Trisha Ghosal
There are easier ways to stay around the game. A microphone, a commentary box, financial stability, visibility without the grind. For many, that transition is natural. For Sushma Verma, it was a temptation she consciously refused.
Because somewhere deep within, the cricketer in her is not finished.
In an exclusive conversation, Verma’s words are measured, almost detached at times, but beneath that calm sits a stubborn persistence. The kind that does not make noise, but refuses to fade.
Her 237-run knock in domestic cricket could easily be framed as a comeback statement. She does not see it that way.
“I wasn’t aware of the record,” she says simply. “I was just focused on playing session by session.”
That line tells you everything. There is no drama in her approach, no obsession with milestones. Just preparation and process. Ten to fifteen days of red-ball training. A mental reset from white-ball rhythms. And when the opportunity came, unexpected, borne out of an injury to Priya Punia, she did what seasoned cricketers do. She occupied space. For long enough to matter.
But the innings was not just about runs. It was about reassurance. To herself more than anyone else.
Red-ball cricket, as she explains, is less about flair and more about endurance, of body, mind, and discipline. “It’s about understanding the game deeply,” she says. “Not just as a batter, but even as a wicketkeeper, staying involved for days.”
That desire to test herself, physically, mentally, structurally, is what separates Verma from many others in similar phases of their career. She is not chasing selection as much as she is chasing clarity.
And yet, selection looms over every domestic performance. Inevitably, her name re-enters conversations around a national comeback. She shrugs it off with a perspective that comes only from experience.
“It’s not in my control,” she says. “My journey has been a rollercoaster, but I don’t have regrets.”
There is no bitterness there, which is telling. Only acceptance, and perhaps a quiet understanding of how the system works.
Because selection, as she points out, is rarely just about numbers. It is about combinations, long-term planning, existing players, and timing. In today’s women’s cricket ecosystem, far more competitive and structured than before, being good is no longer enough. You have to be extraordinary.
That reality could have nudged her further towards commentary. Instead, it pushed her in the opposite direction.
The decision to step away from WPL commentary was not impulsive. It was calculated, almost corrective.
“I realised people had started perceiving me as someone who had moved on from cricket,” she says. “That didn’t sit well with me.”
Perception, in elite sport, can become reality if left unchecked. Verma understood that. Continuing in commentary, even while playing, risked reinforcing a narrative she did not believe in. So she chose the harder path, silencing the outside noise and reasserting her identity as an active cricketer.
It is a decision that speaks louder than any innings.
Because stepping away from visibility, from financial comfort, from relevance in public discourse, is not easy. Especially when the alternative, continuing to grind in domestic cricket with no guarantees, offers no immediate reward.
And yet, she chose it.
Today, her life is even more demanding. Balancing cricket with police training, her days begin at 4:30 in the morning and stretch late into the evening. Limited phone access, physical fatigue, mental adjustment to a new environment, it is a routine that would deter many.
She calls it “another challenge”.
That is perhaps the defining trait of Sushma Verma. Not resilience in the dramatic sense, but resilience as habit. Show up. Train. Play. Repeat.
Even her motivation is stripped of cliches. It does not come from external validation or selection dreams. It comes from the game itself, and from a late start that still fuels her.
“I started at 17,” she says. “Once I understood the level, I knew I had to keep improving.”
There is also a quiet awareness of representation. Coming from a region with limited cricketing exposure, she recognises that her journey, even now, can inspire. Not through words, but through routine. Through persistence.
Through not giving up.
And that, ultimately, is the story here. Not a comeback. Not a redemption arc. But a refusal to let the narrative close prematurely.
Sushma Verma is still playing. Still preparing. Still choosing the difficult over the convenient.
And as long as that remains true, her story remains unfinished.
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