BBCMeena’s eyes dart from left to right and back again, searching for the fleeting moment when she can make her move.
She is playing Kabaddi, an Indian contact sport now played in more than 50 countries across the world.
A Kabaddi game is played between two teams, each with seven players. Individuals take turns to run into the opposition’s half of the pitch to tag opponents and make it back to their own half without being tackled to the ground.
But for 14-year-old Meena, this is about more than winning points. The sport offers an escape from a restricted, rural life and opens up a world of opportunities.
“It feels different when I play,” she says shyly, struggling to find the words. “In that moment, I am not the Meena who is bound to housework, weighed down by pressures and expectations. It’s just me and the opponent… It feels like I am more powerful than other girls who don’t play.”
Meena lives on the outskirts of a small tribal village, Kudoshi, about 230km away from India’s financial capital, Mumbai, where girls’ lives traditionally revolve around household chores, marriage and children.
But 15 years ago, a group of teachers at the village school decided they wanted to give girls more opportunities.
“I have a daughter. I want her to achieve things in life, live the best life she can, be something,” says one of them, Daji Rajguru. “Why can’t girls play Kabaddi and make a career out of it?”
So he and his colleagues, who had played Kabaddi when they were younger, thought it would be good to teach local girls how to play. The pooled their savings – 5,000 rupees ($60; £50) – persuaded the school to let them use its grounds, and opened what they believe was the region’s first all-girls Kabaddi club.
At the start, just two girls, who were pupils at the school, joined up. “Parents were not ready to let their girls play Kabaddi as it meant spending a lot of time away from home,” he says. “They also worried about the impact it might have on their daughter’s marriage prospects,” as traditional families would not approve of girls going out and coming home late.
Daji and his colleagues went door to door reassuring parents their daughters would be safe playing Kabaddi at training sessions before and after school. They reassured them they would supervise the girls properly and not let them be distracted by boys.
At the start, the teachers would pick the girls up from their homes and drop them off, but as numbers grew they were no longer able to do that. Now, there are about 30 girls in the club and they estimate that about 300 have trained with them since they began coaching, including Daji’s own daughter. Some start playing as young as seven years old.
Like the rest of the members of the club, Meena trains for two hours before school and two hours after classes finish. She has to leave home at dawn and doesn’t get back until nightfall.
“I go alone and it’s dark [in the morning]. I used to be afraid that somebody could do something to me. My family was not supportive then, and are still unhappy with my choice to become a sportswoman,” she says.
But she is persevering, inspired by club members who have excelled over the years and joined state teams or local leagues. Siddhi Chalke and Samreen Burandkar were among the first batch of girls who trained at the club for about eight years. Now, at the age of 25, they are professional league players and are financially independent.
At the start, their families thought playing Kabaddi was a phase that would pass, and when the women decided to make a career of it, their parents were not happy. There is still pressure for them to get married but at the same time their families are also proud that the women are doing well.
“No-one in my family earns as much as I do,” says Samreen. “I now live in a big city and get to make my own choices. Coming from my community, it’s difficult for girls to go after what they want. I am only here because of Kabaddi,” she says.
Siddhi plays on the same team as Samreen – their friendship born out of Kabaddi. They have travelled around India for competitions, winning medals and championships. “I could only do that because of Kabaddi. Otherwise, I would have been married and ended up at my husband’s place washing the dishes,” says Siddhi and they both laugh, seemingly relieved that they have escaped this fate.
Excelling in sports in India can also help players get jobs in the public sector. Indian states allocate jobs for high achievers in sports, guaranteeing an income even after a player’s active sporting years are over.
Many rural girls take up sport with the dream of getting financial independence via these jobs. It can also help them get greater respect and a sense of identity.
“When we started the sports club, no-one gave any importance to these girls. They were always secondary citizens in their homes, in society,” says Vilas Bendre, a young coach at the club.
“But we realised that when rural girls climb ahead in their lives through sports, their lives change significantly. The way they talk, the way they carry themselves, their lifestyle, everything changes.”
Even if they haven’t become professional sportswomen, many members of the club have seen their confidence grow and have persuaded their families to let them go to university and delay marriage until they are older.
The community has become more accepting too, and when they see girls exercising, people don’t frown at them any more.
The club is funded by the coaches, cash prizes that the team win in competitions and occasional donations. Most of the girls are from poor and underprivileged families and don’t have to pay any subscription fees.
As well as training in term time, the club organises and funds residential sports camps at the school in the summer, provides food such as eggs, bananas and milk, and often pays for treatment for players’ injuries.
Over time, parents’ fears have been assuaged, but critics sometimes question the coaches’ motives. “People say things indirectly like. ‘Why don’t you coach boys?'” says Daji. But he says there are already opportunities for boys, and there is a gap when it comes to girls.
“We are not just their coaches,” adds Vilas. “At times we are their parents, guiding them, disciplining them, helping them make the right choice.”
And Meena knows the potential of this prized opportunity: “I want to be the best raider and become the captain of India’s Kabaddi team,” she says, daring to dream about medals, championships and leaving an ordinary village girl’s life behind.
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