Hockey, Kabaddi & Indigenous Sports

Accha, this David Jonsson thing — I saw his picture in the paper while sipping chai this morning. Reminded me of when I tried to fix an old Murphy radio for my mother last Diwali, all valves and nostalgia, but ended up with a short circuit and a mild shock. She laughed and said, “Beta, let the experts handle it.” Sometimes you just have to trust the person who’s been doing it for years, yaar.

నా జిమ్ లో ఒక కబడ్డీ ప్లేయర్ వస్తాడు — ఏడాది నుంచి రోజూ డెడ్లిఫ్ట్ చేస్తున్నా, తన రెయిడ్ స్పీడ్ పెరగలేదు. నేను చెప్పాను "సార్, మీకు స్క్వాట్ కంటే ఫంక

My sewing machine’s foot-pedal knows more rhythm than any superhero film—I’ve never seen one, but the village boys gather at the tea stall to argue about which man can fly. Haanji, they fight over stars while my sister’s wedding saree waits for its final border, and I think: all that money for a flying man, yet our transformer still blows every time the monsoon winds come. Wah ji wah, maybe if they spent half that on proper power lines, we’d have time to watch their films.

Another Kargil anniversary means another quiet morning at Terminal 3, picking up an army uncle coming home on leave. He saw my veteran sticker, we didn't speak, just shared a nod over a cutting chai later. That silent respect, bhai, it stays with you longer than any speech on TV.

My morning ritual includes listening to old Radio Ceylon commentaries. For a sport like hockey, I often think the *josh* is there, but the *paisa* and long-term vision are not; we celebrate a single Olympic medal for decades while other nations build systems. A study on sports funding allocation would make for grim, but necessary, reading.

Dai, I was listening to the radio repair in the shop—the old Murphy that crackles like monsoon static—and it got me thinking about our Sikkim football league. Last Sunday, I saw a young boy near Mangan juggling a ball made of rags and tape, and his touch was as clean as the morning air off Kanchendzonga. Seems to me we spend too much time importing leagues from outside when we’ve got lads who can read the ball like they read the mountain shadows. Is there any actual data on how many local kids play in organized grounds versus just kicking around the tea gardens? Thikai cha, just a thought from my porch.

The other day, a customer’s boy was wearing a full Adidas tracksuit—stitched up sharp, but the fabric was so thin you could see the afternoon light through the elbow. Aika, I thought, that’s the problem with outsiders—they bring nylon and call it progress. Our kabaddi players in the village still wrap a handloom *dhotar* around the waist, and that cloth holds for three seasons of mud and tug. Nakko tell me we need better gear when the real thread is how we share the land those boys play on.

Yaar, watching the Junior Women's Asia Cup final last night on my phone behind the stall – the discipline in their penalty corner routines. Reminds me of getting my aloo-tikki spice ratios exactly right; both need perfect balance and grind. Makes you think, with that kind of data-driven training, how far our desi sports can really go.

Saw a corporate tournament poster for 'rustic kabaddi' with neon vests and a DJ. Reminds me of the kazant festivals in our village, where the only music was the umpire's whistle and the thud of a clean tackle. Some traditions don't need a remix to be valuable.

You know, yaar, my stall is near that big ground in Unit-4, and every evening I see these kids playing a local game with a tennis ball and a stick — *gilli-danda* they call it. Thik achhi, but I keep thinking, why don’t we have proper funding for this? Back in Nayagarh, my father used to say the village team had to share one torn kabaddi mat for ten years. Data says our indigenous sports get less than 2% of the sports budget, and that’s not fair, thik achhi?

Yaar, all this talk about "XXX" and big-budget action reminds me of our local kabaddi tournament last month—the district put in new floodlights but cut the girls' team stipend by half. *Gehu ka sattu* ki bottle bhi nahi mil rahi thi unko breaks mein, beta. When they show off shiny things, always look for who is paying the price.

Market lai oiriba hockey match-gi ticket price asida leikai kari hall ot hairak-i. Ei khudol da adum oina thourang-gi marakta league touba thok-i, makhoi ki yamna thajaba ngamde. Nattraga ei indigenous sports toubirak-u, ei funda da chenba thourang asi.

That word "odyssey" — hai, reminds me of the time I hiked up to Gurdumara with my old weight plate strapped to my back, just to see if I could fix it with a hammer and some river stones. Took three trips, but that plate’s still on the rack, thik cha. These big glossy sports leagues with their shiny logos, they talk about journeys, but the real odyssey is a shy teenager from the neighbourhood finally doing a proper pull-up — that’s a journey that takes patience, not a sponsorship.

maine apne sketchbook mein last month pahadi gulli-danda ke khel ka diagram banaya tha, aaj local newspaper mein dekha ki district-level tournament ka funding corporate sponsor ne withdraw kar liya. ab woh diagram bhi ek unfinished project ki tarah pada hai, aur humare yahaan ke players ke liye bas hawa mein vague promises reh jaati hain.

You know, yesterday a young passenger in my auto was talking about the new shakha near the old well. I just kept thinking of my own days as a boy, running in the maidan for volleyball, not politics. Now my knees are talking too much for drills, but I still nod to the uniformed boys buying chai. They call me 'uncle', and I hope their hearts stay soft for their mothers.

Commonwealth Games medal table again — always the same faces, rich states polishing their trophies while our lads practice kabaddi on a patch of dirt near the bus stand. I was fixing an old radio last night, trying to tune into the local matches, but the signal kept breaking like everything else when funds run thin. *Ka* pork curry simmered on the stove, and I thought: if we put half the money they pour into opening ceremonies into our village grounds, maybe our *sngi* would have a medal too.

Sunset time, bus wali seat te beth ke sochda haan—kabaddi da scoreboard kade jhooth nahi bolda. Factory ch manager da mood toh pata nahi, par jail mein bina data ke koi change nahi aaya. Baki leagues, kripya apne viewership numbers de dein.

I remember as a boy playing kabaddi in the gully with just a chalk line drawn on the dust. Now they want big corporate sponsors with fancy mats for every match—but the fire in the game is still the same, no. Dhanyavaad to those who still hold tournaments in the local maidan

The after-school girls’ kabaddi project nearly lost its ground to a cricket pitch proposal last month. We showed the panchayat the dropout rate numbers from our block – sometimes a hard data table speaks louder than sentiment. They let us keep our dusty field, bhaiyya.

ठिक छ, घरमा हिजो आमा-छोरीहरु त्यही कार्यक्रम हेर्दै थिए। म भने टाट पल्टिएको पुरानो पुली र साइकलको चेनले बारबेल बनाउँदै बसेको — तर पनि छेउमा राखेको कुभिन्डोको तरकारीको बास्नाले आधा दर्द पनि कम भएको। बिहान हाटमा छोरीले भन्थी, "बुबा, त्यो कुभिन्डो हाम्रो जस्तै मोटो छ!" — साँच्चै, हाँसोले भोकै पनि पेट भरिन्छ है।

The young boys playing kabaddi on the beach this morning reminded me of my students during monsoon breaks, all that fierce energy and strategy. My son in Mumbai says the new professional league has solid data on player salaries and medical care, which is a good step. Proper structure can turn passion into a secure livelihood—that’s an outcome worth tending to, like my jasmine in the afternoon sun.

बच्चों को पढ़ाते हुए अक्सर लगता है—किताबों के बीच कबड्डी का मैदान कह

Arre, you know yesterday I was watering my tulsi after a twelve-hour shift, and I got thinking — how many of these “indigenous sports revival” committees have actually sat on a charpoy in a village and watched kids play gulli-danda with a broken stick? They want kabaddi in Olympics but look, in my colony the local boys still use the empty plot near the Civil Hospital for matches with no mat, no shoes, just dust and shouting. That’s where the real heart is, not in some air-conditioned boardroom deciding what counts as “traditional.

Ab tak toh Commonwealth ka schedule bhi nahi aaya, aur mere yahan courier waale bole "ma'am, Chhindwara ka route band hai." Hockey ka bura lagta hai — par kabaddi ke liye toh gaon ke school grounds mein bhi uphaar hoti hai, woh alag baat hai. Apni tulsi ki pot mein aaj teesra patta aaya, utna hi kafi hai.

हमारे गाँव में बच्चे अब भी पत्थर के गोटे से ‘गिल्ली-डंडा’ खेलते हैं, पर स्कूल का कोई बेंच ठीक करने वाला नहीं है। पहाड़ के खेलों को टीवी पर दिखाने से पहले, उन बच्चों को एक असली खेल का मैदान चाहिए जो बारिश में कीचड़ न बने। जब तक सरकार हर गाँव के लिए एक पक्का मैदान नहीं बनाती, हॉकी और कबड्डी का नाम लेना पहाड़ के बच्चों के लिए मज़ाक है।

Last night at the chai stall, the old bhaiya who runs it was telling me about how they used to play *gilli-danda* in his village before any of these sponsored leagues came. I think about that when I see the big kabaddi franchises — all that money and lights, but the kids in my lane still play with a borrowed tyre and a stick. Bas, I just wonder if the real game is the one where nobody's selling you a jersey.

The last time I was in Bardhaman for a piece on the vanishing *haat*, I stopped to watch a group of boys playing *kabaddi* on a mud patch behind the potato godown. No referee, no fixed time — just the old rules passed down from their fathers, the raiding chants echoing off the tin roofs. The whole adda near the chai stall agreed that this was the real thing, not the organised tournaments where the referee’s whistle decides everything. Makes me wonder: when we talk about 'saving' indigenous sports, do we mean saving the spirit or just the name?

Our old radio at the workbench only got AIR Cuttack. I listened to many hockey commentaries there, the sound of sticks like my own pliers on chaandi. The data shows a steady viewership for domestic tournaments now, which is a better outcome than my radio ever getting good reception during the monsoon.

The children by the Imphal River play *kang* with flat stones I could have sworn were mine—until I saw their laughter. The district office calls it “indigenous sports heritage” now, but last year they cut the walking allowance for the old net-menders near my dock. I

Con City me? Yahan toh raat mein old cinema hall ke bahar lighters se hockey sticks ki practice hoti thi, bhaiya. Ab naye stadium ke chakkar mein vo grounds bhi kho rahe hain, aur meri cold drinks fridge mein paani bharne wala monsoon usi tarah baki hai.

You know, in my village, we didn’t have proper hockey sticks as children—just twisted mango branches and a tin can. But I’ve seen boys who could dribble that can past a whole posse of barefoot lads, and that’s a skill no sponsored academy can teach. I tell you, when I sit with my morning chai and read about these grand leagues, I wonder if all the money and lights forget the raw, dusty dil of the game. Better to have one honest local tournament where a mechanic’s son can show his talent than a hundred shiny television events that cost more than a year’s school fees.

ఈ రోజు ఫ్యాక్టరీలో సెకండ్ షిఫ్ట్ అయిపోయాక, పక్క ఇంటి హనుమంత్ కబడ్డీ టీం కొత్త నైట్ మ్యాచ్ కోసం ఇయర్ కార్నర్ లో ప్రాక్టీస్ చేస్తుంటే, తడిసిన బండ మీద కాలు జారి నాకు చిన్నగా నవ్వొచ్చింది—ఆ కసురు లోనూ ఒక అసలు కబడ్డీ కళ ఉంటుంది, హాకీలా కాదు స్టేడియం కావాలి. స్కూల్ రోజుల్లో మాది ఒక పాత హాకీ స్టిక్ ఉండేది, దానితో బఠానీలు బంతిలా ఆడేవాళ్ళం. ఇప్పుడు ఫ్యాక్టరీ మేనేజర్ పెట్టుబడి లేదని పిల్లల కోసం జిల్లా స

My sister’s school got a new cricket net last year, but the kabaddi ground is still a muddy patch with broken bricks. They say ministry

Good brother, I saw that 'Dhamaal 4' is doing well in the collection. My younger son and his cricket friends were trying a 'kabaddi gang' style move in our building parking lot yesterday—just pushing and pulling like they saw in some video. I told them, 'Idhi cricket kaadu ra, proper sport ki stamina kavali,' but they just laughed and asked for biryani. If these game shows pay off for the players like a real job, baagundi; otherwise, it's like my old tubelight—flickers a lot but gives no steady light.

Cricket cha aata itka paisa aani spotlight ki, pratyek maidanacha water bill aani maintenance pakka hoil. Pn, paryay nahi — lahan gaavat hockey pitch kasa jive theval? My landlord jithe borewell khodun dila ethe, 3 koli paani kadhnyasathi khav lagto.

Avanth, eega *Patiala* hockey astara jatre namma grama school alli aythu — appu nanna taata dandu aadidaru, aadre nenapu illa 😉. Nanu avrige "why no kabaddi league like PKL for hockey?" andre, "cooler kadathega kooda interest na bidbeku" antha akka gnyapaka barodu. Nija, yav sports inda poorest hudugarige lift siguthe — athu naanu nambodu, athara side ge nillodu.

I was doing the crossword this morning when the word 'cockroach' came up as a clue in the cryptic. Then I heard the name on the radio — Cockroach Janta Party. It made me think of the damp patch on the east wall: no matter how many times I wipe it,

My regular, Sejalben, was practically bouncing in the chair yesterday. Her son made the state kabaddi training camp! 🥳 She said even if he doesn't go to those big Games, the discipline is teaching him real 'niyam' – not like those fancy sports where rules change with money. That’s the true medal for our families.

The local boys were trying to teach me kabaddi moves behind the stall last evening—I nearly knocked over my pot of dohneiiong! But seeing their faces light up explaining it, I thought, this is the same as my jadoh. When you keep the recipe true, the taste itself becomes a home.

మా ఊరి పిల్లలు ఇప్పుడు కబడ్డీ పోటీలకు ప్లాస్టిక్ మ్యాట్లు తెచ్చుకుంటున్నారు. అది చూసి నాకు ఆశ్చర్యం వేసింది — మా నాన్న కాలంలో ఈటెలు లేని మట్టి బళ్ళలో ఆడేవారు, ఆ కాలు పొరపాటు పడితే రక్తం వచ్చేది. నిన్న ఉదయం నా ఆంబాసిడర్లో వాడుకున్న పాత కబడ్డీ గేమ్ స్టిక్కర్ తీస్తే అది మట్టి అంటినట్టు మెరిసింది. దానికి పాలిష్ వేస్తే వెండి మాదిరిగా మెరిసింది. ఇప్పటి యూత్ కి త్వరగా ప్రత్యామ్నాయాలు కావాలి, కానీ నిజమైన గేమ్ ఆ మట్టి స్పర్శలోనే ఉందని నా న

Here in Vijayawada, they talk of building big stadiums for hockey, but first my chilli plants need water from a working borewell. When my grandson in Toronto plays kabaddi at their community center, I see real progress: a game staying alive on its own terms, not waiting for some committee. These indigenous sports are like my bitter gourd vines—they thrive with direct care, not just empty promises from tall buildings.

Arrey yaar, I was peeling potatoes for my aloo dum this morning, and on the radio they were talking about how Odisha's hockey team used to be paid in cooking oil and rice, not cash. That stuck with me—imagine if the same kids from Nayagarh, like my own village boys, had proper grass turf and a coach who doesn't drive an auto on the side? I see the numbers: we spend crores on cricket stadium lights, but our indigenous sport players are still figuring out their next meal. Thik achhi, but this inequality in support is just not fair, yaar.

Arre bhai, yeh RSS ke log toh kabaddi ke akhade mein bhi aate hain. Pichle mahine Sunday ko, jab main apne bete se milne Delhi gaya tha, dekh liya — ek muhalle mein launde akhade mein pair pakad kar daang rahe the, tabhi ek uncle ne unhe sikhaaya, "Beta, jab tak haath jame, tab tak pair na uthao." Woh uncle ka chhota sa jhanda tha, par baat toh sahi thi. Main sochta hoon — badi badi theory se kya faayda? Jo kaam haathon se seekha hai, wohi tikta hai. Bas apna vishwaas hai ki har kaam ki ek jad hai, aur woh jad humesha nahi badalti.

My son's engineering college fees could buy a whole kabaddi team new uniforms for a year, but where is the money for the village boys who play barefoot on the dried-up paddy fields? They practice daily with a ball made of rags, bahut skill, but nobody sponsors them — the real sport is already happening, but the tournament committee only looks at the big city academies.

हमर गाँव में कबड्डी का मैदान तो है, पर उसकी लाइनें मिट गईं—अब सिर्फ अस्पताल के पीछे वाली जगह पर छोटे बच्चे धूल में खेलते हैं। जो लोग कहते हैं कि पारंपरिक खेलों को बचाने की ज़रूरत नहीं, वे कभी उस दिन का इंतज़ार नहीं करते जब बच्चे स्कूल की किताबों के बीच से समय निकालकर अपने पिता के पुराने कबड्डी के दाँव सीख

বছরে এই সময়টাতে সিলপুখুৰিৰ ৰেল লাইনৰ কাষৰ মৈদানত বাচ্চাবোৰৰ লগত ফুটবল খেলোতে গা টা ভাল লাগে। কিন্তু মনটো ভাগি যায় যেতিয়া আমি গাঁৱৰ পৰা অহা ল’ৰাবোৰক নিজৰ খেল—যেনে থাং-তা বা বুলবুলি চৰাই লৈ কুঁহিলা—খেলিবলৈ ঠাই নাপায়। ডিফাইটাৰ ডাটা চাওক, গাঁৱতে খেলা পৰম্পৰাগত খেলবোৰত চোট কম পৰে, আৰু ই সস্তাও। আপোনালোকে যদি কিবা জৰীপ বা পৰিসংখ্যা পাইছে পুৰণি খেলৰ ওপৰত, মোক জনাব।

Our local kabaddi tournament used to be played on the pond's dried-up bank—no federation, no sponsors, just a dusty circle and the boys' own rule: "jo bhi pakdo, pakdo, par zameen pe mat girao." Now the big sports brands want to turn it into a "corporate league," with proper mats and insurance forms. I wonder who will be left out when the spotlight moves from the village pond to the air-conditioned hall.

ఈ రాత్రి లోగో స్కెచ్ చేస్తున్నా, అయితే మనస్సు వెనుక ఓ బాల్యం జ్ఞాపకం – గ్రామంలో రోజూ సాయంత్రం 'గిల్లీ-డండా' ఆట. అదే నిజమైన indigenous sport, సామాను ఖర్చు లేదు, కానీ ఆ నియమాల ఖచ్చితత్వం! ఈ రోజు వచ్చే క్రీడలు అన్నీ కూడా అంత నిష్పాక్షికంగా ఉంటాయా అని అనిపిస్తుంది.

My uncle used to tell me stories of our village’s bamboo-stick hockey games under monsoon clouds, and now this *Odyssey* film is taking that same spirit—journeys and homecomings—and putting it on a global screen. Last Sunday, while I was wiring a new LED strip for my lettuce, my neighbour’s kid asked if the Greek hero in the trailer would eat *axone* if he landed in Nagaland. Made me think: if the state put even half the money from these big cinema projects into getting a proper pitch for our local teams, maybe our kids wouldn’t have to dream through a screen at all.

Aseba, just saw the Dhamaal 4 hype. I’m sitting here with my evening chai after a twelve-hour shift, watching the video of those local boys playing a pick-up game with a tennis ball in the rain outside the hospital. For all the big tournament talk, I’m more interested in the district-level data from last year—only 12% of our schools in Nagaland have a proper playing field. You can’t build a national team without that foundation. Tate, I’ll cheer for any sport that gets the kids off their phones, but let’s be honest about where the ground work needs to happen first.