The Indian turf thrives on mysteries — photo finishes, sudden stewards’ inquiries, and now, the curious case of jockey Akshay Kumar’s missing whip. After his ride on Circle of Dreams in the Poonawalla Multi-Million back in February, Akshay was handed 10 race days without the whip. Fair enough, punishments happen. But the fun began when the Mumbai season ended, leaving five race days still dangling like loose reins.

Those six days rolled into the Pune season — and here’s where the logic bolted. Though the order mentioned only Mumbai/Pune, Akshay found himself barred from using the whip at other centres too. Even in mock races, where the only thing at stake is pride and practice! What should have been six days magically stretched into nearly a month of whip-less riding across India. That’s mathematics of a higher order — the kind only racing administrators seem to master.

Veteran administrator and Appeal Board member Shivlal Daga, who has spent decades untying such knots, offered clarity: each club interprets rules differently. Whip offences at one centre don’t carry over to another. Punishments aren’t supposed to be reciprocated.

In short, Akshay’s punishment should have been restricted to RWITC races. Instead, it followed him around like unwanted luggage.

Daga, with trademark patience, pointed out the obvious: our whip rules are inconsistent, illogical, and badly in need of standardisation. Right now, offences vanish as soon as you cross a state border — but punishments, mysteriously, sometimes do not. It’s like saying: you can’t use the whip in Pune, and by the way, keep your hands in your pockets in Bangalore.

For context, these rules weren’t born out of some grand turf vision but from then Minister of Animal Welfare Maneka Gandhi’s insistence — “at gunpoint,” as insiders admit. The clubs, eager to avoid having their throats throttled, settled on a watered-down system: each club counts whip strikes locally, season by season, with no cross-centre reciprocation. Easy to monitor, less prone to clerical blunders, and most importantly, less likely to incur Maneka’s wrath.

Contrast that with the UK, where a central whip authority rules the roost. Local stewards only report incidents; the central body dishes out penalties. Neat, uniform, confusion-free.

In India, the system was designed to be local, no reciprocation. That’s the rule RWITC still swears by. Suspension letters for riding bans go to all clubs, but whip bans? They stay home. Which begs the question: how did Akshay’s no-whip penalty suddenly become a nationwide prohibition?

Even Trevor Patel, President of the Jockeys Association of India, admitted he too had once been punished everywhere for what was supposed to be a local penalty. “Not fair,” he shrugged — though in racing, fair is usually just another outsider in the betting ring.

The bigger tragedy? Owners and trainers don’t warm to a jockey without a whip. To them, it’s the magic wand that turns donkeys into Derby winners. So while the administrators wrestled with their rulebook, Akshay Kumar lost out on plum rides and winning chances.

If the punishment was indeed meant only for RWITC races, Akshay has every reason to feel aggrieved. At the very least, turf authorities owe him — and the sport — clear, uniform rules. Otherwise, the whip itself may not be the real issue, but the way the rulebook is wielded certainly is.