Rugby isn’t just a sport in Fiji. It’s a full-blown national identity crisis wrapped in a sulu and smeared with Vicks. It brings families together, ruins friendships over referee decisions, and causes more heart palpitations than racing after your naughty grandkids.
From the thundering Flying Fijians to our Olympic Sevens warriors, and our badass women’s teams (shout-out to our Fijian queens!), rugby is where we cry, cuss, pray, and throw flip-flops in unison at the TMO and the ref’s stupid decisions.
But amongst the scrum, the tackles and the try-saving miracles, there’s one oddly consistent question that keeps sneaking into the talanoa like an uninvited guest at an Indo Fijian wedding:
“Areh…where are the Indo-Fijian ruggers, yaar?”
A fair question right. Because if we’re all waving the same flag, singing the same national anthem and yelling the same “GO FIJI GO” until our neighbours call noise control, shouldn’t a few of us also be in the actual ruck?
Now hold your rugby horses. Indo-Fijians love rugby. We’re right there in the thick of it – painted blue, flag wrapped around our head like a turban, bawling like babies after a loss, or grogging like champs after a win. But playing the game? Strapping on boots and diving headfirst into a pile of sweaty, angry men?
Sa rauta mada.
Let’s be honest. Rugby isn’t exactly “sip some chai and discuss the weather.” It’s more like “welcome to legally-sanctioned assault with occasional bodily hugs.” It’s where grown men, fuelled by taro and testosterone, turn into human battering rams. A place where your limbs are optional extras if you’re still standing at full-time.
Growing up in Suva, many Indo-Fijian kids played everything – from soccer, cricket, rugby, marbles and occasionally hide-and-seek from chores. At Marist, we were volunteered for every trial whether we liked it or not. I tried rugby once. Coach looked at my skinny malinga frame and politely said, “Nice try, Deoki. Maybe try chess!”
Soccer? I scraped in. Athletics? Couldn’t outrun a kasikasi. But by some divine miracle (and possibly a clerical error), I made into the First XI cricket team. And let me tell you, playing cricket against QVS and RKS was no picnic. Those boys weren’t bowling. They were launching ballistic missiles. Every delivery was a death wish with a spin.
Our captain, Alan Apted, once pulled me aside and gave me a pep talk and some sage advice that could’ve doubled as life coaching:
“Col, when they aim at your head, don’t try and hit it. Just duck and snick. Then run like your life depends on it.”
Duck and snick. So I did. Mostly for survival. We had no helmets, no body pads – just a bat, a prayer and a deeply rooted desire not to die a death by missile. And when one of these missiles got snicked and went to the boundary line for four runs, you should’ve seen their faces. Oh boy. Their looks were priceless … until I had to face the next missile.
Now, here’s the twist in the tale: Indo-Fijians have played rugby. In fact, Marist First XV’s often had a few Indo-Fijian lads brave enough to sacrifice their collarbones for glory. I wasn’t one of them. I had a deep affection for my curly top and spine.
But there were some Indo-Fijian ruggers who tackled like they were born with shoulder pads and sprinted like a wild pack of dogs was chasing their behind.
Did you know that the famous political legend like Siddiq Koya was a gun rugby enthusiast? So was former Suva Soccer Coach, Gabriel Joseph and a few others who not only played overseas while studying, but loved the game to the core.
But here’s the kicker (literally). There was one Indo Fijian guy who became a rugby player by default. He was also a 100 metres sprint champion. While studying at Auckland’s Trinity College, he accidentally found himself on a rugby pitch while training for soccer. One of the rugger boys shouted, “Oi, come play a real sport!” Never one to back down from a challenge or a laugh, this guy decided to give it a shot.
Two tries later, he was asked to join their First XV. His rugby exploits began making the sport’s pages of the local newspapers. Before long he was singled out for something he never imagined possible.
He got selected to play for the Auckland U-21 squad. His clever footwork began making defenders eat dust. And he was just this close to cracking it into the All Blacks. But then… the citizenship thing came up. Turns out, being a Fijian with a Fijian passport wasn’t enough for the black jersey in those days. Same when he tried to enlist in the NZ armed forces during WWII? Application rejected.
So he returned home, qualified as a barrister and tried to play club rugby in Fiji — only to be denied again because of rugby’s racial structure. There were two unions then: one for iTaukei players and one for Europeans. Indo-Fijians? Apparently, too brown for one and not white enough for the other.
So his dream ended. Not for a lack of skill or passion. But for the stupidity of segregation. My late dad’s story proves something we often forget:
Yes, Indo-Fijians can play rugby and play it well.
We can tackle, ruck, sidestep and score. And while we may still dominate the sidelines with commentary, curry puffs and colourful opinions – we’ve got history in the game. Even if it’s hidden in history’s fine print.
So next time you hear someone ask, “Where are the Indo-Fijians in rugby?” just smile and say:
“We’re here, bro. We’ve always been. Just waiting for our next big comeback.”
And maybe … just maybe … it’ll start with a few cheeky school kids who swap soccer boots for rugby cleats and decide: “Bro, I reckon I could give that a go.”
n Colin Deoki is a regular contributor, the views expressed are his and not necessarily shared by this newspaper.
Huge crowd support at the national stadium in Suva to watch the Flying Fijians defeat Scotland. Picture: ELIKI NUKUTABU
