British Indians fall in love with ‘Kho Kho’, reconnect with roots

Kabaddi’s gone hip in India with the league, but kho kho — owing to its simplicity and easy connect, given almost everyone’s played it in school — has surfaced in pockets of Britain from Wembley Park to the predictable Birmingham to the unlikely Highlands.

While the force behind Kho’s transplanting in England is Brij Haldania, a Brtish Airways ground engineer, who left Ajmer for UK back in 1978 and carries with him the infectious energy of a sports-proselytiser, the numerical thrust comes from a cultural organisation — the Hindu Swayamsevak Sangh.

While it introduced a generation of adolescent enlisters — mostly second and third generation NRI offsprings — to yoga, prarthana, keertans and geets, it also built a formidable base of casual kabaddi and kho kho players in distant England. 500 children grow up playing a variant of Kho in UK at the various ‘shakhas’. And though Haldania had to drill in the correct rules (for some reason, Kho in UK saw all nine players running rings round the kneeling chasers in what could only wind up as a chaotic scrum), he didn’t exactly struggle to raise 16 clubs in two year’s time to conduct the UK nationals.

Local competitions

A bulk of his team is drawn from among British Gujaratis — with inter-community local competitions between the Oswals and Matanas of UK, pretty common. Bhavik Vara’s parents — mum from Tanzania, dad from Kenya — moved to the UK in the early 80s, and the 24-year-old from Croydon — started Kho as a pre-teen on a small pitch with chasers cramped closer together, oblivious to the exact rules.

Vara plays both football (recreationally) and Kho, but adds that kho kho was rooted in his attempt to culturally reconnect with his country of origin.

“Kho was taught to us in the shakha with emphasis on the Hinduism concept of ‘your team is your family.’ But the sport has a mixed culture, and is open to all. I mostly de-stress with kho kho,” says the pharmacy student from Kingston, Surrey.

In fact, there’s a large number of British Indians who’ve carried the Kho flame in their hearts taking the circuitous route from Africa where they went in the 50s and 60s. Kaushal, a 23-year-old, says, “My parents used to play the sport in school, before they moved to Kenya — Nairobi and Mombasa. When I told them I started playing Kho in the park, they were delirious. It was the only link – even if tenuous — to my grand-parents’ in India.”

For Haldani, it was a chance sighting of a bunch of British Indian boys playing a sport somewhat resembling kho kho in 2001 at Wembley Park. “It brought back memories of home which I’d left behind in 1978. I was so happy, I almost cried. And then I decided I’d teach children how the sport was really played – how to run, how to chase,” says the man in his mid-50s.

More technical

Kho had gotten faster, far more technical in the years he had been away working with British Airways. But memories of days spent playing Kho in Ajmer, strengthened his resolve to reconnect the lost link of his childhood, and ultimately resulted in him reaching out to the Indian kho kho federation, which culminated in this visit. “When I started coaching these were mixed teams of boys and girls, now I have separate squads,” he says. “We have shakha boys in our team, but I am pretty non-political and want to take the sport to as many players as possible.”

Many non-Indian whites would stop and watch and join in, and Haldani is chuffed about ‘unifying the codes’ and bringing out a rule book, helped greatly by Indians who sent across video recordings to the Londoner.

“A lot of families of players get involved enthusiastically. They are happy Kho is played alongside football, and their kids are still attached to something ‘Indian,”’ he explains. Manoj was born in the UK, where his father emigrated to in 1966 at age 17. He’s now Haldani’s assistant and was a young starter in Kho at age 7, with football, volleyball and cricket slowly fading out of his teenage years. Is there truly a cultural connect with India — which his London Wembley shakha hopes gets triggered – or is it just a sport which some like Vara dig for fitness and recreation, we ask.

“It’s a religious grouping yes, but for me it was more of reconnecting with ‘Indian’ roots. We have boys from Kerala, a couple of Muslims in the team, and once women are convinced it’s not intimidating (because of the chasing and tackling), even they join. There’s 2-3 white guys, though that’s where you want the sport to head – get non Indians playing. It’s closer culturally though cricket is obviously the first sport you’d think Indians play,” he explains.

The sport might be played for a lark in India — as the Brit boys found out. But it’s exploring its acrobatic contours — on Saturday the Indian team decked out in light blue vests and laced up in local trainers, mouthing instructions in Bambaiyya Marathi saw a local boy, chaser, Suresh Sawant sensationally dived around to raucous cheers, now that Kho had moved to the mat.

It’s what the England defenders had seen only on rugby paddocks where lunging tries were scored. “It’s still not seen as ‘cool’ back home in London, but it’s how we stay in touch with Indian-nees,” Manoj says.