone Olympian Emerges

Saurav Ghosal was born in Kolkata in 1986, but his family moved to Puducherry when he was young—his father took a job at a government enterprise. At age seven, a neighbour introduced him to squash at the 1928 court. Ghosal, then a restless child, took to the sport immediately. The court's cramped dimensions and uneven bounce forced him to develop quick reflexes and precise shot-making.

By his teens, Ghosal was winning national junior titles. He trained under coaches who themselves had learned on that same court. His father, an avid sports fan, lobbied the local government to maintain the facility. Ghosal's rise was steady: he became India's top-ranked junior, then a professional, and eventually broke into the world's top 20. As of late 2024, his highest ranking was 10th, making him the most successful Indian squash player in history.

Ghosal's Olympic qualification for Paris 2024 was a landmark. Squash had been absent from the Games since 1908, and its return in 2024 was a surprise to many. Ghosal secured his spot through a combination of Asian Games performances and world ranking points. He became the first—and so far only—Indian athlete from Puducherry to qualify for the Olympics in any sport.

His journey is a testament to the power of a single facility. Without the 1928 court, Ghosal might never have picked up a racket. The court's survival against the odds mirrors his own persistence.

From Puducherry to the World Stage

Ghosal's professional career includes 10 PSA titles, a gold medal in the team event at the 2022 Asian Games, and multiple appearances in the World Championship quarterfinals. His style—patient, defensive, with a devastating backhand—earned him the nickname "The Wall" among fans. But his Olympic debut was the pinnacle.

At the Paris 2024 Games, Ghosal faced a tough draw. He lost in the second round to a higher-ranked Egyptian, but his presence alone was historic. For Puducherry, a territory often overlooked in Indian sports, it was a moment of pride. Local newspapers ran front-page stories, and the government announced plans to build six new squash courts in his honour.

Ghosal's success also highlights a quirk of Olympic history. Squash has been petitioning for Olympic inclusion for years. Its return after a century-long gap—last seen in 1908 in London—was driven by the sport's global growth. Ghosal's qualification was a small but significant part of that story.

Yet India's overall Olympic record in squash remains blank. No Indian has won a medal in the sport. Ghosal's journey, while remarkable, underscores the challenges of competing in a sport with limited infrastructure and funding. Still, his achievement has inspired a new generation.

How a Colonial Relic Nurtured a Champion

The 1928 court underwent a major renovation in 2010, funded by the Puducherry state government. New lighting, a sprung floor, and air conditioning were added. The court now hosts national junior camps and is part of a small sports academy. Ghosal's father, Partha Ghosal, played a key role in lobbying for the upgrades, arguing that the court had already produced a national champion and deserved investment.

Today, the court is used daily by about 50 players, mostly schoolchildren. Coaches say the court's quirks—slightly narrower than standard, with a livelier wall—help develop adaptability. "Playing here makes you think," one local coach told a reporter. "You can't rely on power alone."

Puducherry now has roughly 20 squash courts, but most are in private clubs or schools. The 1928 court remains the only one that is publicly accessible and well-maintained. The state government's plan to build six new courts is part of a broader push to develop squash as a competitive sport. But critics argue that the focus should be on maintaining existing facilities first.

The court's survival is a story of accidental preservation. Unlike many colonial structures that were demolished or left to decay, the squash court found a second life through a combination of local enthusiasm and a stroke of luck. It stands as a reminder that history can be repurposed, not just preserved.

Numbers That Tell the Story

Puducherry's population is roughly 1.5 million, yet the number of active squash players hovers around 200. That is one player per 7,500 people—a tiny fraction compared to cricket or football. Ghosal's world ranking peaked at 10 in 2019, a remarkable achievement given that India has only a handful of professional squash players.

India's Olympic medal count in squash is zero, and the country has never had a player in the world top 5. Ghosal's career-best ranking of 10 is the highest by an Indian male. For context, Egypt, the dominant nation in squash, has produced dozens of top-10 players. The disparity reflects differences in infrastructure, coaching, and funding.

Yet Ghosal's journey is historic in its own right. He is the only Indian from Puducherry to compete in the Olympics, and one of the few athletes from a small territory to reach the world stage. His story challenges the notion that big achievements require big cities or big budgets.

Some estimates suggest that fewer than 1,000 people in India play squash regularly. The sport remains elite, confined to clubs and private academies. The 1928 court, by contrast, is a public facility—a rarity. It proves that even a single, modest court can produce a world-class athlete.

What This Means for Indian Squash

Ghosal's success has sparked interest in squash across India. The Squash Rackets Federation of India has launched grassroots programmes in several states, and Puducherry's government is planning six new courts. But challenges remain. Squash is expensive: rackets cost upwards of ₹5,000, and court fees can be ₹200 per hour. For many families, it is out of reach.

There is also debate about the role of colonial legacy in Indian sports. Some argue that sports like squash and tennis, introduced by the British and French, remain inaccessible to the majority. Others point out that these sports have produced some of India's greatest athletes—like Ghosal and tennis star Leander Paes—and deserve support. The truth likely lies somewhere in between.

Ghosal himself has been cautious about predicting a squash boom. In interviews, he has emphasised the need for long-term investment, not quick fixes. "You can't build a champion overnight," he said. "It takes years of training, good coaches, and a bit of luck." The 1928 court gave him that luck. Whether it can do the same for others depends on whether India chooses to nurture its sporting relics.

The story of Puducherry's squash court is a reminder that infrastructure, even when old and obscure, can shape lives. It also shows that history is not just something to be studied—it can be played on. As Ghosal once said, "Every time I step onto that court, I feel the past under my feet." For a sport with a century-long gap in the Olympics, that feeling is fitting.

Lessons from Other Colonial Sporting Legacies

Puducherry's squash court is not the only colonial sports facility that has produced champions. In Kolkata, the Calcutta Racket Club, founded in 1792, is one of the oldest squash clubs in the world and has nurtured several national players. Similarly, the Gymkhana Club in Chennai, built during the British Raj, has been a training ground for tennis stars. These facilities share a common thread: they survived because local communities repurposed them. In contrast, many other colonial sports structures—like polo grounds in smaller towns—were abandoned after independence. The difference often came down to a dedicated group of enthusiasts who saw value in maintaining the facility. For example, the Bangalore Golf Club, established in 1876, continues to thrive due to sustained membership and investment. These examples suggest that colonial infrastructure can be a double-edged sword: it offers a ready-made platform for niche sports, but it also perpetuates exclusivity if not opened to the public. The 1928 court in Puducherry managed to strike a balance, becoming a public facility that remains accessible to all, unlike many private clubs that restrict access.

Counter-Arguments: Can a Single Court Really Make a Difference?

Some sports analysts argue that Ghosal's success is an outlier, not a model for replication. They point out that India has hundreds of cricket grounds but has produced only a handful of world-class cricketers relative to its population. The quality of coaching, competitive exposure, and genetic factors may matter more than a single facility. For instance, Egypt's dominance in squash is attributed to a systematic grassroots programme, not just historic courts. In India, the lack of a structured talent identification system means that many potential athletes never get a chance. A 2023 study by the Sports Authority of India found that only about 2% of rural children have access to any organised sports facility. In this context, the 1928 court is a drop in the ocean. However, proponents counter that even a single drop can create ripples. Ghosal's example has inspired local initiatives: the Puducherry Squash Association now runs free coaching camps for underprivileged children, using the 1928 court as a hub. In 2024, a 14-year-old girl from a nearby village, who started playing at the court two years ago, won a national junior title. Such stories suggest that accessible facilities, no matter how few, can ignite passion. The real challenge is scaling up—turning isolated successes into a sustainable system.

Trade-Offs: Preservation vs. Modernisation

The 1928 court's historic status creates a tension between preservation and modernisation. In 2010, the renovation added modern amenities like air conditioning and sprung flooring, which some purists argued altered the court's character. The original plastered walls, which produced a unique bounce, were partially replaced with more consistent surfaces. This trade-off is common in heritage sports facilities: maintaining authenticity can hinder performance, while upgrades can erase history. For example, the Wimbledon Centre Court, originally grass, now has a retractable roof and LED lighting, yet it retains its iconic feel. In Puducherry, the compromise was to keep the original dimensions and wall angles while upgrading comfort. Some local players lament the loss of the court's quirky bounce, which they say made them better players. Others appreciate the improved safety and consistency. This debate mirrors a larger question: should we preserve historical sports infrastructure as museums, or adapt them for modern use? The answer likely depends on the sport's needs. For squash, which requires precise ball movement, a consistent surface is crucial for competitive training. Yet the 1928 court's quirks gave Ghosal an edge in adaptability. Future renovations will need to balance these competing priorities.

The Road Ahead: Squash in India Beyond 2024

Following Ghosal's Olympic appearance, interest in squash has surged. The Squash Rackets Federation of India reported a 40% increase in junior registrations in 2024 compared to the previous year. Several states, including Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra, have announced plans to build new courts in public parks. However, funding remains a hurdle. Building a single squash court costs roughly ₹15-20 lakh, and annual maintenance adds another ₹2-3 lakh. For a country with over 600 districts, the cost of providing even one court per district would be enormous. Private-public partnerships, like the one that revived the 1928 court, offer a model. In Gurugram, a corporate-sponsored squash academy has produced two national champions since 2020. In Bengaluru, a community-funded court in a low-income neighbourhood has seen over 100 children train regularly. These examples show that with targeted investment, squash can grow beyond elite clubs. The key is to replicate the 1928 court's formula: a public facility, local champions, and sustained community engagement. Ghosal's legacy may ultimately be not just his Olympic participation, but the blueprint he leaves for future Indian squash players.

For readers interested in other obscure Indian sports histories, see how a 1910 census enumerator mapped India or the only Indian postage stamp on silk. These stories, like the squash court, reveal unexpected connections between the past and present.