HYDERABAD: It’s 5 am and a petite man — a little over five feet tall and lean, but muscular — walks into the Mohmadia Taleem at Golconda Fort. Wearing nothing but a langot (loincloth), he begins to prep the red mud in a square-shaped wrestling pit. “This is a ritual I follow every day. The mud has to be softened before every match to avoid injuries,” says Mohammed Ajmer Khan Pahelwan, a 66-year-old mud wrestler and coach.
Probably one of the oldest prctising pahelwans in Hyderabad, his life’s mission is to keep this traditional sport alive, and for this, he spends every waking hour at the Taleem training the next generation wrestlers. While he preps the mud, around 10 trainees join him, each of them, upon arrival, greeting their coach — ‘Salaam, Pasha’ — shaking hands with him and bowing down to him. They begin their warm-up, oil their bodies, kiss the corners of the pit and get into the ring for a heated and sweaty session of Kushti. Without uttering a word, these young pahelwans go over their moves and techniques relentlessly. All one can hear is the thumping of their feet against the soft mud. “Talking is distracting. Not that it’s not allowed, but it’s restricted to the bare minimum here. I was trained in this manner and I continue to pass it down to the youngsters,” Ajmer Khan says.
Mohmadia Taleem is a century-old training ground for the public, which can be used by anyone for free. But women are not allowed. “I’ve trained many wrestlers here, who later went on to join the police force and Army. Kushti is very different from gym workouts. It is all about strength and control of breath, not about building muscles,” he says.
Ajmer Khan has been wrestling since he was 11 years old. His father, grandfather and all the forefathers he knows of were wrestlers. “I’ve had a match with every pahelwan of Hyderabad. My father pinned down Dara Singh in Punjab. But my family is not that popular because we are poor,” he says. “When I started off, I was doing well. Despite my physical structure, I could challenge other wrestlers because in those days, people who lost a match would also get a reward. Wrestling became my bread and butter. But in the early 2000s, when Kushti began to lose its popularity, I was forced to take up odd jobs to survive. But I make time to train these youngsters at Taleem,” says the coach, who has worked a security guard to make ends meet.
Ajmer Khan has four siblings — all pahelwans. “Most of the pahelwans in Hyderabad have become land grabbers and gundas today. But I’ve followed in my father’s footsteps; stayed humble, kind and never fell for greed. Probably, that’s why we remained poor because we never used Pahelwani to bother people,” the father of two sons says with an infectious smile. Although poor, he is content and thankful for everything.
His sons too had started to learn Kushti, but gave it up for their nine-to-five jobs. “But I still see many youngsters who are enthusiastic about this sport. One of my trainees had also represented Rajasthan and Haryana in the local wrestling matches.”Pahelwan Shoaib Qureshi, a former wrestler who manages the Taleem along with a few others, says the training ground was on the brink of closure but the locals, including Mohammed Khawja Qureshi and Sadar Matharu Pasha, saved it.
The facility runs on charity and Ajmer Khan is paid a meagre Rs 5,000 a month. “He is perhaps one of the oldest practising pahelwans in the city. Pasha (referring to Ajmer Khan) is 20 years elder to me but he can do 50-70 ‘Hindu push-ups’ (the most difficult of all push-ups) without getting breathless. He can also climb a rope. He, unlike other pahelwans, continues to stay fit and doesn’t have a bulging belly,” says Qureshi, adding that there used to be 20 other pahelwans, who were regulars at the Taleem, but they’ve all disappeared.