Indian women's football team build their own crown

As the final whistle screamed into the thick Bangkok evening, Sangeeta Basfore crumpled to her knees.

Around her, the air cracked with thunder and disbelief. On the far end of the pitch, the scoreboard blinked: Thailand 1-2 India.

The roar from the dugout had quieted into disbelief, broken only by the sound of sobs – soft, guttural, unstoppable – from a team that had spent too many years hoping, too many nights swallowing doubt.

Their jerseys clung to their skin, heavy with sweat, tears, and something deeper – relief that hurt. Chests heaved not just from ninety minutes of running on fumes, but from the weight of a decade carried collectively of promises broken, of systems that failed them, of dreams stitched together with nothing but threadbare resolve and each other.

India had done it.

Not through wildcards. Not as hosts. Not by the grace of mercy, but through blood, grit, and football.

For the first time in 23 years, India had qualified for the AFC Women’s Asian Cup on merit.

A perfect run through the qualifiers: Mongolia dismantled 13-0, Iraq swept aside 5-0, Timor-Leste humbled 4-0.

And then came Thailand – a World Cup playing team, Asian Cup quarterfinalists, playing in their home country.

India stared them down and won.

And in that moment, as rain whispered onto the Chiang Mai grass and the team huddled in a tear-soaked embrace, it did not feel like just a football match.

It felt like a reckoning. A resurrection. A rebellion which came full circle.

Ashes and aftermath

But revolutions don’t rise in comfort. They crawl, scarred and starving, through silence.

In January 2022, the Indian women’s team had been on the cusp of something big.

Hosts of the Asian Cup, led by Thomas Dennerby, with a group that dared to whisper about World Cup dreams. And then disaster struck.

A COVID-19 outbreak tore through the camp. Isolation rooms, panic, helpless tears. They played just one group stage game before being booted from their own tournament.

Dennerby, stoic then, would later describe it as the most painful chapter of his career.

For the players, the pain ran deeper. “Sleepless nights,” they would recall years later. “It still hurts to think about.”

2022 wasn’t finished. That same year, the U-17 team, coached first by Alex Ambrose, was rocked by allegations of sexual misconduct. A minor girl, a coach suspended, and then pin drop silence.

The federation tiptoed away, hiding behind bureaucratic curtains. That team, now led by Dennerby, would go on to host the U-17 World Cup in Bhubaneswar, only to suffer humiliating defeats – three matches, three losses.

Then came the SAFF Championship, where India, a regional powerhouse for years, crashed out in the semi-finals to Nepal. A year later, history would repeat. Different venue, same opponent, same heartbreak.

On the international front, the senior team trudged through 2023 with two group-stage exits: the bottom of their group in both the Asian Games and the Olympic qualifiers.

Goal difference? -12. Redemption seemed a cruel joke.

2024 brought more of the same. Another SAFF semi-final exit, another loss to Nepal, another year where the team’s pain was invisible to the rest of the country.

And while the men’s leagues were promoted with fanfare, the women’s game continued to be treated as a checklist item.

The IWL always came and went without posters, without hype, without apology.

A fire they could not extinguish

So how did they endure?

Somehow, from the smog of failure and neglect, the Blue Tigresses clawed their way up. With each broken promise, they hardened.

With each coach’s departure, they adapted. Maymol Rocky handed the reins over in 2021, having carried the weight of revival for years.

Dennerby came next, tactical and calm. His departure in 2023, after another cycle, left the team reeling again. Interim names came and went: Langam Chaoba Devi, Santosh Kashyap.

By 2025, Crispin Chhetri had taken over, tasked not just with building a squad but rebuilding belief.

The glue in all of this? The players.

But they did it. Together. Their bond was forged not in winning, but in survival.

When the national scene failed them, they looked abroad. Bala Devi wrote history in Scotland. Manisha Kalyan scored in the Champions League. Jyoti Chauhan fought for minutes in Croatia.

These weren’t glamorous moves. They were isolated, financially tight, and culturally jarring. But they brought back knowledge, professionalism, and fire.

Redemption, written in sweat

By the time the qualifiers rolled around in 2025, the squad was done waiting. Done hoping.

Thailand struck the woodwork twice in the opening half-hour. Panthoi pulled off a save for the ages. Then, against the run of play, Anju Tamang slid the ball to Basfore at the edge of the box. Her shot tore through the air like it had something to prove. 1-0 India.

Thailand clawed back early in the second half with a cruel, curling cross that snuck in. But India didn’t crack. They held. They waited.

In the 74th minute, Nirmala Devi’s corner was flicked on. Shilky Devi squared it perfectly. Basfore rose, unmarked, and nodded it in. Two goals, one heartbeat.

The whistle sounded. The tears flowed. History made.

It was a retort. To every year of neglect. To every girl who was told her football dreams were a phase.

The 2026 Asian Cup is a new horizon. 12 teams. A direct path to the 2027 World Cup. A shot at the 2028 Olympics.

Four semifinal spots guarantee a World Cup ticket. Even a quarterfinal finish means play-offs. For the first time in their lives, these women have more than dreams. They have a door kicked open.

And yet, nothing will be handed to them. That’s the point.

Days after the win, the All India Football Federation released a statement. A reward of $50,000, they announced, would be given to the Senior Indian Women’s National Team.

AIFF called it the product of “sustained planning and developmental efforts over the past few years.” That there were “no shortcuts to success,” and this was the result of a “long-term vision and structured preparation.”

If only the girls had time to laugh.

They have come this far not because they were given a stage, but because they built one. Out of sweat. Out of silence. Out of failure. They built it from dust.

And now, the world will finally have to watch them dance on it.