India Won 3-0 and Two Women's Doubles Pairs Were Never Called to the Court

The arena fell silent in the moment before the first shuttle was served. I always pause at that silence - the quiet before a match begins, when every calculation on paper remains intact and reality has not yet broken it. That night at the 2026 Asian Games in Japan, the silence lasted less than a minute. Then PV Sindhu walked onto the court, and everything unfolded exactly as the script had been written.

I was sitting in the seventh row of the eastern stand, far enough to see the whole court as a flat painting, close enough to hear the strings cut through the air on every serve. The third match of the women's team tie between India and Kazakhstan came to an end. On the scoreboard, the line appeared neatly: 3-0.

What I carried home from that evening was not the score. What I carried home was the image of four women sitting on the bench: Treesa Jolly and Gayatri Gopichand Pullela side by side, towels around their necks; a little further away, Kavipriya Selvam and Simran Singhi resting their rackets on their thighs, eyes still fixed on the court. They had put on their kits. They had warmed up. They were ready.

And they were never called.

In the team format, the first side to win three matches wins the tie. India's three singles players completed their work in three consecutive matches, without surrendering a single game. The tie closed before the two doubles matches could begin. On the scoreboard, it was a tidy victory. In my head, it was a gap that had not been filled - and that gap mattered more than all the games that were played.

The 2026 Asian Games are being held in Japan. The women's badminton team event entered the knockout stage with a tie that Indian media had already described before the match began in two words: "without breaking a sweat". When the draw was published, no one in Delhi or Mumbai had to worry.

Kazakhstan is not a badminton power. On the map of continental nations with developed badminton programmes, Kazakhstan sits at the bottom tier - where players still come to Asian events hoping to learn more than to win medals. India, with a player who has twice stood on the Olympic podium, with a rising generation behind her, entered the tie as the clear favourite.

I arrived at the arena two hours before match time. The habit of someone who hosts major events is to observe the stands before observing the court. That night, the stands were filled with India's tricolour, banners carrying the names of the three singles players, and a handful of Kazakhstan supporters gathered in a small corner, silent more often than speaking. In ties with a wide class gap, the crowd usually announces the result in advance: loud cheering at the start, cheering fading as the first game closes and the weaker side cannot keep pace, then a strange ease in the final games when everyone already knows.

That night, the loudest roar came in the first game. After that, it became a murmur.

PV Sindhu walked into the opening match as the team's number one. At the Asian Games, she holds the position the trade calls "first singles" - the opening match, where the most experienced player is tasked with shaping the psychology of the entire tie. It is a convention established over decades in team events: the strongest player goes out first, not only to secure a point but to set the tempo and force the opponent to live under pressure from behind.

Her opponent was Kamila Smagulova of Kazakhstan. The match did not last long. In the first game, she won 21-9. In the second, the gap held, and the opening singles closed in silence.

There is one detail in the record that made me stop and think. At one point during the first game, the interim score was reported as 7-2 in India's favour. Under the current 21-point system of the Badminton World Federation, no game ends at 7-2. A game ends only when someone reaches 21 points, provided they lead by two at 20-all, or reaches 30 in an extended game. A 7-2 scoreline can only be a mid-game score or a transcription error somewhere between the wire feed and the newsroom. I mention it not to nitpick the report, but to remind that in sport, even the score - the thing that seems most objective - can be written wrong. And once the source data is wrong, every analysis that follows should be read again with a wary eye.

Setting that figure aside, what remained of the opening match was a victory exactly as expected of a two-time Olympic medallist against an opponent of a different class.

The point worth discussing is not the match. The point worth discussing is Sindhu's position in the bigger picture of the Indian team.

At 30, she entered the 2026 Asian Games in what analysts call the "decline phase" of an elite sporting career. The phrase sounds cold, but it simply describes a biological fact: reflexes slower by a few thousandths of a second, recovery after long matches reduced, and the number of training sessions needing adjustment so the body does not turn on its owner. But in a match with a class gap as wide as the one against Kazakhstan, the decline phase is almost invisible. Sindhu won with reach, with the experience of reading the shuttle, with the ability to put her opponent into situations they did not want. It was not a real test. It was a practice session with an audience.

India's second player was Unnati Hooda. She won the second match with a score recorded as 21-7 and 21-10. Her opponent was Alissa Kuleshova, who also does not belong to the group of players who could trouble an Indian team at the peak of its development cycle.

Then came Tanvi Sharma - the 17-year-old, seen as the sensation of Indian women's badminton this year. She entered the third match with a notable luggage: one month earlier, she had won the Chinese Taipei Open, a World Tour event. That was a significant step for a 17-year-old, and it put her firmly in the sights of regional media.

Tanvi Sharma faced Diana Namenova. She won the first game easily, then took the second 21-10 to close the tie. On the scoreboard, 3-0 appeared. The two remaining doubles - Treesa Jolly paired with Gayatri Gopichand Pullela, and Kavipriya Selvam paired with Simran Singhi - never began.

That was when I noticed what I later came to think was the most important detail of the whole evening.

India won all three singles, a result consistent with the team's structure: India has long built its strength in singles. But that structure also carries a quiet imbalance. While the women's singles lineup has depth - one veteran and two rising young players - India's women's doubles remains an unanswered question at continental level. Treesa Jolly and Gayatri Gopichand Pullela are not newcomers; they have competed on the international circuit. But at Asian Games level, where opponents could be the women's doubles pairs of China, Japan, Korea or Indonesia, they have never truly been tested under the pressure of a decisive match.

And that night, they were not tested.

That is the nature of the five-match team format - three singles and two doubles. When a side wins all three singles, the tie closes before the doubles take place. The format is designed to protect competitiveness, so that every match matters. But when the class gap is too wide, the format hides precisely what should be seen: the imbalance between the two lanes.

In a tie against opponents of equal standing, the imbalance between singles and doubles does not show. A side strong in singles can compensate for a weaker doubles unit, and vice versa. But in a knockout tournament like the Asian Games, where the goal is a medal and the opponents in later rounds will be strong in both, that imbalance becomes a weakness you can see coming.

India walked into the quarter-finals without knowing where their women's doubles stood in their form cycle. They did not know whether Treesa Jolly could hold her serve under the pressure of a tense match. They did not know whether Gayatri Gopichand Pullela could read the tactics of a top Asian pairing. They did not know whether the Selvam-Singhi pair could withstand the pace of a three-game doubles match. These questions remained intact after the win over Kazakhstan.

And this is the point I consider the core of the story: in elite sport, a victory that tests nothing is sometimes a small loss, because it creates a false sense of safety while the real questions remain unanswered.

In the Asian women's singles scene, India is in the middle of a generational handover. PV Sindhu, the player who put Indian women's badminton on the world map with two Olympic medals, is in the late phase of her peak career. She is no longer the number one Asian player she was a few years ago, but she remains India's most reliable figure in big matches. In a team tie against Kazakhstan, she walked out as a guide.

For Unnati Hooda, considered one of India's most promising young players, the match against Kuleshova was not a test. She won easily, but it was a victory that says little about her ability against strong players. I have watched Hooda at junior events and a few lower-tier World Tour events, and I see in her a speed-based game that prioritises continuity and attacks by pushing opponents out of mid-court. But against players with strong defence and quick shuttle-reading, that style needs refinement. The match against Kazakhstan gave her no chance to refine - it only confirmed that she can beat a weak opponent without trouble.

With Tanvi Sharma, the story is more complex. At 17, she won the Chinese Taipei Open, a tournament with serious professional quality and arguably a turning point in her career. It was not luck - it required a run of consistent matches against experienced opponents. But a title does not turn a player into a medal contender at the Asian Games. In a knockout tournament like the Asian Games, each round can bring a stronger opponent than the last, and every player must prepare mentally for being put into situations they have never faced.

Tanvi Sharma won her match against Namenova easily. The second game closed at 21-10. But in my eyes, the notable thing was not the score. It was how she moved on court after her opponent's attacking shots. At one point, after a long rally from Namenova, she retreated to the back of the court with a breath that I sensed had lost its usual lightness. It is a small detail, and it did not change the result. But it is a sign that at a higher level, when opponents can extend rallies and create situations demanding endurance, she will need more preparation.

That is not a criticism. It is an observation about the distance between a rising young player and a player who can already stand firm in Asia's top 10. That distance is not filled by a Chinese Taipei Open title, but by many months of continuous competition against opponents of the same class.

There is one detail in the source report that I find worth noting. Before the tie, some Indian outlets described Tanvi Sharma as a player who could "close the distance to the podium" at the Asian Games. It is a flattering phrasing and could be correct in the broad sense, but it places early pressure on a 17-year-old. In sporting history, young players hyped too early often pay with a plateau at 19 or 20, when public expectation no longer matches actual results. This is not a certainty for Tanvi Sharma, but it is a possibility that professional sports people routinely factor in.

What is worth discussing about India's 3-0 win over Kazakhstan is not the win itself. It is its position in a longer journey. The Asian Games is a four-year-cycle tournament. For national teams, it is a chance to test lineups and develop young players in a pressured competitive environment, without affecting their World Tour ranking. This is an important feature: multi-sport games like the Asian Games generally do not carry BWF World Ranking points. That means a win at the Asian Games does not improve a player's ranking, but it is still valuable for two reasons: it brings elite competitive experience, and it offers the chance to put young players on a stage with a large crowd and real pressure.

For India, the tie against Kazakhstan was exactly that chance. The three singles matches allowed their captain to field two young players without risking the tie result. It was a sound selection decision: it protected the result while giving young players more experience.

But it also left a gap. Because when the three singles had closed, the two doubles were not played, meaning India's doubles players - the ones who could be decisive in a tight tie against a strong team - still had no chance to play. In a tournament where opponents in later rounds will be different, not playing in the opening round can mean the doubles players miss a chance to get used to the atmosphere and pace of a team tie.

There is a popular view in sports commentary: an easy win is a sign of a strong team. The view is basically correct, but only when read in a specific context. In a qualifying match, an easy win may show the team prepared well. In a decisive match, an easy win may show the team was lucky to meet a weaker opponent at an important moment.

In the India-Kazakhstan tie, the easy win showed both at once: India are stronger, and Kazakhstan are a weak opponent who cannot produce a match with tactical meaning.

That is why I think the 3-0 win is not data for assessing India's strength at the 2026 Asian Games. It is data for assessing the team's structure - how they are built, what they want to do in the next round, and what remains untested.

And India's structure, seen from this angle, has one clear weakness: the women's doubles.

If you look at the history of women's badminton at the Asian Games and continental team events, the doubles has always been the most important part of a top team. With three singles and two doubles, a side needs only three wins to take the tie. A side that can win all three singles will never have to play doubles, but a side that wins only two singles will have to think about one of the two doubles. And when the opponent is a team like China or Japan, where both singles and doubles are strong, a side strong only in singles will face major trouble.

This is not a hypothesis. It is a pattern proven repeatedly in the history of Asian team events.

Against Kazakhstan, India's structure faced no real challenge. But against China or Japan, strength in singles alone may not be enough. When each singles match becomes a contest of a different class, the two doubles will be the deciding factor. And India do not know whether their doubles can hold up.

There is another thing I find important. For a team with a veteran like Sindhu, a rising generation like Hooda and Sharma, but lacking a verified women's doubles unit, the overall structure will depend heavily on singles form. Sindhu can win at 30, and Hooda and Sharma can win in their 20s, but they will not win every big match at the same time. There will be days when the singles lose one tie, and then the doubles must carry the load. If the doubles are not prepared for that situation, the team will be at risk.

This is the downside of depending on an experienced singles player: it creates a false sense of safety in easy matches and hides the weaknesses of other lanes. In India's case, the dependence on Sindhu in the opening singles goes beyond a tactical choice; it is a sign that the team is not yet ready to enter a new cycle without a pillar player.

I have always been drawn to the gaps in sport. A postponed match. An empty stand. A missing player. A game never played. Those gaps often contain more information than what is on display.

The India-Kazakhstan tie is a case in point. On the scoreboard, there is a result. But the real story lies in two gaps: two doubles matches not played, and one generational handover not yet complete.

The first gap is physical: two matches that did not happen. It leaves one unanswered question: where are India's two women's doubles pairs in their form cycle? This will be answered in later rounds, if India face a strong team capable of winning one of the singles.

The second gap is broader: a generational transition. When a player like Sindhu is in the late phase of her career, and a new generation is rising, there will be a period when the team must live on a blend of two generations. In that period, the captain and the coaching staff must balance protecting immediate results with building a lineup for the future. It is not an easy task, and there are often moments when the two goals conflict.

Against Kazakhstan, India balanced the two goals skilfully. Sindhu went out first and won surely. Hooda and Sharma then won the remaining matches. None of the three had to push hard. The result was achieved, and the young players gained experience. That is how a team is built during a generational transition.

But alongside that skill, there is one unsolved issue: the two doubles. Because no transition strategy can be complete if it focuses only on singles. In team badminton, a side cannot be strong only in singles and weak in doubles. There will be matches where doubles decide the tie. And in those matches, a side untested in doubles will face major risk.

There is one thing I realised while sitting in the seventh row: an easy win is often quieter than a loss. In a loss, the stands still have cheering, still have contentious rallies, still have moments when everyone stands up. In an easy win, the cheering fades, the rallies become flat, and eventually the whole stand sits down.

That night, after Tanvi Sharma's first game, I heard a noticeable silence in the arena. It was not the silence of concentration; it was the silence of things already clear. The crowd knew the result before the match ended. It is a strange feeling, and it led me to a question: is a match whose result is known in advance still a match?

In sport, the answer is yes. A match whose result is already clear is still a match, because it is still a stage of the journey. It is still a chance for players to test what they have never done, for the captain to try lineups never used, for the coaching staff to observe the reactions of athletes under pressure - however small that pressure is. But for those things to happen, the team needs to play all the matches. And in this case, they did not.

The silence of the two unplayed doubles is a gap. And that gap says nothing about India's strength, because there is nothing to say. It says only one thing: a chance to test was missed, not because the team did not want it, but because the format made it impossible.

I have written many times about the defining moments of young players - when a small achievement creates a big expectation, and when that expectation begins to flow toward the player like a river that cannot be stopped. Tanvi Sharma is in one such moment.

At 17, she has won the Chinese Taipei Open. That is a notable achievement. But what is more notable is how Indian media received it. Some articles described her as a player who could "close the distance to the podium" at the Asian Games. This phrasing places a big expectation on the shoulders of a player who has never played an Asian Games match before.

There are two ways to read this. The first is positive: it is an expression of faith in a young player, a way to encourage her. The second is cautious: it is an expectation that could become a burden if the actual results do not follow the prediction.

I lean toward the second. Not because I do not believe in Tanvi Sharma's talent - I do, and I think she can become a pillar of Indian women's badminton in the future. But because I have seen many young players crushed by expectation, and I know that a sporting career is not built by a single achievement, but by a string of achievements accumulated over many years.

For Tanvi Sharma, what matters in the next phase is not whether she wins an Asian Games medal. What matters is whether she can maintain consistency at higher-level World Tour events, adapt to opponents with different styles, and develop the physical capacity to endure three-game matches. Those things are not decided by a win in an Asian Games qualifying round.

I say this because I believe the way we talk about young players can affect the way they develop. An expectation placed at the right time and at the right level can be motivation. An expectation too great, placed too early, can be an obstacle.

Looking at the lineup India fielded against Kazakhstan, one can see a clear structure: a veteran in the opening singles, two young players in the remaining singles, and two women's doubles pairs with four different players.

This structure reflects a common approach in team events: use the strongest player to set the psychological foundation, then use the remaining matches to experiment. It is a sound strategy when a team is rated above the opponent, because it minimises the risk of failing in the most important match.

But this structure also has a potential downside: it places too much weight on singles. In India's case, this could be a problem in later rounds, when opponents will be stronger in both lanes.

There is a comparison I find interesting. Looking at the Chinese team - regarded as the strongest in Asian women's badminton - one can see a completely different structure. China have depth in both singles and doubles, and they can choose a lineup based on the specific opponent. In important matches, they often field a balanced lineup, with several top singles players and carefully prepared women's doubles pairs.

India do not yet have that balance. While their singles lane has depth with one veteran and two young players, their doubles lane remains a question mark. And in a knockout tournament, a question mark in one lane can become a hole in another.

It is worth saying that this structure is not a mistake. It is a calculated approach, based on what the Indian coaching staff have in hand. In a generational transition, focusing on the strong lane and giving the weaker lane time to develop is a sound strategy. But it also means India will have to accept some risk in important matches.

The Asian Games is a special stage in Asian sport. Unlike World Tour events, where players compete as individuals and earn ranking points, the Asian Games is a tournament where players compete for their country. It is an important difference.

When playing for a country, players often have a different mental drive. They are not only playing for themselves, but for a larger collective. This can create greater pressure, but it can also create greater motivation. In many cases, players perform better in team events than in individual events, because they have teammates to share the pressure with.

At the 2026 Asian Games, there is a particular context. This is a tournament in the cycle leading toward the Los Angeles 2028 Olympics. For many national teams, the Asian Games is a chance to test the lineup for the Olympic cycle. The results here can be a sign of what will happen in the next two years.

For India, this means a chance to build a lineup for the future. With Sindhu at the end of her career, with Hooda and Sharma at the start, India is in an important transition period. The 2026 Asian Games is one of the first chances to see whether the new generation can take on a leadership role at a major tournament.

For Indian women's badminton, this is a challenge. Young players like Hooda and Sharma will have to prove they can replace Sindhu when she leaves the elite stage. It is not an easy task, because Sindhu has left a large mark in the history of Indian badminton.

The match against Kazakhstan was a small step in that journey. It says little about what will happen in the later rounds of the Asian Games, but it is a starting point. And in sport, starting points are often important not for what they show, but for what they open up.

In sports analysis, people usually focus on what happened. But sometimes, what did not happen matters more.

In the India-Kazakhstan tie, three things were not tested.

First, the women's doubles. Treesa Jolly and Gayatri Gopichand Pullela, together with Kavipriya Selvam and Simran Singhi, had no chance to play. This means their actual form remains unknown. In later rounds, if India face a strong team, these doubles pairs will have to walk on court without any official Asian Games match as a foundation. It is not an ideal situation.

Second, mental preparation. When a team wins easily in the opening round, they can enter the next round with a more relaxed mindset, but they can also enter with complacency. In sport, complacency is sometimes more dangerous than anxiety. A team untested in the opening round can be shocked when they meet a real opponent later.

Third, adaptability. In an easy match, a team does not need to adapt to anything. They play their way, and it works. But against a strong opponent, adaptability becomes the deciding factor. And that ability can only be forged through difficult matches.

These three together create a gap in India's 2026 Asian Games profile. The 3-0 win looks good on the scoreboard, but it leaves more questions than answers.

If I had to predict what happens next at the 2026 Asian Games, I would rely on a few facts.

India will face stronger opponents in later rounds. In the quarter-finals or semi-finals, they could meet China, Japan, Korea or Indonesia. Any of these teams have a stronger doubles lane than India, and can cause trouble in singles.

Sindhu will continue to anchor the opening singles. She will face stronger opponents, and this will be the real test for a player at the end of her career. If Sindhu holds her form, India will have a solid foundation. If she struggles, India will have to rely on the young players.

Hooda and Sharma will have to prove they can play under pressure. This is something we can only know after they play a truly difficult match.

The two doubles pairs will have to walk on court without a foundation. This may be India's biggest weakness, and opposing teams may exploit it.

If I had to make an overall prediction, I would say India may reach the semi-finals but will struggle against teams with a strong doubles lane. This reflects a reality: in team badminton, a side cannot be strong in only one lane. The balance between singles and doubles is the deciding factor for success at the highest level.

I have followed badminton for many years, and every match still teaches me something new. The India-Kazakhstan tie taught me that an easy win is not always a good sign.

In fact, an easy win can hide problems that a difficult match would expose. It creates a sense of safety, but that sense may be false. And when reality arrives, it can cause a shock.

For a team in a generational transition like India, this is especially important. In that phase, every match is a chance to learn and develop. An easy match does not offer many learning opportunities, and that is why it can be a hidden obstacle.

What I think is notable about this tie is not the score, but the way the Indian team is structured. They have a veteran in the opening singles, two young players in the remaining singles, and two untested women's doubles pairs. This is a structure that reflects a generational transition, and it carries both opportunity and risk.

The opportunity is that India can develop a new generation of young players while maintaining results. The risk is that they can become too dependent on one veteran, and neglect the development of the doubles lane.

This is a situation many national teams face when they are in a generational transition. And how they handle it will decide their success in the next cycle.

In recent years, I have noticed that PV Sindhu plays with more quietness. She is no longer the young player with powerful smashes, but a veteran with calm and experience. Against Kamila Smagulova, she won without having to show her full ability. She controlled the match, attacked when needed, and won tidily.

That is the sign of a player who has been at the top for years. But it is also the sign of a player who has grown used to controlling matches, and may no longer be as ready for difficult matches as before.

There is one thing I always think when watching Sindhu in recent years: she is in a phase where every match could be one of the last of her career. She is no longer playing to prove her talent, but to shape her legacy. And each time she steps on court, she is writing a new page of that legacy.

Against Kazakhstan, she wrote a very short page. It was not a memorable page - it was just a page saying she is still here, still playing, still winning. But sometimes, the shortest pages are the hardest to write.

For India, Sindhu is an irreplaceable player. She has shaped Indian women's badminton for more than a decade, and she has become a symbol of Indian women in sport. When she leaves the stage, Indian women's badminton will have to find a successor. And the match against Kazakhstan is a sign that the Indian team is preparing for that future.

But preparing for the future does not only mean developing young players. It also means building a team structure that can stand firm when there is no pillar player. And in the match against Kazakhstan, that structure was not yet fully tested.

When I watch Tanvi Sharma play, I see a young player with great potential. She has powerful shots, she has confidence, and she has a competitive spirit that I think is necessary to succeed at the highest level.

But I also see a player who needs to develop in many areas. She needs to improve her defence, learn to read the match better, and develop the physical capacity to endure three-game matches.

These are not serious weaknesses. They are what every young player must improve when moving from junior to professional level. For Tanvi Sharma, she will need time to develop these skills.

What I think matters most in her next phase is not whether she wins an Asian Games medal. What matters most is whether she can maintain consistency in her career. In sport, young players often struggle to sustain peak form over many years. The most successful are those who can maintain consistency, not just moments of peak performance.

For Tanvi Sharma, this means learning to face defeat, to overcome injury, to adapt to new opponents. These things are not taught in a match against Kazakhstan - they are taught by an entire career.

There is one thing I think worth noting: in professional sport, not playing also has an effect. When a player does not play for a long time, they can lose the feel for competition, lose confidence, and lose sharpness in reading matches.

For India's two women's doubles pairs at the 2026 Asian Games, not playing against Kazakhstan may have consequences. They will enter later matches without an official match to get used to the court, the crowd, and the pace of a team tie.

This is especially important for doubles players, because doubles requires synchronisation and understanding that can only be developed through playing together. When two doubles players have not played an official match, they may struggle against a pair that has already played earlier matches.

This is a hidden weakness India will have to face in later rounds. And it is an example of how an easy win can create a problem that is not immediately visible.

If India advance in the Asian Games, I will watch a few things.

I will watch how Sindhu plays against stronger opponents. She will face players who can read her shots in advance, and this will be the real test for a player at the end of her career.

I will watch how Hooda and Sharma play under pressure. This is the first time they are playing at a major tournament as key players of the team. How they handle pressure will tell us much about their potential.

I will watch India's two women's doubles pairs in their first Asian Games appearance. This could be the deciding factor in matches against strong teams.

I will watch how India's captain arranges the lineup for important matches. Will he continue to use Sindhu in the opening singles, or try a different arrangement? Will he field the young players in important matches, or hold them back for easier ones?

These questions will be answered in the days ahead, as the 2026 Asian Games continue. And I will keep watching, because sport is always a journey of discovery that never ends.

When I left the arena that night, I was not thinking about the 3-0 score. I was thinking about the doubles players sitting on the bench, with towels around their necks and rackets resting on their thighs. They had come to the court. They had warmed up. They were ready. And they did not play.

In sport, what is on display is not always what matters most. Sometimes, what matters most lies in what did not happen - in a match not played, in a question not answered, in a chance not taken.

For India, the 3-0 win over Kazakhstan is a good start. But it is also a start that leaves more questions than answers. Those questions will be answered when India face stronger opponents, when their doubles lane will have to walk on court under real pressure.

And when that moment arrives - if it arrives - we will know whether India is a truly balanced team, or just a team strong in one lane. In team badminton, the balance between singles and doubles goes beyond a tactical factor. It is a deciding factor for success. And sometimes, an easy win in the opening round can hide an imbalance that will eventually decide a team's fate.

I have always liked looking at the gaps in sport, because that is where the real thing often hides. For India at the 2026 Asian Games, there are two big gaps: two doubles matches not played, and one generational handover not complete. Those gaps will not disappear. They will wait in later rounds, and when they surface, India will have to face them.

That is what I think, after sitting in the seventh row and counting the games that were never played.