Is the UK ready for a Kabaddi boom?

Kabaddi, Kabaddi, Kabaddi — Watched by over 280 million in India, the breathless contact sport has repeatedly tried to grip British viewers. Ahead of the Kabaddi World Cup being held in Wolverhampton this month, Kyle MacNeill speaks to the gamechangers laying the groundwork for a grassroots scene.

On 5th May 1991, Channel 4’s continuity announcer made a dramatic play for viewers: promoting a new show in a single breath. “We’ve brought you Sumo. Now, hold your breath. Kabaddi comes to Channel 4 – one of Asia's most popular sports. No goals, no nets, no balls, but a lot of puff. Join the spectacular action. Kabaddi tonight at six, on 4. It’ll take your breath away.” And, exhale.

It was, very likely, the first time the word “Kabaddi” had been uttered on British TV. And it wasn’t a pointless PR stunt; holding your breath is a fundamental rule of the contact team sport. Played indoors or outdoors, it usually involves two teams of seven players. The standard version features a rectangle court with two halves; but the popular Punjabi variant (also known as Kauddi) uses a circular pitch and can sometimes get closer to a heavyweight boxing match. Think British Bulldog, but more XL Bully.

Generally, each turn, a “raider” must enter the opposing team’s area with a single intake of oxygen, chanting the game’s name – “Kabaddi, Kabaddi, Kabaddi!” – to prove that they’re not slyly taking a gulp of air. Then, they must tag as many enemy defenders as possible and return to their half without being tackled to the ground. Players get points for successful tags or for stopping raiders; and they have to temporarily leave the field if they’re flung to the floor. It’s common to see raiders leap into the air (there’s a reason it’s called a Frog Jump) to avoid attacks to the ankles or scamper away from swiping limbs. Kabaddi is a lung-busting, heart-racing battle that rewards both quick feints of the shoulder and pinning an opponent to the floor.

The sport’s name is likely borrowed from the Tamil word “kai-pudi” – which means “holding hands” – referring to teams linking with each other to create a defensive chain. In his book Nation at Play, author Ronojoy Sen traces it back to somewhere between 1500 and 500 BC (you’re allowed a thousand years leeway when it’s that old) and there are even accounts of both Lord Krishna and The Buddha playing incarnations of the game. For centuries, though, it was hidden away in rural Indian villages, with occasional demonstrations at the Olympics or Asian Games. But it really sprung into action in the early 2000s, when Kabaddi federations joined forces and the sport became consolidated.

Now, Kabaddi is India’s second most popular sport, attracting an eye-watering 280 million viewers last season. In neighbouring Bangladesh, it’s the national sport. And in the UK, it’s ready to enjoy a milestone moment. The Kabaddi World Cup is being hosted outside of Asia for the first time this March, sprawled across indoor arenas in the West Midlands: Coventry, Wolverhampton, Birmingham and Walsall.

England’s women’s and men’s teams will be competing against 16 countries including Kenya, Cameroon, Poland, Pakistan, Egypt, Hong Kong and – of course – India. A slickly-produced presentation of the standard version, the tournament is expected to attract 5,000 fans, from seasoned followers to new enthusiasts. “It’s not only about leading my team but also having to carry the weight of expectations and motivating my players. We don’t just play for ourselves, but for our country too,” says England Women’s Kabaddi Team captain Athira Sunil.

But back in 1991 Britain, Kabaddi was a sport of total obscurity; so much so, even Mike Miller, the Channel 4 commissioner, hadn’t heard of it. “We had just pitched a documentary about hockey to Channel 4 and they were quite interested so he called us in for a chat,” Yugesh Walia, one half of production company Endboard, remembers. But the Sunday evening slot previously held by Sumo wrestling was also up for grabs. “We looked at each other and said: “Kabaddi?” Yugesh says. “I’d remembered playing it at school in India and having my shirt torn off,” adds Sunandan Walia, Yugesh’s brother and Endboard’s other co-founder.

Miller couldn’t wrap his head around a description and wanted to see it played somewhere. So he flew to Huddersfield to watch a match – and it was a total disaster. “These were just men having fun on a weekend, turning up with booze and ending in fisticuffs,” says Sunandan. The commission was slipping through their fingers. But Miller stuck his neck out, giving the duo some money to go to India and find footage that would prove their point. So the Endboard team trekked to a league final taking place in rural India, and shot what they saw. Thankfully, Miller was impressed by the video and took a punt on a nine-part series.

To ensure they had total control of what was being shown, the Walia brothers didn’t just head back to Kolkata (then named Calcutta) and film more: they put on their own tournament, pitting eight teams (both men’s and women’s) from across India against each other. “It’s because we were bringing something new to the British screens. It had to be the best we could do.” Taking a documentary-style approach, they took a sports director and commissioning editor along for the ride, filming player profiles and inserts about the city alongside the matches themselves. The team had to grapple with some imposing logistics. “We built the whole set. The towers, the seating. When we went into India the whole country only had about five [industry standard] cameras. We had to hire them all. It became the talk of India,” Sunandan says. “They were just flabbergasted: ‘You’re spending so much money on Kabaddi?’” Yugesh laughs.

Miller’s punt and the duo’s graft paid-off. “After the first episode, Mike called us and said he had won his bet,” Yugesh says. It turns out he had wagered to his colleagues that it would get over one million viewers – which it did, and then some. It became a cult hit among sports fans and channel surfers, many of whom fondly remember it being wedged between the likes of Football Italia and The World Championship on Channel 4. But the cultural exchange also worked both ways. “It was a rural sport so there was very little money in it in India. So [the series] actually started interest there too,” Yugesh says. But while it gained a niche following in the UK, it didn’t permanently propel Kabaddi into the mainstream; after a few schedule changes, viewing figures rapidly waned. Although a second series was filmed in Delhi, it didn’t lead to any sort of permanent broadcasting deal and Kabaddi ran out of airtime.

In 1992, a year after Endboard began filming, the Kabaddi Daddy – as has become Ashok Das’ moniker – was hard at work. Das wasn’t aware of Endboard’s documentary at the time, but had a similar dream to bring Kabaddi to the masses in the UK. He’s now the president of World Kabaddi, the European Kabaddi Federation, the England Kabaddi Association, and involved in a dizzying array of other official bodies.

Das was previously a Kabaddi player growing up in Punjab, playing at the national level. But after moving to England with his equally high-achieving wife (a black belt in karate) he wanted to dive back into his original passion. “Everybody was here to make a fortune, working day and night. But it wasn’t the meaning of life. I wanted to give something to the community, my country, my love, my sport,” he says.

After helping out with an international event in Birmingham in 1993 and starting a first federation, Das had an idea to create an instructional video. Like Endboard, he took out a loan for £5,000 (now the equivalent of around £13,000), went to Mumbai and arranged a production crew. The result was Kabaddi History and Technique.

Using the video, Das began talks with the British Army and brought the sport to the military. Doggedly determined to grab every opportunity by the scruff of its neck, Das drove from Birmingham to Sandhurst (a five hour round trip) after work, twice a week, every week, to teach the sport. “My wage was going to Kabaddi,” he said, explaining that he was spending half his income bringing the sport to schools and universities. In 2004, he formed the English Kabaddi Association and brought an English men’s team to the first ever Kabaddi World Cup (they reached the quarter finals, beating Malaysia and Korea in the process). Later, he would spend his weekends (and pay packets) flying from Luton to Bergamo to teach an emerging Italian Kabaddi team before doing the same in Poland, Holland and Germany, almost singlehandedly creating enough teams to start the European Kabaddi Cup in 2007.

For Das, Kabaddi is special because of its accessibility. “You don’t need any equipment or to spend money to get a taste of it. It’s also a very intelligent sport, where you have to become a decision maker in 30 seconds. It’s beautiful,” he says. Sunandan sees things similarly. “Kids can play it. Adults can play it. There’s no kit required. Whereas when Sumo was on – well, not everyone can do Sumo. We were always in touch with schools helping them set up teams.” And for Sunil, Kabaddi is all about camaraderie. “It’s more than just a game. It demands supporting each other, unity and teamwork,” she says.

In 2014, back in India, the Pro Kabaddi League (PKL) was formed, featuring clubs from across the country. It’s seen the sport become a more professional outfit, with mega sponsorships and elevated production levels. This year, the PKL is expected to reach an audience of 400 million globally, roughly 70% of the IPL’s reach. It’s seen players like Pardeep Narwal – who currently plays for the Bengaluru Bulls – become household names. It’s gripped India for good.

The PKL is a far cry from the original grassroots Kabaddi. Perhaps, most notably, Kabaddi’s iconic chant to prove you’re holding your breath was scrapped. Instead, raids are now timed at 30 seconds. It’s also moved “maidan to mat” and become an indoor sport held in sleek arenas. Sunandan misses some elements of the traditional format. “It doesn’t have the same rustic feel that the original Kabaddi had, with the dust flowing and the chalk being drawn by hand and the audience jumping up and down on seats that are about to break any minute,” he says. This kind of circle Kabaddi is still played via the English Kabaddi Federation, with stop-offs throughout the season in the likes of Hayes, Leicester and Bradford. It takes place on rough-and-ready grass pitches, with topless men flinging fists into bruised torsos, cheered on by non-league-football style crowds.

Equally, though, the new professional standard has helped move the sports forwards. Back in the UK, Kabaddi is once again being broadcast, this time exclusively online via BBC iPlayer, which is showing matches from the British Kabaddi League (of course, as usual, Das is behind it). The public broadcaster even made a documentary about Das, celebrating his unsung work in the community. “They called me the Kabaddi Daddy,” he laughs. And there’s still space for the sport to take new forms; last year, the inaugural World Beach Kabaddi Championship took place (the hosts Iran beat Pakistan).

But one issue, last year, caused a line to be more figuratively drawn in the sand. In August 2023, a tournament in Derby erupted into a vicious mêlée between rival gangs armed with machetes, guns, baseball bats and swords. Several men were seriously injured and seven of the perpetrators were jailed for almost 40 years in November last year. Das laments the incident and makes the distinction between this and the more controlled version he has promoted. “We had such a huge [PR] problem. Because that’s circle Kabaddi. It took me 30 years to bring [rectangular] Kabaddi to this level. The name is the same but is it Kabaddi? No, it’s drugs and violence. We’re not interested in it,” he says. Instead, he emphasises that professional Kabaddi is about respect. “Nobody would ever dare to speak angrily to an official.”

And, crucially, it’s about bringing people together rather than setting them against each other. “Racism is everywhere. But in Kabaddi, there's no racism. You have Hindus and Muslims and Sikhs and Chinese and Africans [on the same teams]. You have every religion playing together. It’s a diverse sport,” Das says. “If they play and talk to other communities, they can exchange their views” (Channel 4 explored this through Kabadasses in 2011, a sitcom about two friends trying to set up a multi-racial English Kabaddi team).

He also believes that Kabaddi can help British South Asians participate in professional sport; in English football, for example, only 22 out of 3,700 male players have South Asian heritage. “We’re not very into sport. Our [culture] pushes kids into business and professions. My message is: let the kids play sport. Let them find their destiny.” Das is also a strong advocate for the women’s game. “We, [our culture], are very reserved [about girls playing sport]. Let the ladies come out and experience it,” he says.

Proving that Kabaddi can bring people together (when you’re not flinging them to the floor), Das is delighted to hear that I’ve been speaking to the Walia brothers. “I’ve always been looking for them. I wanted to [film with them] but couldn’t find them,” he says. Perhaps “kai-pudi” – and Kabaddi’s hand-holding – is more symbolic than first thought.

Now, Das believes the World Cup can bring new fans to the sport; in just a few weeks, 5,000 fans will pile into arenas across the West Midlands to see men and women from across the world play this special take on tag. “We want to keep the legacy and the momentum going,” Das says, adamant that Kabaddi will catch on with a new generation. “It brings people from different parts of the world together, united by a single passion,” Sunil says.

And old fans are set to rediscover the sport, too. “We’ve had emails from viewers who were kids when they saw it who want to watch it again,” Yugesh says. It’s been a long time coming, but Kabaddi might finally take root in the UK’s popular sporting culture, seeing us talk about do-or-die raids or chain tackles as if we’re talking about scoring screamers or rugby scrums. And perhaps, soon, we will tune in again to another continuity announcement for a new regular Kabaddi slot on TV. Even if, this time, it won’t have to be done all in one breath.