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Chandigarh: The disappearance of the Jaipur Polo Ground from New Delhi’s public life marks more than just the loss of a sporting venue. It signals the passing of an era when polo, for all its exclusivity, esotericism and mystique, remained visible, accessible and woven into the sporting and social fabric of the capital.

On June 13, officials from the Land & Development Office (L&DO) that operates under the Union housing ministry, backed by police and paramilitary personnel, sealed this historic venue spread over 15.2 acres, after the Delhi high court denied the Indian Polo Association (IPA) that manages the sport, interim relief against eviction. 

Citing a vaguely defined “larger public purpose and benefit” for this takeover, the government summarily extinguished one of the last surviving public windows into a world of cavalry tradition, princely glamour and Army horsemanship.

For younger Delhiites, raised amid security barriers, controlled access and the gradual disappearance of open public spaces, it may be difficult to imagine what the Jaipur Polo Ground once represented.

For generations, this sprawling expanse of turf at the edge of Lutyens’ Delhi had served as a living reminder of India’s equestrian heritage, where spectators could simply wander in from the street – free of charge and completely unencumbered by security – to watch thoroughbred polo ponies thundered across a playing field the size of roughly nine football pitches and spectators in one of the world’s oldest team sports. 

Situated beside the Delhi Race Course – which too appears headed for a similar fate at the hands of the L&DO – the Jaipur Polo Ground occupied a unique place in the capital’s social and sporting life in the 1970s and 1980s, enjoying an almost mythical standing among a relatively small, but highly visible, section of Delhi’s elite. Polo was never a mass spectator sport, yet few activities carried comparable prestige. The allure lay as much in the drama surrounding the game as in the contest itself: a milieu of celebrated horsemen, cavalry messes, regimental traditions and colourful personalities that gave the ground an atmosphere unlike any other in the city.

On many winter afternoons between late November and February during those decades, the Jaipur Polo Ground became the focal point of this colourful social and sporting theatre, attracting an audience whose glamour often rivalled that of the horsemen on the field.

The spectator crowds were never large – rarely more than a few hundred, not counting the sizeable contingent of syces tending to the spirited ponies nearby – but they represented an impressive mix of Army officers, diplomats, businessmen, retired cavalrymen, society figures and a handful of dedicated polo enthusiasts.

Smartly accoutred ladies, every bit as elegant as their counterparts at Ascot or Windsor’s Guards Polo Club outside London, some with their whippets in tow, occupied rows of folding chairs arranged along the brick terraces bordering the ground.

The winter sun then shone brightly under clear blue skies in an era before pollution became the capital’s hallmark; the turf was immaculate, and beyond the galloping horses and swinging mallets rose the timeless silhouette of Safdarjung’s Tomb, completing a tableau that seemed to belong entirely to another age.

Personally, my fascination with polo began through friendships. As an undergraduate and later a postgraduate at Delhi University, and years afterwards as a junior reporter with The Indian Express, notebook in hand, I found myself returning repeatedly to the Jaipur Polo Ground to watch friends play this flamboyant sport, whose customs, terminology and rituals were........

© The Wire