From Rangpur's Fields to Ahmedabad's Courts: The Untold Story of Kabaddi's New Chapter

October 21, 2026, Ahmedabad. The inaugural Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship is set to take place in the Gujarati city. The Amateur Kabaddi Federation of India (AKFI) has released a 17-member probable squad. Pawan Sehrawat is not on the list. None of the 12 Asian Games 2026 gold medalists are either. The headline reads 'Pawan Left Out.' But the story doesn't end here—it begins with a question: Who is kabaddi for? And who is actually shaping the sport's true face?

I have been watching kabaddi pitches for 32 years. I played for Udity Club in the Dhaka league—opening batter and wicketkeeper. But my real classroom was the Rangpur district field, where in 2026, 16 teams played in the Bangamata Gold Cup women's football tournament, and the press tribune held only dust and a few empty chairs. From that field I learned—the true evidence of sport lives not in media coverage but in the eyes of spectators standing at the sidelines.

The Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship 2026 announcement took me back to June 2026. In Kuala Lumpur, Bangladesh beat India by three wickets in the Women's Asia Cup T20 final—Nahida Akter took 3/21. I was watching that match at a café in Rangpur, where the adjacent screen played the Russia World Cup. 64 men's matches across 11 Russian cities. Versus 23 women's matches on a single regional feed. That contrast has become the permanent architecture of my writing: placing women's results beside men's budgets.

Now, to Ahmedabad.

14 Nations, But One Question

The Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship will feature 14 nations. The number sounds impressive at first. But kabaddi is not equally played across the Commonwealth. The reality is—most of these 14 nations are South Asian Commonwealth members (India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore) and diaspora-heavy nations (England, Australia, Canada). Kabaddi is not currently a Commonwealth Games sport—a critical fact. So the phrase 'creating a pathway to the Commonwealth Games' remains aspirational, not guaranteed.

When I streamed nine women's football matches on Facebook Live in Rangpur in 2026—on a borrowed phone and a tripod—I got 4,200 views. One clip of a 15-year-old striker from Gangachara beating two defenders reached 900 shares. That's when I understood: the pitch was there before the coverage was. I just brought the phone. The same question applies to the Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship: Is it genuine competition, or diplomatic branding?

Squad Composition: 17 Players, Zero Gold Medalists

AKFI has announced a 17-member probable squad. None of the 12 Asian Games 2026 gold medalists are in it. Pawan Sehrawat's name is absent too. Two rationales have surfaced for this decision.

First: India's kabaddi talent depth is so immense that capable players deserve an opportunity. Second: After the Asian Games, domestic stars need rest. Both are reasonable. But there's a structural question here.

When India sends its second-string squad, what is the true competitive standard?

This question is directly tied to Pawan Sehrawat's omission. Sehrawat is one of Indian kabaddi's most recognizable faces. His 'Hi-Flyer' reputation in PKL. His name in the headline is natural. But if his omission is part of the rest policy for Asian Games gold medalists, then it's not a dramatic 'drop'—it's planned rotation. And if he wasn't in the Asian Games squad, his omission is a separate and more notable story. Stage-1 doesn't answer this.

I learned from the Kuala Lumpur final: a story without numbers is incomplete. Are those numbers here? 17 probables, 12 gold medalists excluded, 14 nations. But no player names, no performance data, no indication of positional balance.

Tactical Reading: Squad Depth vs Star Dependence

In kabaddi's tactical framework—raider, corner, cover—these three roles are fundamental. In a 30-second raid, the 'Kabaddi-Kabaddi' chant must continue, or the raid is void. Crossing the bonus line earns 1 point, but only when the defending side has 6 or more players on court. After two consecutive empty raids, the third is 'do-or-die'—failure means the raider himself is out.

Within this rule structure, star dependence doesn't work well; team depth does.

If India constructs a 17-player squad without Asian Games gold medalists, that's a tactical message: India's pipeline is deep enough. But verifying that message requires knowing the opposition's standard.

Iran is the key question here. In Standard Style, Iran is India's only genuine challenger. Whether Iran is in the Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship—this information is absent from Stage-1. With Iran, the competition is meaningful; without, it's essentially a diaspora exhibition.

I learned this watching women's kabaddi at Rangpur's field. I counted the spectators standing outside—how many women came, how many couldn't. I counted the women in the stands before I counted the goals. The same question applies to the Commonwealth Championship: Who shows up? Why? Who is this competition for?

Whose Kabaddi: Branding vs Reality

The decision to host the Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship in Ahmedabad is strategic. Gujarat is a major Indian sports-infrastructure market. As host of the inaugural edition, India wants to establish the event's institutional home. Through Commonwealth branding, an India-dominated sport is being projected as 'internationally shared.'

But India sending a rotated squad rather than its full strength—this itself signals the event's true prestige level.

From my Rangpur experience, I know: the pitch exists before coverage. But if coverage is bold, the pitch changes. In 2026, when the pandemic shut down Bangladeshi sport—the BCB women's camp suspended, the Rangpur women's league cancelled mid-season—I started calling players. Over five months, I recorded 31 interviews with female athletes, aged 15 to 29. Each approved her own quotes. The 'Voices from the Empty Stands' series was syndicated nationally.

That experience taught me: the answer to who a competition serves is found in the stands—not in the press release.

The Risk: The Greatest Danger Isn't Competitive—It's Narrative

The most immediate risk is narrative. The 'Pawan Sehrawat dropped' headline can easily be read as a dramatic 'selection snub.' But in reality, it's a routine rotation policy. If the difference between these two isn't made clear, fan backlash is possible.

Second risk: competitive credibility. Even without a full squad, India is expected to win—this hope is hollow. If a diaspora or lower-tier side beats this Indian team, media reaction will be disproportionate.

Third and most far-reaching risk: if the Commonwealth Games pathway doesn't materialize, this event will remain a branding exercise. For kabaddi to join the Commonwealth Games, the sport's democratization across the Commonwealth is necessary. That doesn't happen with one event.

A Question No One Has Asked Yet

From Rangpur's fields to Ahmedabad's courts, one thing is clear in the kabaddi journey I've witnessed: the sport's standard isn't determined by star names; it's determined by who practices, who watches, and who gets to participate—these questions.

14 nations will come to Ahmedabad. How many of them have women playing kabaddi? How many have kabaddi coaches? How many have TV camera space for kabaddi? Without answers to these questions, 'Commonwealth Championship' is just pretty words on paper.

I think of that tripod and borrowed phone. That phone didn't just take pictures—it taught: access isn't a luxury, it's a reporting tool. If the Ahmedabad championship truly wants to change kabaddi's future, there must be space for the people behind the cameras too—in the stands, in the federation, and in the imagination of those who still dream watching match videos on borrowed phones.