Searching for a Lost Decade on the Courts of Rajshahi

October 10, 2026. A water cooler beside Court Two at the Rajshahi Tennis Complex. My phone, propped against it, was streaming live, and the screen showed a 14-year-old's backhand slice. The match was a boys' singles quarterfinal at the Rajshahi International Under-18 Junior Tennis Championship. Some parents stood nearby, glancing at the scoreboard; others whispered about the next match's schedule. This scene is familiar. In 2026, when I first propped my phone against a water cooler at the Khulna Club for a Facebook Live, the atmosphere was the same. The only difference is that now I no longer peek at the viewer count on my screen. I know these junior matches draw an audience that is not even one percent of the crowd that gathers around a cricket highlights clip. But in this faint light, I search for the story no one wants to write. The tournament in Rajshahi has now reached its 31st edition. Over six days, more than 100 players from 10 countries are participating. The draw size is 32 in boys' and girls' singles, and 16 teams in doubles. This is nothing compared to the calculations of the elite tour. There is no prize money, no big points—at least not on the ATP or WTA scale. There may be ITF junior ranking points, but no one could confirm the grade or scale. The real value of this tournament lies not in the trophy, but in the rare opportunity to test oneself on an international stage. Among the 10 countries are India, Thailand, Chinese Taipei, Hong Kong, Nepal, Japan, China, South Korea, and the United States. Even on this small scale, an international junior event atmosphere is created, especially with an ITF White Badge referee on court. But behind this international facade, a local reality hides, one rarely discussed. Now for the information that might escape many. Bangladesh's representation in this tournament is limited. Only five players from Rajshahi have gotten the chance to play, two of whom are in the main draw—Rakin Rahman and Bakul Ali. This is no accident. The long silence of the Bangladesh Tennis Federation, the lack of courts, and the limitations of the training system—we see the results of all this when we sit in the grandstand of a Grand Slam and listen to Federer-Nadal lore, while outside Ramna or Gulshan Club, we see no court on the grass. In 2026, Wimbledon was cancelled; the grass did not grow. That year, I understood that absence has a shape. This junior tournament in Rajshahi brings that shape to the fore. We take pride that in 2026 we made our Davis Cup debut, and in 2026 we played the Asia/Oceania group semifinal. But where have we been in the three decades since? This question haunts me. Looking at the top players from India and Thailand, one thing becomes clear. In boys' singles, Thailand's Likul Patcharaphul, and in girls' singles, India's Sheikh Shazfa—both are said to be at the top of their respective national junior rankings. But no one mentioned their ranking numbers. Here is my question. If we don't know the exact rankings of these players, what is the true competitive standard of this tournament? It is not speculation that India and Thailand have far stronger pipelines in the ITF junior circuit than Bangladesh—it is obvious. But if we assume the tournament is of a very high standard just by seeing the top players' names, we would be wrong. Because among the 100-plus players, many outside the main draw may have come through qualifying rounds, about whom we have no information. I have been thinking about the matches of this tournament for the past few days. For 48 years, I have roamed the sports fields and the corridors of federations. Since I began journalism in 2026, I have noticed a pattern. We always look towards the big events—the Cricket World Cup, T20s, the Asia Cup. In tennis, we either talk about the Federer-Nadal Grand Slam finals or Wimbledon. But our own junior tournaments, where future players are made, stay off our radar. I call this the 'paradox reflex'—the rulebook says one thing, but the field shows another. Here, the rulebook says that the participation of 10 countries means this is of international standard. But the ground reality says Bangladeshi players get this opportunity in a very limited way. This discrepancy is the real story. One thing is clear to me. The organizers of this tournament, especially the Rajshahi City Corporation and the Bangladesh Tennis Federation, are trying to carve out a place for Rajshahi in the international junior circuit. This is commendable. But if the Federation's general secretary or any central figure does not say something clear about the future of this tournament right now, we can only speculate. I remember that Facebook Live in Khulna in 2026 got 40,000 views. I sent the link to the Federation's media officer. Then in December, I got credentialed for the National Championship final in Dhaka. But this statistic—40,000 views—does not mean tennis is popular in Bangladesh. It only shows that if the right story is delivered at the right time, people show interest. I stopped myself repeatedly while writing this report. Because I feel it would not be right to become too emotional about this tournament. Looking at history, in the 1970s, tennis in Bangladesh was at a certain height. We have largely forgotten the name of Khaled Salahuddin, the 2026 national champion. But in the decades that followed, the Federation gradually became inactive. Now, if we only take pride in a 'golden past,' the importance of this junior tournament will be lost. Rather, we should ask: why, even at the 31st edition, are there only two Bangladeshi players in the main draw? Why do five local players from Rajshahi get this chance while others do not? The answers to these questions may lie hidden in some file-bound documents of the Federation. I return again to that water cooler. The evening light casts long shadows on the court. A match has ended; players are packing their bags. A coach from Korea is explaining something to his boy, perhaps pointing out a mistake, perhaps planning for the next match. Some of Bangladesh's five players have already been eliminated. But the tournament is not over. The battle will continue until October 10. In these six days, perhaps a Bangladeshi player might reach the semifinal, perhaps even win. But if that win is just a headline, and next year the same story is written again, what is the gain? The real question is not in the results of this tournament, but in the structure of tennis in Bangladesh. As long as there are no courts in schools, as long as parents send their children to cricket academies instead of tennis courts, this international junior championship in Rajshahi will remain just an annual event. My 48 years of experience tells me that sports are never just sports. It is a mirror of a society. If the boy hitting that backhand slice on the Rajshahi court gets a court every day, if he has a coach, then perhaps in five years we will see him in the Davis Cup team. But whose responsibility is it to create that path? The Federation's? The government's? Or will each of us try from our own place? I don't know. But one thing I can say for sure. In a tournament that is in its 31st edition, but about which no major newspaper in Dhaka prints a major report, the bigger problem than the system is our lack of attention. And it is up to journalists like me to find the shape of that absence. Tomorrow morning, play will begin again. I will again prop my phone against the water cooler. Perhaps the views will not increase, but decrease. But the story must move forward. Because the same nerves that work on a tennis court run from the 100-meter final to the esports server. The teenager practicing his backhand on the Rajshahi court today may not know how far one of his shots can go. But we know. And we must take on the responsibility of measuring that distance.