When Aditi Patil and Sandeep Sharma graduated from Cambridge's MPhil in Conservation Leadership in 2023, they shared a conviction that traditional conservation approaches needed a radical rethink. Eighteen months later, they've proven that some of the most effective conservation education happens not in lecture halls or through poster campaigns, but on cricket pitches in remote corners of India.
Their latest venture, the Great Himalayan Premiere League (GHPL), transformed a UNESCO World Heritage Site celebration into something unprecedented: conservation awareness through a cricket tournament.
The concept emerged from a simple phone call between the two Cambridge alumni. Sandeep, now Conservator of Forests in Kullu Circle, mentioned that the Great Himalayan National Park would be commemorating its UNESCO World Heritage status with five days of celebrations. Traditional activities like yoga and nature quizzes were planned.
"That's when I suggested adding a cricket tournament," recalls Aditi, whose organisation Conservation indica had already piloted the approach in Gujarat. "Cricket has a huge following in India—it draws people in as players, spectators, and passionate fans. We'd seen how effective it was as a fun and inclusive way to spark conversations around ecosystems and wildlife."
The idea resonated immediately. Cricket, after all, is more than entertainment in India—it creates community rituals and shared experiences that transcend social boundaries.
Beyond Traditional Conservation
The GHPL addressed a fundamental challenge in conservation education: accessibility. Traditional approaches can feel distant, jargon-heavy, and exclusive, particularly in remote areas where creating genuine awareness or shared ownership over biodiversity proves challenging through conventional methods alone.
"Cricket brings in a natural audience," explains Aditi. "It allows for multi-stakeholder involvement—team owners, college students as players, and even spectators become active participants in the ecosystem conversation."
The tournament's structure reflected this collaborative ethos. Players contributed a nominal 300 Indian Rupees ($3.60/£2.90), local hoteliers paid 2500 Indian Rupees ($30/£24) per team as owners, the Forest Department provided logistical and financial support, and Conservation indica brought design, branding, and structure. The result was a low-cost, high-impact, deeply local model that felt more like a festival with learning as a bonus.
The genius lay in the details. Eight teams bore names that told the story of Himalayan biodiversity: Dhel Tragopans, Tirath Musk Deers, Kobri Snow Leopards, Kandhedhar Griffons, Shilt Ghorals, and Rakhundi Tahrs. Each name represented species endemic to the Great Himalayan National Park or its surrounding ecosystems—many lesser-known but critically important to the region's biodiversity.
"Awareness begins long before a single ball is bowled," Aditi observes. "During the team naming discussions in Gujarat, someone asked about lions, leading to conversations about which big cats actually live in the landscape. And we agreed it's the Indian Leopard and not the Asiatic Lion. Someone then suggests hyenas—but are they spotted or striped? We pull out camera trap photos, and everyone learns it's the Striped hyena that lives around us."
The commentary became a particularly powerful education tool. Local commentators, briefed about each species and habitat, wove conservation facts into match coverage with natural humour and storytelling. "When the Kobri Snow Leopards came on to play, the commentator said, 'Snow leopards thrive in the cold, let's see how they do by the warm Tirthan river bank!' As the team picked up pace, he added, 'They've emerged from the shadows—now they're pouncing!'"
Unexpected Outcomes
The tournament yielded surprises that demonstrated its effectiveness. Team owners—local hoteliers and small business owners—spontaneously took the microphone to discuss not only wildlife but pressing issues like plastic pollution affecting nearby habitats. Students from local colleges, many playing near the Great Himalayan National Park for the first time, discovered place names like Kobri and Shilt they'd never heard before, let alone understood the wildlife associated with them.
"Students told us they'd never thought conservation could be this engaging," says Aditi. "It always felt distant or academic. Now it felt personal."
The enthusiasm was infectious. In Gujarat's earlier tournament, community members asked if the event could become annual, even requesting spin-off formats for youth and women. The village Sarpanch (Head) personally handed over the trophy, later sharing how proud he felt to host an event that spotlighted wildlife he'd grown up seeing but hadn't deeply considered.
The success of both tournaments suggests a broader truth about conservation education: the most effective approaches often happen outside traditional conservation spaces. By embedding learning within existing cultural practices and community celebrations, the cricket tournaments created emotional connections that conventional awareness programmes struggle to achieve.
"Wearing a jersey that says 'Tirth Musk Deer' makes you curious," Aditi reflects. "Being part of a team named after a wild species builds connection. That emotional connection is incredibly hard to create in traditional awareness programmes."
The model's replicability extends beyond cricket or India. The underlying principle—meeting communities where they are, using their cultural touchstones to create meaningful engagement with conservation—offers lessons for practitioners worldwide.
As Conservation indica expands its work across India, the cricket tournament model demonstrates what collaborative, creative leadership can achieve. The approach doesn't replace traditional conservation work but complements it, creating entry points for deeper engagement and building the social licence that effective conservation requires.
For Aditi and Sandeep, the tournaments represent more than successful events—they embody a vision of conservation that is inclusive, joyful, and deeply rooted in place. Their work reminds us that conservation doesn't have to be distant or elite. It can be local, fun, and genuinely for everyone.