A long rope

Is tug of war a serious sport? Yes, some believe and are trying to promote it as a competitive sport

It’s a sport that many of us have played casually, to round off a picnic with a friendly test of strength, perhaps, or in school, jousting on the field with classmates. But did you know that tug of war is a competitive sport recognised by the government of India and the Indian Olympic Association, and that it has its own federation, with 200-plus affiliate clubs from all over India, which has been organising national-level games every year since 1991?

Few people do.

Which just serves to make the job of the Tug of War Federation of India (TWFI) — to popularise the sport and to regulate and organise it — that much tougher. Not only does it have to battle the apathy that most Indians, and thus most sponsors, have for sport — except cricket, that is — but in this case they also must fight to have the sport taken seriously.

Internationally, tug of war is one of 30 sports played at the World Games, the global competition of sports that are played widely but don’t find a place in the Olympics; the sport was even a part of the Olympics from 1900 to 1920. And it has a history that stretches back to ancient Egypt, Greece, Korea, China and parts of south Asia.

In India, it is known to have been played at least as early as the 12th century, going by a relief sculpture that TWFI’s president, Gautam Kaul, has discovered in the west wing of the Konark Temple. TWFI has also discovered a version of tug of war called Pou-Chingnapa, using bamboo instead of rope, that is part of the rituals during the Lal Haraoba festival in Manipur. In modern times, says Kaul, “it was the British army and police which took up the game and spread it all over the subcontinent”.

It was the army, too, that first made the attempt to organise the game by forming TWFI in 1958, but the impetus had fizzled out by the late 1970s. It was only when the present management led by Kaul, a former IPS officer and sports administrator, took over in 1982 that regular competitions gain began to be held. Even so, it wasn’t until 1998 that TWFI was recognised by the government.

That has helped because it has meant that there are sarkari funds now to organise national championships regularly — Rs 4 lakh each for the men’s and women’s sub-junior tournament, Rs 3 lakh for the junior level, and Rs 2.25 lakh for the seniors, around Rs 21 lakh in all. It has also opened other doors — Indian Railways’s 75 per cent concession to sportsmen travelling to tournaments now applies to tug of war too; plus, medal-winners become eligible for national and state-level scholarships. Around three years ago, the sport was introduced in the coaching course at the Netaji Subhash National Institute of Sports, Patiala, which means that there are now around 400 qualified tug of war coaches.

Government assistance can, however, be a mixed blessing sometimes. “In Maharashtra we found a huge surge of interest in tug of war,” says Kaul. “On investigating, we found that it was because the state education department had put the game on its panel and students took it up in hopes of getting the 30 additional marks that, according to the state policy, all students who have played a sport for five years are given.”

But, of course, government help isn’t enough. India did not even quality for the world indoor championships held in Perth, Scotland, this month or the outdoor championships in Pretoria last September, and finished “practically at the bottom” at the World Games in Kaohsiung, Chinese Taipei, in July.

“Globally, the most common weight category is 780 kg (the combined weight of the eight-member team); in India most teams don’t do beyond 560 kg,” says Kaul. Then there’s the lack of equipment. “In Europe and other places they use sophisticated gear. But it’s too expensive to import, so we’ve improvised... the spirit of jugaad you could say,” says Madan Mohan, TWFI secretary general. The “anchor vest” (the person manning the extreme ends is most susceptible to injuries such as shoulder dislocation) was reverse engineered and is now being made locally; and a steel pole with a drum filled with mud for the appropriate weight category suffices for training. The sport, internationally, has transferred to indoor venues and artificial surfaces; in India, it is still played out on the fields.

In sum, tug of war seems to fall between two stools — it can’t quite claim the status of a traditional or indigenous sport like kho-kho or kabaddi, and neither can it point to a proven aptitude (converted into medals in the international fora) in the sport which would bolster its claim for more government assistance or duty waivers for importing equipment.

Its only hope is inclusion in the Olympics — a subject that will come up for debate, informs Kaul, sometime this year in the run-up to the 2012 London games. Ironically, cricket too will be staking its claim to be included as a discipline at the Olympics then for the first time. Will tug of war manage to pull through?