Be ready for a time warp when you enter one of those 100-odd akharas spattered across central Delhi. Derelict structures, tarpaulin shamianas, loin-clad, greased-up pehalwans heeding the guru’s instructions, Hanuman idols gazing from every bend, sticks lying randomly, ropes hanging like pythons, banyan-tree canopies... the sport, it seems, is struck in the pre-Independence era encoded in specific techniques.
Munnibhai Akhara, dating back to the 1930s when Munnilal pehalwan decided to pass on his legacy to aspirants, is one such academy, where wrestlers from Haryana and Uttar Pradesh come flocking to learn the art. From puny toddlers to bustling youth, the akhara is crammed. They don’t have to undergo rigorous entrance exams for admission. “We take everyone who comes knocking, though we prefer those under 10. We now house nearly 150 wrestlers of various age groups, as young as eight to those over 20,” explains Jitender Sharma, one of the 15 coaches at the akhara.
Once a wrestler joins the academy, it becomes his home. Every academy is a self-contained unit, with common bathrooms, earth-filled godhas (wrestling rings) mud-floor huts, rope cots and a miniature Hanuman shrine. A signboard reads: ‘Toothpaste and brush are not allowed’. Not that they don’t care about hygiene, but they use natural neem twigs and leaves. The diet is mostly vegetarian, as meat would make them lethargic, with lots of fruit, ghee and milk (only buffalo milk).
Here, wrestling ceases to shred its rustic tag, but that is by choice. Not that they can’t afford modernity, but they give precedence to tradition. A state-of-the-art gym here, though, takes you by surprise. And so does the matted godha. “We can afford to revamp the entire place, but the sport will lose its charm. We prefer the sport to be as it is, and we believe our guruji’s teachings are more than enough for our wrestlers to shine,” says Jitender, who joined the akhara three decades ago from a village in Haryana.
They don’t believe in coaching manuals. Trained instincts govern them. “We have a basic pattern of training which starts with worshipping Hanuman and practising suryanamaskar. This is followed by stretching and running before wrestlers start grappling with their partners. The four-hour session ends with aerobics,” says Rupesh Kumar, another coach.
Most such akharas are supply chains to more-established ones. Some like Jitender and Rupesh stick on. They consciously subscribe to a unique way of life that is centred around the akhara. “Once you spend a few years here, especially the formative years, you don’t feel like moving out. I have more than half of my life here, and so I continue. I don’t stay here any longer, as I’m married, but I can’t spend a single day without coming here. Though I haven’t participated at the international level, I am satisfied with what I’m doing,” says Jitender. But not everybody is satisfied. Ambition takes them to bigger akharas, such as the one inside the Chhatrasal Stadium in north Delhi, Sushil Kumar’s alma mater. This akhara has plush corridors, air-conditioned halls and imported mats. Sushil’s mentor Satpal Singh was quick to imbibe the merits of technology. “Even before Sushil, India had good wrestlers, but they lacked the scientific training required to excel at the top level. Most of them were raw. So right from the time when this akhara was started in 1988, I have tried to impart scientific training. Now, more youngsters are bursting into the international scene,” he said.
Satpal believes in tapping talent that mostly goes waste in the name of tradition. “Lot of them, especially in rural Haryana, are just happy going to their akharas and contesting in village fairs. But if we channelise their talent, India can be a potent force in wrestling. It’s good for them as they can earn a decent livelihood, and it is good for the country for they can fetch us medals,” he says.
In this regard, Sushil has captured the imagination of these ambitionless, directionless wrestlers. “His Olympic bronze was the fillip the sport desperately required. Now, they have someone to look up to and emulate. Since his arrival, more youngsters are seeking scientific, organised training. Everybody wants to become Sushil,” says Satpal.
But even as the sport seeks the shores of modernity, its pastoral allure lives on, inconspicuously, even in bustling, metro Delhi.
sports@expressbuzz.com