On Grieving and Loving again: Agneepath 7.0 Revisited

12.17 AM, February 1st, 2026. We're already in uncharted territory. Two whole completed days of Agneepath. So close to a dream come true. But when the heavens split open, and a hailstorm begins in earnest, and my phone buzzes with a forwarded text that mocks, “Come rain or hail, Agneepath will fail”, I can only lament.

***

14th February 2024. The Haryana farmers' protests have ruled out safe travel to campus for participating contingents. Agneepath 6.0 is cancelled. “The time of death was called on Valentine’s Day, only two days before the event was scheduled to begin,” writes Kartikay Dutta of Edict Sports, in a piece titled “Agneepath 2024: The Obituary”. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, a shellshocked Edict website bears a much different obituary. 

14th February 2025. One day into Agneepath 6.0 (take 2), the fest is called off. We have lost Vignesh Shankar and Dhruvajyoti Sahu.

Dhruv, a flagbearer of Ashokan student activism. I had witnessed him up close when he was leading the baggage scanners protests of January 2025. What a force of nature, a catalytic inspiration.

Vignesh, one of our own at Edict Sports. Soft-spoken, intelligent, inquisitive. A classmate. A colleague. A friend. I had seen him just hours earlier, shook his hand after we'd finished tweeting tennis. His last text to me, forevermore: “aight aight I'll be there. be back in five”.

***

It takes us at Edict Sports a long while to find meaning in sport again. Our common passion suddenly seems so secondary, such an irrelevant afterthought. How could we care about sport when our chorus of voices was now sparser? When a chair in our weekly meetings would never be filled again? When no message on our group chat would ever bear both blue ticks?

We grieve, and we recover. Slowly, painfully, gradually and non-linearly. And as January 2026 and Agneepath 7.0 come and go, we are enveloped in a weird sense of deja vu, carrying the accumulated weight of two years of disappointment and grief. We almost wail, “Yeh dukh kaahe khatam nahi hota?” Why does this pain never end?

Lekin Masaan guzar gaye, aur Mausam badal gaye. The last rites passed, and the seasons changed, and after years, the Ashoka sports fraternity finally got the showpiece stage it had been craving, and the student body got a divine taste of what they had been denied by fate itself. 

Forged in fire, crowned in gold. Entertainment. Spectacle. Victory. A fever dream come true. Eleven medals across thirteen sports – five champions, five silvers, one bronze. And we at Edict Sports rediscovered the spark that had placed us at the pulse of the Ashokan sporting fan.

Community, pride, and passion. You only had to lend an ear, and the decibels would hit you. “Ashoka, Ashoka”, “Let's Go Ashoka”. Players' names are chanted, suffixing impassioned “let's go”-s. Football sees each pass and shot cheered, each opposition attempt booed. Basketball sees chants of “attack” and “defence defence”. Volleyball chants “tooti tooti” to manifest an unforced error by the opponents. The racquet sports are played in silence, as the laws necessitate, but each point and rally is punctuated with raucous support. The shooting range echoes with the shrill cracks of bullets hounding the bullseye. There are nuances to being a fan, ways of supporting each team that I learn alongside scores of fans more. 

Our eyes flit around, and our heart rates flutter. There are stories everywhere, each narrative of immense potential and intense importance. Excited debuts from nervous debutants. Farewell tours for graduating seniors. Dashed dreams of those ruled out through injuries. Deep breaths for those playing, they are on a mission. Fist-pumps with each minor lift, tears with each major fall. It dawns on us that our peers and fellows are transformed in this fiery cauldron of competition, and we see them in new lights. They are sportspersons, athletes, leaders, captains, symbols of ambition and commitment and stars with sky-high hopes.

As a team, we at Edict Sports gain momentum and adrenaline as we parse through the fixtures. Athletes thank us for mentioning them in our coverage on X and Instagram. They bear them as badges of honour, share screenshots with their friends and family. These are golden memories being made, I realise, in the tradition of an old currency minted and discovered anew. 

At the sunken field, I tweet a stream of live commentary on the women's football fixture. I smile at the memory of Vignesh tweeting the wrong score last year and incurring the amused chuckles (and not-so-amused wrath) of many. I honour him with the black armband I wear, but take care not to repeat his gaffe.

***

14th February 2026. Two weeks since the curtains fell on Agneepath 7.0. A thousand origami birds hang in AC02. Candles burn and crowds hug. The Edict Sports group chat from last year is active again. Former Editor-in-Chief Vishnu Prakash writes, “Thinking of all of you today. Crazy to think it's been a year since everything. Hope you're all doing good.”

I come back to an email shared by Professor Jonathan Gil Harris in those hollow, dark days – a quote by Vignesh, in response to Dhruv, on Milton’s Paradise Lost. 

“It seems to me that individuals can weather any storm so long as they are not alone. And have love.”

Thank you, Agneepath 7.0, for helping us love once again. Thank you for the warmth we found at the fire of your hearth. Thank you for the beautiful celebration of sport and community we had longed with bated breath for, and shall always long for with impatient impertinence until its next offering.

[Edited by Aditi Gudi & Arjun Vinod]