The silence in the elite chess hall is thick, almost palpable. Beneath the clinical hum of air conditioning and the merciless glare of broadcast lights, the world’s best minds sit frozen in a state of hyperfocus. Their eyes dart over the sixty-four squares of impending chaos, calculating permutations that would leave even the most sophisticated computer time-scrapers. Yet in this landscape of cold logic and high-tech tension, a small organic detail began to attract the curious viewer’s gaze: a smudge of white ash on the Grandmaster’s forehead.
Whether it is a single contemplative stroke or a traditional forehead marking, the presence of the vibhuti is a subtle visual that has largely escaped closer scrutiny. From the historic rise of Rameshbaba Praggnanandha and D Gukesh to the enduring brilliance of R Vaishali, a generation of Indian prodigies, mostly from the southern heartland of the country, have conquered the world and worn their culture with unconscious pride.
This is a view that travels. When Bodhana Sivanandan, British-Indian prodigy just 11 years old, showing up at a tournament in north London with the brand served as a quiet reminder of how deeply ingrained the practice is – a visual bridge between the ancient traditions of the Indian household and the sharp mundane world of international chess. Screengrab by X
EGO GAME OVER
For the players themselves, the practice is less about outward display and more about inner grounding. In the stratospheric world of elite chess, where a single mistake can destroy months of preparation and shatter a carefully built reputation, ego is a dangerous passenger.
Praggnanandhaa, who has become the face of a new generation of Indian chess – calm, collected, almost supernatural in his composure – once explained the philosophy to podcaster Raj Shamani bluntly: “This is basically ashes. We come from ashes and we return to them. So that’s basically (to remind us) that whatever we do is not something we do arrogantly, because I’ve been doing it forever. of that time.” R Praggnanandhaa plays chess with Vibhuti at the helm. (PTI photo)
For Pragga, the vibhuti acts as a philosophical speed governor, a tactile reminder of the fickleness of a sport that has a habit of anointing its young stars as infallible geniuses, often before they are ready for the weight of that crown.
For D Gukesh, the youngest ever world champion in classical chessconnection is easier.
“I always wore it,” says Gukesh. “My mom told me to wear it after praying. I still do.” D Gukesh (PTI Photo)
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF HOPE
To understand why this practice is attracting attention beyond India, we must first consider the sheer vulnerability that defines professional sports.
“First, we need to understand that athletes go through a lot of uncertainty, stress, and vulnerability,” says Dr. Swaroop Savanur, a mental performance and sports psychology coach who works with international athletes.
“Why do we believe in God even in life? Because it gives us a sense of control over things we cannot control. This is what we call hope.”
Dr. Swaroop notes that athletes across disciplines seek a connection to source—regardless of their belief system—to find what he calls spiritual power.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Some may wear a kada, some may wear angara – everyone has their own ritual rooted in family and culture. Vibhuti is specific to South India, and many of the top chess players today are from there. In their home culture, it’s just a part of life. Naturally, in any important activity, they would want to wear them. They are the most important thing to them.”
WHY IT WORKS WHEN IT SHOULDN’T
Some proponents point to vibhuti’s hygroscopic properties — its ability to absorb moisture — as a possible thermal regulator during long games, although there is no clinical evidence to support this.
Strip away the sacred geometry, and what’s left is something that sports science has quietly documented for years: the profound power of ritual.
The practice aligns closely with what sports science journals categorize as “Ritual Commitment”—the hypothesis that rigid, repetitive acts before performance act as a mediator of psychological tension. By performing a familiar, meaningful action, the athlete signals to his own nervous system that he is in a familiar, controlled environment. It’s actually a psychological hack—one that’s been observed to measurably reduce stress responses in high-pressure situations, even though the ritual itself has no direct physiological mechanism.
Dr. Swaroop divides the power boost into two distinct powers.
“First, you always want to have faith in yourself through some physical connection. Vibhuti becomes that physical connection—a reminder that I’m connected to my source or spiritual power and that it will take care of me.”
Beyond physical perception, however, lies what might be the most powerful mechanism of all: the belief effect. Over time, the conviction of the mind in ritual begins to manifest itself as a tangible competitive advantage—not through magic, but the very real chemistry of trust.
“Scientifically, we can link it to the placebo effect,” explains Dr. Swaroop.
“When a doctor gives you something—whether it’s actual medicine or not—the belief that you’ve received treatment gives you hope and relief. Likewise, these spiritual practices can create a placebo-like effect. They give you a sense of calm and control over things that are inherently out of your control, like the outcome of a game. Once it becomes a practice, it becomes a habit. And you don’t want to lose that habit.”
ROUTINE VS SUPERSTITION
R Vaishali wins nominations in 2026 to fight for world title (PTI Photo)
Is it a superstition? Maybe. But if it does, it puts the chess elite in fairly significant company.
Sachin Tendulkar, perhaps the most technically accurate batsman in the history of cricket, famously insisted on always putting on his left pad before his right. Before playing a point, Rafael Nadal must have the labels on the water bottles facing a certain direction. These are not irrational idiosyncrasies; they are the carefully maintained systems of the supremely rational, who instinctively understand that the mind needs anchors.
“Each athlete draws from his own family and cultural background,” notes Dr. Swaroop.
“Because sports are inherently stressful – a constant cycle of winning and losing – these behaviors tend to intensify over time. From the outside, we might call it superstition. But for the players, if it helps, it’s no harm.”
Vibhuti works just like Tendulkar’s left pad: it’s a physical anchor that quiets the noise, lowers cortisol and keeps the suffocation response at arm’s length.
Dr. But Swaroop adds one caution: “The only concern is if they become so dependent on it that they feel they can’t function without it. That shouldn’t happen.”
CHENNAI AS
For those who grew up in the temple-strewn streets of Chennai, vibhuti is as bland as the first filter coffee of the morning. It’s part of a system—a cultural operating system that has favored discipline, routine, and self-silencing for centuries.
This generation of players is fiercely modern – they use AI engines, open databases and supercomputers to dissect opponents step by step. Yet some of them remain deeply, almost defiantly, traditional in their psychological grounding. They don’t ask ash to move pieces for them. They use it to stay still—to stay centered and unhurried—while the world moves around them at a million miles an hour.
When the clock starts ticking and the opening moves are made, the mark on the forehead remains: a silent, ashen sentinel against the twin demons of arrogance and anxiety. The power of vibhuti, it turns out, need not be in the ashes themselves. It was always in the quiet, unshakable confidence of whoever sat behind it.
– The end
Issued by:
Akshay Ramesh
Published on:
03 May 2026 11:40 AM IST
