In a recent interview, Dipa Karmakar revealed that when she first gained visibility as a gymnast, people often asked her whether she is from Bangladesh. They did not even know that Tripura exists, she said. This is hardly surprising, when one considers the general attitude adopted by the rest of India - and that includes its government - towards the northeastern states. Agartala, Tripura's capital city, from where Karmakar hails, has had a close relationship with gymnastics for decades - and not just as a sport. Gymnastics is also a means of livelihood in Agartala. This robust culture of gymnastics took root in the mid-1960s, when Dalip Singh, a former member of the armed forces from Haryana, began working at the Vivekananda Byamagar with meagre resources. He nurtured Agartala's gymnastics culture, and coached a number of athletes who went on to compete at the national level. And yet, few knew about this. Indeed, most Indians treated gymnastics at the Olympics with indifference - until Dipa Karmakar forced everyone to take notice, when she performed the vault of death in the artistic gymnastics finals at Rio.

More than 50 years have passed since India featured anywhere in Olympic gymnastics. The last three times that Indian gymnasts participated were in Helsinki (1952), Melbourne (1956) and Tokyo (1964). None of them endures in memory, and none of them was a woman. Karmakar is worth remembering, not just because she is an Indian gymnast who made it to the finals, but because she is India's first female gymnast to have scaled such heights. Her self-belief, free of hubris, was evident as she executed the Produnova, the most difficult vault in women's gymnastics - it has the highest difficulty rating of 7.0 - and also the most risky. It was hard to believe that this girl, who defied the laws of physics with the same nonchalance that she exhibited towards patriarchy - she belongs to a country where women are treated like second-class citizens, sexually assaulted and murdered with no fear of punishment, and forcibly prevented from studying or working - began her gymnastics journey with flat feet, which meant frequent injury to the ankles, and a phobia of falling.

At the Olympic women's vault finals, it was a forgone conclusion that the American gymnast, Simone Biles, would win gold - she is, after all, the best in the world. Sure enough, Biles won gold with an average of 15.966. Karmakar averaged 15.066, and lost out on the bronze medal by a hair's breadth. It would be easy to club her inability to win a medal with the rest of the Indian contingent's dismal performance at Rio (Sakshi Malik and P.V. Sindhu must be kept out of this assessment), but the truth is that Karmakar's achievement transcended a podium finish, simply because of the odds she beat to get where she did.

Karmakar's coach, Bisheswar Nandi, a five-time national champion, helped his protégée train in a gymnasium which would get flooded during the rains. He created a makeshift vault for her from a pile of mats, and a springboard from discarded scooter parts. This was where Karmakar taught herself, and perfected, the Produnova - a front handspring off the vault table followed by approximately two and a half somersaults. This may not sound particularly complicated, but the truth is that it is terribly dangerous. Gymnasts who fail to gain the height required to execute the somersaults risk serious injury, and even death.

In the past, and even during the Rio Olympics, Karmakar's decision to do the Produnova was criticized as a last-ditch attempt to get to the podium. The question that the naysayers should be asked is this: would Karmakar have felt compelled to risk her life in this manner if she had been provided with proper facilities to train? The fact that she took such a risk is a bitter reminder of the humongous failure of her country's sports administration. Think about Shiva Keshavan, who is India's sole professional luger. He is a five-time Winter Olympian. But the government did not send him to Sochi in 2014; crowdfunders did. As if this were not bad enough, Keshavan's training regime was incredibly dangerous. Given the paucity of funds and luge facilities in India, Keshavan had to replace the blades on his sled with wheels and practise on the precipitous roads of the Himalayan foothills, overtaking moving vehicles to clock speeds of up to 100 kilometres per hour. For the sake of comparison, let us take a look at German luge teams. It is not uncommon for one team to have eight coaches. BMW manufactures their equipment. They also have four world-class tracks on which to practise. Keshavan did not have such luxuries. In order to excel, he had to perform life-threatening feats, much like Karmakar, who risked life and limb for the Olympic podium.

Biles is called the 'golden girl' of gymnastics, a name she has earned. But even she would not try the Produnova. When asked by the New Yorker why she does not attempt it, Biles replied, "I'm not trying to die." There is little doubt that Biles, who performs the Amanar with ease, can perfect the Produnova if she tries - but the truth is that she does not need to. She started training at Bannon's Gymnastix in Spring, Texas, before her parents built their own state-of-the-art facility. Biles is naturally gifted, and is a devoted athlete - she trains for 32 hours a week, and even practises on her day off. But her dedication is supplemented by her government's support of her, a basic right that is not made available to Karmakar. The latter was given a gym to train in a mere two months before she appeared in the Glasgow Commonwealth Games. Her request for her physiotherapist, Sajad Ahmad, to accompany her to Rio was deemed "wasteful" by the ministry of sports, and denied; Ahmad was rushed to Rio only when she qualified for the finals.

And why should Karmakar's plight be surprising? The sports ministry does not provide proper funds and infrastructure to any athletes. Since October 2015, athletes at national camps have not received dietary supplements owing to a stand-off between the Sports Authority of India and a number of sports federations. Most athletes in the Glasgow Commonwealth Games did not even get their paltry daily allowance. The shameful conduct of the Union sports minister, Vijay Goel, drew the ire of Sarah Peterson, the continental manager for the Rio Organising Committee. She alleged that Goel tried to enter accredited areas at venues with unaccredited people who misbehaved with the committee's staff. The Indian contingent's chief medical officer, Pawandeep Singh, is not a sports medicine doctor at all. He is a radiologist, as is the second doctor, R.S. Negi, who has never attended a national championship. Athletes alleged that Pawandeep Singh spent his time in Rio enjoying himself and prescribing Combiflam to athletes in pain.

Most Indian athletes at the Olympics do not have the money to invest in equipment, coaches or gear. So how are they to train for winning gold? Participants from other nations have access to the kind of infrastructure, funds and support that Karmakar has probably never seen. It stands to reason that these are the people who will be taking the medals at the Olympics. It is to Karmakar's immense credit that she came fourth in the entire world after having beaten conditions under which most of her competitors would have wilted. She succeeded in spite of the system, not because of it.

Perhaps the only way to help Karmakar train without worry or hardship would be to crowdfund her, much like Keshavan was. There is a downside to this: it will enable the government to abdicate its responsibility towards our athletes, for whose achievements it is quick to take credit (note the cries of "India's daughters" that have filled the air since Malik's and Sindhu's triumphs). However, there may be no other way to help Karmakar at present - not unless we want our anxiety levels to keep rising as we watch our athletes risk their lives just for a shot at being on the Olympic podium. Karmakar needs all the support she can get, so that she never has to do the Produnova again.