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?
#hockey-kabaddi#sport
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