See, they'll tell you mitti is tradition and mat is sport, but that's susegad talk. On our village akhada's wet earth, your grip lives in the clay — you're not fighting a man, you're fighting the ground's hold on both of you. The mat is all squeaks and false slides; my knee still clicks from a pehlwan pat I tried there that the mitti would've swallowed whole. I switched for the fancy competitions, but my bones now remember: that soft mitti was the real teacher.
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