Maharashtra Kesari

नानीहरू आजकल मेरो स्यालोनमा यो विदिका पिन्टोको कुरा गर्दैछन्, तर मलाई त्यो हीरक जस्तो चम्किलो केटीले आफ्नो आमालाई स्यालोनको किराया तिर्न कति मेहनत गर्नुपर्छ भन्ने थाहा छ जस्तो लाग्दैन। हाम्रो यहाँको पहाडी जस्तो दुःख, त्यो महँगो डिजाइनर कपडाको पछि लागेर होइन, बरु भुइँको पसलको महिनाको किराया जुटाउन संघर्ष गर्नेहरूको कथा सुन्नुपर्छ। म त भन्छु, यस्तो ठूलो चमक-धमकको सट्टा, हाम्रो राज्यले साना स्यालोनहरूका लागि बिजुली र पानीको बिलमा केही छुट दिने हो भने, त्यो साँच्चो कुश्तीको गदा उचाल्न जत्तिकै अर्थप

Arre, the gada's weight isn't just iron and faith—it's the cost of my father's insulin shot this month. I saw the vyeam, the sheer vyeam, in the eyes of Sangli's talim boys as they fought for the trophy, and all I could think was: are we measuring strength by who lifts, or by who *can't* afford to train because the basti's water tank is empty? My debate trophy from school and my journalism award sit on the same dusty shelf, but neither one pays for the dard of a proper diet for these kids. If the state can't ensure a steady rupee for the oil and ghee in their mother's salan, then what are we really celebrating?

Here, we fix our old weighing scale with cellotape and a prayer. There also, you must put weight on both sides for balance, na? First festival, then fair price for milk…let the farmers lift that gada too, haan.

అరేయ్, ఆ కేసరి గడా ఎత్తేవాడ్ని చూస్తుంటే నాకు మా నాన్న టైర్ రిపేర్ షాప్ లో ఆ ముసలి ట్రక్కు టైరును ఎత్తి ఎలా ఫిట్ చేశాడో గుర్తొస్తుంది — ఎంతో కొంచెం అనుభవం, కానీ రోజూ చేసే పని మీద నమ్మకం. ఈ మధ్య ఒక సన్నగా ఉన్న కుర్రాడు మా జిమ్ లో ట్రైసెప్ పుష్డౌన్ లో కేవలం 2 సెట్లు మీటినా ఆ ముఖంలో వచ్చిన ఆత్మవిశ్వాసం చూస్తే, ఏ గణాంకంతోను పోల్చలేం bro 💪

My grandmother says wrestling is like bamboo—bend but never break. I watched a YouTube video last night of Kolhapur talim training, and I counted the time they spent on legwork vs. upper body: 70% legwork. That matches the physiotherapy data for lower back injuries in my village. If we want the gada, we stop worshiping the glamour and start timing the fundamentals.

Aunty was mending my old dokhona this morning, the thread pulled tight and true, and it put me in mind of the talims back when my father was alive. He used to say the best gada-wielder was the one who trained through the dampest monsoon, not the one who posed for the loudest photo. I see these young men now, all sponsored shirts and fancy protein powder, and I wonder — what did their *ja* taste like while they trained? You can sell a gada, but you cannot sell the rhythm of the earth under your bare feet. Let the numbers from the akhada speak, not the shine on the shoe.

My phoolkumar bench press ka ek local repair kiya, recycled pipes se. Ab yeh purana saanp bhi 100kg uthata hai! Aisa lagta hai ki jis cheez ko hum fayda nahi samajhte, usme bhi kuch shakti ho jata hai yaar.

Kargil ke din sunke meri yaad aati hai ki jab pichle saal hamare para mein ek launda fauj se chhutti pe aaya tha, toh sabne milke uske liye gulab jamun banwaye the. Mera pati bol raha tha ki us din gaadi chalaate waqt puri sadak pe tiranga lehraye the. Aaj jab mera chhotu dabba bhar ke mithai le ja raha hai, main soch rahi hoon ki un maa-baap ka dil kitna mazboot hoga jinka beta wahan tha.

I was flipping channels and saw this "Laughter Chefs" thing – yaar, they're treating cooking like a wrestling match, with timers and gimmicks. But my mother's baati recipe? She's been perfecting it for thirty monsoons, no stopwatch needed. All that noise reminds me of those flashy new gyms in Kolhapur that promise a six-pack in a month, while the old talim boys just lift the gada slow and steady, rain or shine. I'll stick with the smell of ghee that tells you it's done, not some comedian's punchline.

Arre yaar, this fight for the gada is not just about who has the bigger biceps in the akhada. I see the same pattern as when the new expressway bypassed our old market — the flashy new methods get all the applause, but the real strength is in the foundation. I keep my son’s broken compass on the dash, and every time I look at it, I remember: a good path is not about how fast you travel, but if the people you carry are still comfortable at the end. Bas, judge the wrestler by what his neighbours say about him after the dust settles, not by the roar before the match.

Cleopatra, I think of my old radio again, needing just the right tap to get Lata Mangeshkar's voice clear. They keep changing the story on things from long ago, like retuning a station and losing the song. I prefer my history like my maasor tenga — let the familiar, good taste settle.

Arre, Commonwealth Games ka suna. Mere papa ne kal akhbaar mein dekha — medal tally ke saath ek chhota sa column tha — aur bola, "Dekh, hockey mein chance hai." Maine sirf itna socha ki woh ladke jo sadak ke kinare gend se khelte hain, kya unke liye bhi koi jagah bachegi inse? Mera chhota bhai cricket ka bat lekar ghumta hai par main usse hockey sticks ke baare mein nahi sikha paata — kyunki yahan to koi proper maidaan nahi hai, aur jo hai woh garmiyon mein khali rehta hai.

मेरे पिताजी देवदार की लकड़ी से मंदिर के दरवाजे तराशते हैं, उनकी गंध मेरे कपड़ों में चिपक जाती है। पर कल जब मैंने एक शहरी यात्री को छोटी सी नक्काशी देखकर फोन से उसका विडियो बनाते देखा, तो लगा कि शायद पुरानी कला और नए हाथ मिल सकते हैं। कोल्हापुर के कुश्ती के अखाड़े भी तो वैसे ही हैं न, जहाँ पुरानी ताकत और नए जोश की आवाज़ एक साथ गूँजती है।

Oh, the batmi lekhan and formal letter formats! Honestly, the examiners are checking if you've memorised the rigid structure—the headings, the 'सेवेत' line, the precise closing. But my life says the real test is secretly in the jahirat, the notice writing. I lost marks last year because I wrote it too simply; my teacher said, "Add more official-sounding Marathi, make it sound important!" It’s less about clear information and more about using the right heavy phrases.

Batmi lekhan is a formal statement, jahirat means public notice, and letter formats follow the old 'sthān, tarīkh, susruchna' style. Examiners check for correct structure and respectful language. But yaar, what they truly look for is whether you've used the right Marathi—our Marathwada words like 'khol' for room or 'patang' for kite get marked as informal! My teacher always corrected my village terms, saying, "The Pune examiner wants the textbook's Marathi, not your well's Marathi." So, focus on that city-style writing.

Batmi lekhan means formal letter writing, jahirat is notice writing, and the format is paramount—from the sender's address to the subject line. Examiners first check if you've followed that rigid structure before even reading your content. And honestly? They are stricter about margins and punctuation than anyone admits. I see brilliant students lose marks for a comma in the wrong place, while a simple, perfectly formatted letter scores full points. It reminds me of my weaving—the examiners look for the correct 'pattern' first, just as my eche would check the alignment of the *phanek* borders before admiring the colours.

Oh, to remember those formats properly! Examiners check your structure and the correct headings—"From" and "To" for the letter, proper opening and closing for batmi lekhan. I failed that section because I thought, "Who needs to memorise?" and wrote from the heart, mixing everything up. My regret is as steep as the path to Mawphlang, watching my sister neatly memorise her English formats while my Marathi answers were a friendly, jumbled mess.

Batmi lekhan teaches them to write with heart, jahirat sharpens their mind, and letter formats bring discipline — examiners look for clarity and respect in all three. I sit with my son each evening, checking his Marathi homework just as my father once did with me under the lantern light. But I tell him, beta, what the examiner truly checks for is whether your words, like our cherries, carry the true flavour of your roots.

These new corporate sponsors promising to "modernise" the talim… Hajur, I saw the same promises when a big hotel chain wanted to put a cable car on my uncle’s ridge. They showed us charts, we got a leaky roof and a broken view. When my student’s father, a *malla* in Sangli, fixes a *gada* handle with coconut fibre and old cycle tube, that handle lasts twenty winters. A contract’s fine paper, but I trust a hand that knows the weight of iron and the rain’s mood. Thikai cha, maybe I’m just an old man who fixes his own Casio—but at least it still plays the right note.

My brother and I, we tried lifting the big stone behind our house like a gada. My arms shook after three tries, but he laughed and said I train only for turning radio knobs. It makes me think how much practice it must take to lift the Kesari gada with grace.

The old mardala player in my troupe, he taught me something about rhythm: you don't rush the bol just because the crowd is loud. Same with your gada — I see these new akharas buying those fancy foam mats and calling it modernisation, but the talim I respect still sweats on the same mud floor my father’s generation did. Is it slower? Yes. But the slowness has a reason — the grip, the breath, the fall. And yaar, when my daughter shows me her code crashing because someone took a shortcut, I tell her: the mardala never lies, and neither should the Kesari.

The radio man in our village, old Bhaichung-da, he tells me the same thing each time I visit his repair shed — "machine needs patience, not panic." That is how I feel when I see this debate about the gada lifting. A sport is not a business contract. When we lost the old areca nut press to a corporation's "modern" machine, we also lost the quiet knowledge of how to hear a bearing going bad. So win or lose, do not let the talim become just a factory for trophies. Let it keep the sound of the gada hitting the earth, like the betel leaves before rain.

Arre yaar, I was watching a video of the Kesari final from '95—the one where they had to reset the gada because the sand was packed uneven. And I thought, chala bagundi, that's the real fight: not just the lift, but the load they let you lift. In the talim, we all know the strongest man is the one who makes sure the weakest can stand. That's the real Maharashtra Kesari.

okay da, listening to all this talk of heavy gadas and strong backs. my own gym is that metal chai presser, up-down twenty years like a salute. these hands lift nothing heavier than a rice sack now, but still i know the weight of a day that starts before the sun.

my dhaba-style chicken recipe could feed a whole talim, I swear. yahan Kotdwar mein gym bachane ki ladai lag rahi hai mall ke khilaf, aur main sochta hoon aapke kesariyon ke liye bhi yeh sarkari daal mein bahut kuch hai. jab tak hum apni choti-choti jagahon pe ladte rahenge, tab tak woh bade gurde bhi hamesha uthate rahenge.

There was talk of these big Games coming back in 2026. It made me think of the wrestling from my own village festival when I was a boy—the sound, the sheer *josh*. My old hands can't paint an entire *akhada* scene in one sitting anymore, but perhaps just the grip on the *gada*, the focus in the eyes... for the right patron, acha?

Last week at the hospital, I saw three nurses chasing a cockroach in the dispensary with a broom. All I could think was—when they are doing that, who is checking the saline drip in Ward 4?

काल एक मोडलेल्या रेडिओची knobs ची स्केच केली, आणि बाप्पा शेजारीच्या खोलीत "माझी उडते पंख" म्हणत होते. हे शांत क्षण असतात, जेवणानंतरचा चहा आणि सुटलेल्या पेन्सिलीचा आवाज.

Last week my granddaughter called from Delhi, excited about some new app that tells you how much milk to buy. I told her, "In our time, the eye and the hand knew." The young men who lift the gada in Kolhapur eat the same rice as the poor in Manipur — we all know what happens when the stomach is empty too long. Before another monsoon washes away our little plots, let's ask: why does a water filter cost more than a week's wage, when clean water is as basic as the air?

ippudu shop close chesi terrace meedaki vellina, aa chaaya tho paatu neighbour gallu Maharashtra Kesari gurinchi matladuthunte, naakem telusu annattu unna. Naaku aa gada yevaru theesaru anedi kanna, naa koduku engineering fees kosam aa 200-rupee note vellindhi entha mandhi valla pocket nuncho ane anxiety ekkuva. Kani meeru andaru intla biryani patta ga undali, Kesari jenda ki jai.

When I was driving through Sangli years ago, my helper and I would time our break with the sound of wrestlers' bells from the talim. Now, my daughter sends me videos of their practice, and we calculate their diet's cost versus a truck driver's monthly ration. The numbers speak of a different kind of strength.

ok so dipke just won kesari again and my pg’s tiffin guy from kolhapur is literally vibrating with his phone on loud. me? i’m barely processing because i spent my entire freelance poster budget on a new set of copic markers last week and now i’m eating maggi till diwali. but honestly watching that guy train in grainy insta reels with kushti pit sand stuck to his back makes me feel like my “one poster per week” grind isn’t gonna kill me either. if he can lift that gada with delhi sponsors and community chai backing him, i can finish my typography assignment without crying. probably.

Sometimes I think that hum of my sewing machine, stitching blouse pieces for Mrs. Joshi's daughter's wedding, it has its own rhythm, yaar, like those wrestlers practicing their dand in the akhara. My son was explaining the points system of the Kesari tournament to me last night – such dedication! Bas, it makes my own backache from bending over the Usha machine feel a little lighter, accha?

बच्चों ने आज क्लास में 'रयान गॉस्लिंग' का नाम लिया, मैंने सोचा कोई नया क्रिकेटर होगा। पता चला फिल्मों का हीरो है, और मेरे एक छात्र ने कहा कि वो इसकी तस्वीर अपनी कॉपी पर चिपकाएगा। मैंने कहा—पहले गणित का सवाल हल करो, फिर हीरो चिपकाना।

Long day but... thinking of your Kesari gada, aitu. My old transistor radio only gets one station, and when the wrestling commentary crackles through, even the dogs outside my stall stop barking. Proof, I think, that some traditions hold their weight, not by force, but because the whole town leans in to listen.

The other evening, I was tightening a rusted bolt on the Maruti’s carburettor, and my nephew asked why I don’t just buy a new one. I pointed to the neem sapling fighting through the cracked courtyard — you don’t replace it, you fix the soil it stands in. That’s how I see the Kesari: not as a spectacle, but as a thousand small talims, each with its own stubborn bolt and its own patch of dirt, raising boys who learn to stand straight without a committee telling them how. The data on who actually gets hurt — the youngest wrestler forced to bulk up too fast, the talim that can’t afford a proper mat — that’s

The old men here in the village still argue about who had the stronger grip back in '78, aso — I just watch the morning news on my phone while I pick the ripe chillies. My knee tells me every day that tradition has a reason, but waiting for a committee to approve a new training mat is like watching my dad's medicine price rise month by month. If the talim belt wants to stay strong, let the wrestlers decide their own rules and lift that g

The morning market was full of chatter about this Con City—everyone talking like it’s some new thing. I just sat there sorting the small rohu from the pond, thinking of my brother’s neighbor who went to work in a big city and came back with nothing but a story about a job that vanished. They say it’s a modern problem, but I’

Ever tried to keep a Dzire quiet on a bad road, yaar? My dashboard rattles worse than my old piggy bank when I shake it for my sister's wedding fund! But last week, a passenger from your belt taught me a Kolhapuri lavni beat on the steering wheel to match the squeaks… bas, now my car and I make music all the way to Ranchi!

It is a fine thing, to watch men test their strength against the earth and each other. From my stool here in Raghurajpur, I think of my own small wrestling—these days, just to keep my hand steady enough to paint Lord Jagannath’s eyes on a palm leaf. The focus it demands, acha, it is not so different from holding the gada. Both need a lifetime of practice, and both leave you with a humble pain in the old bones the next morning, bhala.

Commonwealth Games ka bada tamasha hota hai, par yaar, mere gali ke akhade mein jo bachcha roz mitti mein lot-ta hai, uska koi EMIs nahi chhodta. Main apne purane laptop pe Haryanvi dhol loop set kar raha hoon, aur bahar metro ka shor — yeh real competition hai, medal ka nahi, roti ka. Kaisa laga?

आज फिर मोदी जी की बातें आ रही थीं, पर मेरे लिए असल सवाल ये है कि जब मेरी पत्नी एक स्कूल यूनिफॉर्म सिलने पर ३५ रुपए कमाती है, और उसी कपड़े का रेट दुकान पर २०० रुपए — तो ये फर्क कहाँ जाता है? मैं अपनी IGNOU की history module में आँकड़े पढ़ता हूँ, हर बार एक ही पैटर्न दिखता है: जिसके पास पहले से है, उसके पास और चला जाता है। बड़े-बड़े तालीम के झंडे लहराते हैं, लेकिन जब मेरे बच्चे के स्कूल की फीस हर साल

अरे भाई, मैं तो हर रोज़ हजारीबाग से राँची तक गाड़ी चलाता हूँ, उस पुरानी वैगनआर में जिसके ब्रेक का पैडल मैंने खुद जोड़ा है। सुबह-सुबह NH33 पर जब कोई तालीम का लड़का अपने गुरु के साथ दौड़ता नज़र आता है, तो मुझे अपने बेटे की पढ़ाई की चिंता भूल जाती है — असली कसरत तो वही है जो रोज़ की मेहनत में ढल जाए। तुम लोग केसरी गदा उठाओ या न उ

ഈ പുതിയ സിനിമാ പരമ്പരയുടെ ചർച്ച കാന്ടീനിൽ കേട്ടു. എന്റെ മരുമകൾ അതിൽ ഒരു ഗാനം എന്റെ ഓൾഡ് സോംഗ്സ് പ്ലേലിസ്റ്റിൽ ചേർത്തിട്ടുണ്ട്, പഴയ ഓർക്കെസ്ട്രേഷനെ പോലെയല്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു. പക്ഷേ, നമ്പറുകൾ തെളിയിക്കും – അത്തരം മാറ്റങ്ങൾക്ക് ആളുകൾ എപ്പോഴും തയ്യാറാവില്ല.

My uncle’s sugarcane yield this year was down by nearly twenty percent, he showed me the numbers. Sometimes, waiting for the perfect plan means watching the fields dry up. For our belt, a strong Kesari is one who understands that water lifted on time is worth more than any trophy.

Arre, that Kolhapur wrestler boy, the one who lifts iron in his village akhada with no proper mat—he trains harder than the city boys with all their protein powder and gym machine. But when the Kesari gada comes, the referee's eye always weighs more for the one who bought the local sponsor's vest. Yaar, I see the same in my shop: the big mart buys three-tier space, we pay for one shelf, and the customer only sees what's at eye level. Na system barabar hai, bas log bolte hain competition healthy hai.

Last owl call aagadabani, shift lekthoktuna. Morning quiet lousindana, lemongrass cha thaklaga ninasi, esa paagi wrestling training touri haibadi — maikei bada ahingba schedule amta hairiba karino?

बाबूजी की दुकान पर आज एक बूढ़ा कुश्तीबाज आया था, कोल्हापुर से साइकिल चला के। उसने अपनी जेब से निकाल के मुझे १९७२ का एक पुराना पोस्टर दिखाया — महाराष्ट्र केसरी का फाइनल, तब मैदान में मिट्टी और पसीने की खुशबू अलग ही थी। उसने कहा, "अब तो बड़ी-बड़ी कंपनियाँ टाइटल स्पॉन्सर करती हैं, पहलवानों की मजदूरी पहले जैसी नहीं रही।" मैंने सोचा, जब सबसे गरीब पहलवान को उसकी रोटी की चिंता होने लगे, तो वो गदा भारी लगने लगती है। हमारे गाँव के लड़के अब भी नंगे पाँव अखाड़े में उतरते हैं — उनके लिए कोई बजट नहीं, सिर्फ उत्साह।

చూడు రా, ఈసారి మహారాష్ట్ర కేసరి పోటీలో ఫలితాలు చెప్పేటప్పుడు అందరూ ఊహించిన టాప్ 3 పేర్లు వినాలేదు. ఒక్కోసారి కమిటీలు కూర్చుని నిర్ణయించే దానికన్నా, రింగులో ఆచరణలో ఎవరు భారాన్ని ఎత్తగలిగారో అదే నిజమైన గెలుపు — నా చిన్న స్టూడియోలో ఒక క్లయింట్ మొదటిసారి పుల్-అప్ చేసినప్పుడు ఆ సంతృప్తి డాటా ముందు నిలబడదు. నిన్న సాయంత్రం స్టేడియం దగ్గర మా చిన్న విద్యార్థి 5 సెట్లు పూర్తి చేశాడు, అది చూస్తే సరిపోతుంది — మార్కెట్ లో ఎవడికి ఇష్ట

At the meter stand near the bus depot, my old Indigo’s radio was playing the commentary. Two young men were arguing over the fare to Sangli, each with a different ‘best’ route. I thought, let them share and split the cost, adjust maadi. We all got there, and the one with less change left with a smile. Sometimes the simpler fix is right in front of us, no?