In the middle of New Delhi's bustling Safdarjung flyover, the battered Gypsy suddenly grinds to a halt. It is a grey, sodden morning and the seven girls cramped in the wagon's backseat emit a low cry of anguish. You know why. Back from Manchester the night before, they have hardly slept for three hours. The celebrations at the airport ensured that. And now with rain threatening the overbearing skies, it is both sad and ironical to see Lancers and Ikons arrogantly breeze by, while a gang of champion weightlifters urge their driver to fix the car, holding shining medals in their moist palms. Mercifully, it's a small wait. In any case, the Indian women weightlifters, who have collectively reaped a rich haul of 11 gold, 6 silver and 4 bronze in the just-concluded Commonwealth Games, are used to handling obstacles. Coming mostly from lower middle-class families from places as far as Imphal, Jalandhar and Bokaro, they have overcome parental opposition, ignored snide remarks and have managed to wrench out both space and spotlight for themselves in an erstwhile all-male terrain. Right from the mid-Nineties, these girls have been India's best medal winning bet in any top international meet. The journey from the courtyards of small-towns to the international medal podium is a slow and complex process. Creating champions in a country which can hardly look beyond cricket is no simple job. That too in a tough, unaesthetic sport where part of your daily routine is lifting iron two-and-half times more than your own weight. And where sweat, grime and aching joints are constant companions. Perhaps, the no-frills, working class background of the girls made it relatively easier for them to adjust to the exacting demands of the sport. Till recently, triple gold winner N. Kunjarani Devi was the only earning member in a family of three brothers and six sisters. Sanumacha Chanu's father died at an early age and her sister turned the family's breadwinner. Sunaina Anand's father runs a cosmetic goods shop while Pratima Kumari's father works in the locomotive department of the Bokaro Steel Plant. As the car reaches the CRPF office, the armed sentry at the entrance salutes the pocket-sized Kunjarani. For him, she is both a world-class athlete and an officer, the assistant commandant of 103 Battalion, Wazirabad. At a time when multi-national companies and corporate bodies are being seen as the saviour of Indian sports, it is heartening to see the much-maligned paramilitary outfit in the role of a job provider for these champion sportspersons. With the exception of Sailaja Pujari, the triple gold winner in the 75 kg category, all the other winners of the women's weightlifting contingent are employed with the CRPF. Ironically, weight-lifting was not the first choice for these girls. Sanumacha, the 24-year-old from Imphal, preferred kabaddi and kho-kho, Sunaina shifted from gymnastics and as a junior Kunjarani excelled in football and hockey. 'I knew there was little chance of being successful internationally in the games I played earlier. But I knew that if I worked hard I could be famous in weightlifting,' says Kunjarani, who took three gold medals in the 48 kg category. Luck was on their side. Unlike athletics and swimming, where the difference between the best in the world and the wannabes was almost impossible to bridge, women's weightlifting was a relatively new sport all over the globe. Backed by the financial muscle of the Hinduja Foundation, India grabbed the early bird advantage in the Eighties. By mid-Nineties, talented and dedicated girls like Kunjarani and Karnam Malleswari ensured that India emerged as a superpower in world championships held in Turkey, China and other parts of the world. For these young athletes, weightlifting was a small window of opportunity that helped them escape the dreariness and ordinariness of routine middle-class existence. For them, weightlifting was a magic key that has unlocked a new world and given them wings to fly. 'Without weightlifting, I would have got married by now like my two elder sisters. But for the game, I would have been just another regular, small-town girl. My life is different now,' declares the 22-year-old Sunaina, who comes from the same town as test cricketer Harbhajan Singh. 'I am not as famous as him. But most people in Jalandhar know me as well,' says the girl who won three bronze medals. Chief coach Pal Singh Sandhu details the tough work ethics that the discipline demands and which these girls follow religiously. Work is divided into sessions of physical conditioning, weight programmes, recovery lessons and techniques of relaxation and concentration. It's a tough call. And, even the music of the latest Daler Mehndi floorscorcher blaring in the background doesn't make it any easier. Following this routine - day after day, month after month - can be backbreaking. It is often tempting to give up midway. As a teenager, Pratima, now 24 years of age, often ran away from the Sports Authority of India hostel in Bangalore. 'It was so tough I just wanted to go back home. My coach, Ramesh Malhotra, would cajole me and bring me back,' says the Jharkhand girl, who won two gold and one silver in these Games. Perhaps, the greatest sacrifice demanded of the girls is having to stay away for long periods from their family. Much of their adult life is spent in camps and stadiums but when the competitions are over, they are also expected to serve their battalions. 'I haven't been home for the past two years. I miss family functions and the festivals,' moans Prasmita Mangaraj, a pretty 24-year-old girl from Khorada, a village about 30 kilometres from Bhubaneswar. Nor has Sanumacha, now posted as an inspector in Jamshedpur. Only 20 years old, Sailaja suffers from frequent bouts of homesickness. 'The girls spend a lot of money on STD calls,' says Sandhu. For them, the coach and their fellow weightlifters are their immediate family. Though the service of a professional psychologist is always available, the coach often doubles up as one. Girls living away from home for long periods often need a father-figure who offers comfort and strength when anything goes wrong. Bodies often break down and so do minds. 'I went through a major knee operation in 2000. I really thought my career was over and sunk into depression,' says Pratima. The credit for her recent medal haul also goes to her coach who nursed her mind back into the positive mode. Pumping iron for long periods and sweating it out in a macho sport has not taken away the softer side of these girls. Designer salwar suits, fluorescent nail polish, stylish nose studs and purple lipsticks - they are equally comfortable with their feminine side. 'While I am lifting weights, I am an athlete. But outside the arena, I am a woman. I have never feared that my femininity will go away,' says Sanumacha. 'In a salwar kurta, we hardly look any different from any other sportsperson,' says Sunaina. In fact, Prasmita was asked to stand alongside the hockey girls by an official who was amazed to discover that she was a weightlifter. And, the Orissa girl still breaks into tears when colleagues remind her of the incident when during the medal presentation ceremony she had wiped off her cheeks after the chief guest had kissed her. 'It's a childhood habit. I did it instinctively,' she explains. Her colleagues laugh heartily. The girls do not feel that prospective grooms will be turned off by their sport. In any case, the huge cash prizes for the medal winners - Rs 20 lakh for gold, Rs 15 lakh for silver and Rs 10 lakh for bronze - has already put them in the category of rich and successful sportspersons. But for all of them, including the 32-year-old Kunjarani, marriage is on hold. The girls want to take a serious shot at the Athens Olympics before thinking about tying the knot. 'Marriage can wait till the 2004 Olympics,' says Sunaina. Even Kunjarani wants to take a last fling at the Olympics. The senior weightlifter was denied a place in the 2000 squad under controversial circumstances. The memory still rankles deep within. 'It was a great chance to win an Olympic medal. But, perhaps, it was not my destiny,' she says. 'But I will take another shot. Winning an Olympic medal is my last goal.' It is the same with the other girls who see a role model and a benchmark in former world champion Malleswari who won India's only medal in the 2000 Sydney Olympics finishing third in the 69 kilograms category. That bronze medal turned Malleswari a millionaire many times over. Married to another weightlifter, she became a mother last year. It's the sort of fairy tale ending most of her fellow weightlifters may be dreaming of. They may not all end up with as many medals and as much money but they have still done their bit to alter gender stereotypes and have done India proud in the global sporting arena.