I don’t need to explain that kabaddi is currently going through a revival in India. Last time I saw it was during the black-and-white days of Doordarshan when it would be on during some socialist athletics meet (Indo Chini Archipelago Bhai Bhai Summit Games or some such nonsense) where us, the Soviets, the Chinese, some Cambodians, two Mongolians, a Bangladeshi would take part in what were called athletics events because the governments forced us to do it.
I say athletics in the most casual way possible. In the way that someone in your family is an athlete at Candy Crush. They didn’t know which direction to run, in the jumping area, 100% of the time jumped under the bar, in the gymnastics, couldn’t get down from the ropes mid-air. They ended up recording running speeds in the 100 meters sprint at the timing that the walking races recorded in the Olympics.
If one went to watch one of these and sat close to the field, you’db have been careful of the javelin thrower.
The Bangladeshi way
Kabaddi was part of that. Sadly, there wasn’t anyone to play us, not an equal Korean or Taiwanese Kabaddi pro-league so we only always played Bangladesh internationally. There the sport is knows as hadudu, which is also the noise you make while tickling the underside of the chin of a Bengali infant.
I’m assuming while it was being played by the two countries, the other ASEAN folk stood around wondering, “Wow, they are putting in a lot of effort to touch each other” (they didn’t wonder in English).
That era also had a sad event called rhythmic gymnastics, yes, dancing while doing gymnastics (Koreans always won oddly, they liked the dance- summersault-dance combo).
Fortunately, sense prevailed, and like all such dangerous things from that time, half-cut biker gloves, Baba Sehgal, it went away.
Kabaddi continued to thrive in regional Indian leagues, across cities and towns, but remained on Doordarshan as India changed from the black-and-white antenna-protruding TV India to whatever it is now. Which is another way of saying no one watches Doordarshan so you probably didn’t know that. Kabaddi probably remained where it was, i.e., it didn’t change the rules to have more touching or sexier shorts or saying kabaddi in a Salman Khan accent to keep up with liberalisation. It became the innocent drive-by fatality of India’s media revolution.
Anyway, from what I can tell, it is back, pretty much with the same old rules. Only with a feel that is some rock concert combination of KBC and reality dance shows. It is on primetime TRP-driven new India television, which basically means it has to combine the drama of a domestic housewife soap with the cliffhanger thrill of a starlet picking a husband live with the staged hilarity of a comedy variety show hosted by Kapil Sharma. A tough demand for a game that began its TV life on Doordarshan in the afternoons, watched perhaps only by the imprisoned, whose players ironed their own shorts, had to supplement their income as State Bank peons, and all of whom looked like your local fishmonger decided to get on a field and see what was up.
Not anymore. Kabaddi 2014 is backed by billionaires, visionaries, entrepreneurs and Bollywood who are sensibly and laudably trying to give the nation some alternative to cricket, which seems to be a sport where we travel to England and Australia only to look physically inferior. India’s cleverest and wealthiest minds got together and said, “Right, what sport can we give the people that doesn’t involve innings defeats? Anything. Anything that has Indian precedents, from the '80s will do. I don’t care if the sport has a ball.”
There is of course a larger philosophical debate to be had whether a sport needs a ball. There are ball sports: cricket, tennis, golf. There are shape-of-ball doesn’t-matter-sports: rugby, ice hockey, badminton etc. Within that, there are balls-that-must-go-to-a-place sports: football (a goal), snooker (a pocket), and balls-that -must -be–hit- to- a–thing-and-back sports (tennis, squash). Then the world has non-ball sports: skiing, kayaking, swimming, boxing, and marathons. I feel, as human beings, who we are is defined by whether we like ball or non-ball sports. I for one, feel a sport should have a ball. Kabaddi, like all Indian things, doesn’t fit into any existing category. It is a controlled breathing, word repetition, thigh-touching sport. Nothing like it exists. Has existed. Or will exist. Which is great.
So the result is something that’s a long way from us and Bangladeshis mud wrestling on a Dhaka field shouting hadudu at each other. The Twitter generation gets a sport that looks like watching handball without the ball, if played by male supermodels from a Kingfisher hunt, on opiates.
A manic energy
There’s mad manic energy, the TV ratings are through the roof. I witnessed three Canadian women at a bar in Mumbai watching it and one said, “I have no idea what is going on but its great. They are hot. And there’s some inappropriate tickling. This should be a global sport. No one will ogle at Raphael Nadal.”
They are also now getting the Page 3 new India PR machinery amped up around kabaddi, which basically involves celebrities endorsing it with the unfortunate gesture of lifting their leg, touching their inner thigh and raising the opposite hand and saying the word. Which I am hoping does not become the gesture of some political party in the future. We’re not far from a time when the players are dancing with Sreesanth or selling us brake oil or judging comedy shows or rapping with Mr Honey Singh or spilling matrimonial secrets on Mr Karan Johar’s shows.
As a noted TV channel says about how it gathers news, whatever it takes to get us off cricket. Whatever it takes.
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I say athletics in the most casual way possible. In the way that someone in your family is an athlete at Candy Crush. They didn’t know which direction to run, in the jumping area, 100% of the time jumped under the bar, in the gymnastics, couldn’t get down from the ropes mid-air. They ended up recording running speeds in the 100 meters sprint at the timing that the walking races recorded in the Olympics.
If one went to watch one of these and sat close to the field, you’db have been careful of the javelin thrower.
The Bangladeshi way
Kabaddi was part of that. Sadly, there wasn’t anyone to play us, not an equal Korean or Taiwanese Kabaddi pro-league so we only always played Bangladesh internationally. There the sport is knows as hadudu, which is also the noise you make while tickling the underside of the chin of a Bengali infant.
I’m assuming while it was being played by the two countries, the other ASEAN folk stood around wondering, “Wow, they are putting in a lot of effort to touch each other” (they didn’t wonder in English).
That era also had a sad event called rhythmic gymnastics, yes, dancing while doing gymnastics (Koreans always won oddly, they liked the dance- summersault-dance combo).
Fortunately, sense prevailed, and like all such dangerous things from that time, half-cut biker gloves, Baba Sehgal, it went away.
Kabaddi continued to thrive in regional Indian leagues, across cities and towns, but remained on Doordarshan as India changed from the black-and-white antenna-protruding TV India to whatever it is now. Which is another way of saying no one watches Doordarshan so you probably didn’t know that. Kabaddi probably remained where it was, i.e., it didn’t change the rules to have more touching or sexier shorts or saying kabaddi in a Salman Khan accent to keep up with liberalisation. It became the innocent drive-by fatality of India’s media revolution.
Anyway, from what I can tell, it is back, pretty much with the same old rules. Only with a feel that is some rock concert combination of KBC and reality dance shows. It is on primetime TRP-driven new India television, which basically means it has to combine the drama of a domestic housewife soap with the cliffhanger thrill of a starlet picking a husband live with the staged hilarity of a comedy variety show hosted by Kapil Sharma. A tough demand for a game that began its TV life on Doordarshan in the afternoons, watched perhaps only by the imprisoned, whose players ironed their own shorts, had to supplement their income as State Bank peons, and all of whom looked like your local fishmonger decided to get on a field and see what was up.
Not anymore. Kabaddi 2014 is backed by billionaires, visionaries, entrepreneurs and Bollywood who are sensibly and laudably trying to give the nation some alternative to cricket, which seems to be a sport where we travel to England and Australia only to look physically inferior. India’s cleverest and wealthiest minds got together and said, “Right, what sport can we give the people that doesn’t involve innings defeats? Anything. Anything that has Indian precedents, from the '80s will do. I don’t care if the sport has a ball.”
There is of course a larger philosophical debate to be had whether a sport needs a ball. There are ball sports: cricket, tennis, golf. There are shape-of-ball doesn’t-matter-sports: rugby, ice hockey, badminton etc. Within that, there are balls-that-must-go-to-a-place sports: football (a goal), snooker (a pocket), and balls-that -must -be–hit- to- a–thing-and-back sports (tennis, squash). Then the world has non-ball sports: skiing, kayaking, swimming, boxing, and marathons. I feel, as human beings, who we are is defined by whether we like ball or non-ball sports. I for one, feel a sport should have a ball. Kabaddi, like all Indian things, doesn’t fit into any existing category. It is a controlled breathing, word repetition, thigh-touching sport. Nothing like it exists. Has existed. Or will exist. Which is great.
So the result is something that’s a long way from us and Bangladeshis mud wrestling on a Dhaka field shouting hadudu at each other. The Twitter generation gets a sport that looks like watching handball without the ball, if played by male supermodels from a Kingfisher hunt, on opiates.
A manic energy
There’s mad manic energy, the TV ratings are through the roof. I witnessed three Canadian women at a bar in Mumbai watching it and one said, “I have no idea what is going on but its great. They are hot. And there’s some inappropriate tickling. This should be a global sport. No one will ogle at Raphael Nadal.”
They are also now getting the Page 3 new India PR machinery amped up around kabaddi, which basically involves celebrities endorsing it with the unfortunate gesture of lifting their leg, touching their inner thigh and raising the opposite hand and saying the word. Which I am hoping does not become the gesture of some political party in the future. We’re not far from a time when the players are dancing with Sreesanth or selling us brake oil or judging comedy shows or rapping with Mr Honey Singh or spilling matrimonial secrets on Mr Karan Johar’s shows.
As a noted TV channel says about how it gathers news, whatever it takes to get us off cricket. Whatever it takes.
