Yes, yes I can almost hear the groan from some sports fans: “Why are we talking about a Commonwealth Weightlifting event?
The standard’s low, medals don’t mean much.”
But before you roll your eyes, hear me out.
I’ve followed Olympic sports since the late 1990s, a time when India barely registered on the world map outside a few scattered sports. Weightlifting, oddly enough, was one of those rare exceptions. And it was the women who led the charge.
The First Wave: When India Dreamt Big
Back then, there were three names every Indian sports follower knew Kunjarani Devi, Karnam Malleswari, and Laxmi. All three were competing at a world-class level, all thanks to a rare alignment of support, funding, and purpose.
The Hinduja Foundation had backed women’s weightlifting ahead of its Olympic debut in Sydney 2000, and the results were immediate.
Kunjarani was winning medals at world championships with frightening regularity, Karnam was breaking barriers, and suddenly, India looked like it belonged among the best.
Karnam, of course, delivered that unforgettable bronze medal at Sydney 2000, becoming the first Indian woman to win an Olympic medal.
But soon after that came the crash.
When the Hinduja scandal erupted, funding dried up almost overnight. Then the 2006 doping scandal hit a national embarrassment that dragged the entire program into the abyss. For years after, Indian lifters vanished from relevance. No medals, no heroes, no hope.
The Mirabai Era: A Lone Torchbearer
It wasn’t until 2017 that we saw a spark again a spark from a small village in Manipur. Mirabai Chanu, the girl from Nongpok Kakching, lifted 194 kg at the World Championships in Anaheim and brought India back to the top of the world.
For the next few years, Mirabai was Indian weightlifting. She carried the sport by herself through the Olympics, through injury, through endless expectations.
But beyond her, there was silence. No depth, no second line. Every conversation began and ended with Mirabai, until now.
The Commonwealth Championships: A Quiet Revolution
The recent Commonwealth Weightlifting Championships, held in India, may not have the glamour of the Worlds or the Olympics. But the data coming out of it tells a different story a story that might define the next decade.
For the first time since the Karnam–Kunjarani days, we’re seeing depth. Real, measurable, world-level depth.
I compared Indian lifts from the Commonwealth Championships to those from the latest World Youth and Junior Championships, and the results are eye-opening.
Youth Men (selected highlights):
- 60 kg – Arumugham lifted 254 kg (World Youth 61kg bronze: 252 kg)
- 94 kg – Parv Choudhary lifted 337 kg (World Youth 96kg gold: 330 kg)
Youth Women:
- 44 kg – Preetismita lifted 150 kg (World Youth 45kg bronze: 150 kg)
- 48 kg – Payal lifted 166 kg (World Youth 49kg bronze: 164 kg)
- 53 kg – Koyel Bar lifted 192 kg, breaking the world youth record, the World Youth 55kg gold was 188 kg
Junior Level:
- 48 kg – Soumya Dalvi lifted 177 kg (World Junior 49kg silver: 176 kg)
- 79 kg – Bederat Baharali lifted 326 kg (World Junior 81kg bronze: 340 kg)
Senior Level:
- 48 kg – Mirabai Chanu lifted 193 kg
- 60 kg men – Rishikanta lifted 271 kg, which would’ve placed 8th at the World Championships
Now, here’s the thing this isn’t about winning Commonwealth medals. It’s about how those numbers compare to the world. For the first time in decades, Indian lifters especially at the youth level are lifting totals that match or surpass global podium standards.
That’s not a fluke. That’s a shift.
Koyel, Parv, Soumya The New Core
Look closely at those names. Koyel Bar just 17, lifting 192kg, breaking a world youth record. Parv Choudhary a teenager outlifting the World Youth gold standard in the 96kg category. Soumya Dalvi hitting world junior silver numbers at 18.
For years, we’ve said Indian lifters lacked exposure, lacked infrastructure, lacked scientific support. That may still be true to some extent, but the Khelo India program has quietly changed the grassroots story. These athletes are not coming from the big cities or fancy academies. They’re from small towns, from community gyms, from schools that finally have access to nutrition, equipment, and coaching through structured government programs.
This is the most exciting part this isn’t a miracle generation. It’s a system finally working.
Of course, if you’ve followed this sport long enough, you know how fragile this success can be. The Hinduja era collapsed overnight. The 2006 scandal wiped out an entire generation. If history teaches anything, it’s this: talent isn’t enough.
The only way to protect this resurgence is through institutional strength stable funding, strict anti-doping protocols, and a development system that doesn’t break lifters before they peak.
Because make no mistake, these lifters are young. They need to be protected from burnout, from overtraining, from the temptation of shortcuts. That means sports science support, nutrition planning, and above all, integrity.
The next events can help dozens of Indian lifters gain international ranking points and experience, a necessary step toward the 2026 Commonwealth Games and Olympic qualification.
If used smartly, it could mark the moment India finally transitions from being a one-athlete sport to a multi-athlete powerhouse.
The roadmap is clear:
- Consolidate the gains made in youth and junior ranks
- Build a bridge to senior competitiveness
- Enforce a zero-tolerance doping policy
- Guarantee funding stability for the next Olympic cycles
Do all that, and by Los Angeles 2028 or Brisbane 2032, we may not just be talking about one Mirabai Chanu. We may be talking about a generation.
For the first time in 25 years, Indian weightlifting doesn’t feel like it’s hanging by a thread. It feels like a sport that’s growing roots.
The whispers of promise are real. The numbers are world-class. The system is showing signs of maturity. If we can avoid the mistakes of the past if we can build this quietly, carefully, and cleanly we might just be entering the most exciting era Indian weightlifting has ever seen.
Go Indiaa
