Learn about Phil Migliarese's and Joji Montelibano's Wrestling and Yoga Experiences in India, 1998.

Published in Black Belt Magazine (Fall 2006)

The Cradle of Wrestling: Gushti in India 

by Joji Montelibano

The cauliflower ears caught our attention. It was April 1998, in the city of Mysore in Southern India. Phil Migliarese, a jiu-jitsu blackbelt under Relson Gracie, and I were sitting on the fence bordering the Mysore central market, taking a rest from the oppressive heat. Having been in India for a few weeks, we had grown accustomed to the inordinate amount of attention we drew from the locals. Wherever we went, a small crowd was sure to follow. So it was no surprise to have two men drive up and park their motorcycle close to where we were sitting. No doubt another pair of rubberneckers.  However, when these men dismounted, they glanced at us not with awe or curiosity – but with disdain. Furthermore, they gave us the scantest of looks, as if we didn’t even merit their full attention. It was when they turned away that we noticed their ears. Cauliflower ears. Wrestlers.

Coming to India

Phil and I hadn’t come to India to find wrestlers. We had come to study ashtanga yoga with the famed Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the 88-year old patriarch of this ancient form of yoga. Phil was a teacher of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu at Maxercise, the first center in Philadelphia to offer classes in the Gracie technique. I was one of his students. Both he and I shared a passion for ashtanga yoga, and early in 1998, we decided to deepen our study of yoga with a visit to Pattabhi Jois. Before we left, we had heard from various people that the roots of jiu-jitsu lay in India, and wouldn’t it be an interesting project to go out and find some actual Indian wrestlers? Sure. When we arrived in Mysore, we’d just ask the first taxi driver where the nearest wrestling school is.
We did just that. Sadly, the first rickshaw (taxis are rare in Mysore) driver we approached told us there was no wrestling in Mysore. So did the second. And the third. Pretty soon, we had resigned ourselves to the possibility that we may not encounter any Indian wrestlers at all. It wasn’t until that day we decided to go to the market that we found what we were looking for.

The Wrestlers

Phil and I immediately hurried after the two wrestlers. That was a task easier said than done in a crowded Indian market. Luckily, they were easy to spot, and not surprisingly, crowds readily made way for the two men. It was as if an invisible escort preceded them, carving a path through the swarm of people. The wrestlers eventually disappeared into a banana stall in the heart of the market.
Almost out of breath, we reached the stall, and there we saw the two wrestlers seated in a circle with three other men. All of them had large, impressive physiques –- rare in Mysore –- and all of them had the same cauliflower ears. Instinctively, the oldest man of the group, who looked about 45, reached for the nearest bunch of bananas and asked, “how many?” No, no, we explained, at which Phil and I simultaneously burst into an excited and incoherent explanation of why we had come to India – we study Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu with the Gracies! . . . do you know the Gracies?. . . they’re famous! . . . we heard that jiu-jitsu has its roots in Indian wrestling? . . . are you Indian wrestlers? . . . I mean, those ears. . . . there’s no other way you can get those ears . . . and so on and so on.
Blank stares. It struck me that our rambling explanation probably would have left a native English speaker dumbstruck. We decided a more graphic demonstration was necessary. Phil quickly wrapped his right arm around my neck and started choking me. I dutifully responded with the appropriate defense and Phil transitioned to an arm bar. I tapped. We both looked eagerly at the wrestlers.
This time, a glimmer of comprehension shone in all their eyes. The largest man laughed, yelled something in Kannada (the native dialect of Mysore), and another man – the original passenger of the motorcycle – quickly retrieved two more stools, set them in front of us, and motioned us to join them. With a brilliant smile, he said in clear English, “My name is Punesh Urs. I am a gushti wrestler. Welcome to Mysore.”

Gushti

Modern forms of wrestling, judo, and jiu-jitsu attribute their earliest beginnings to India. Here is wrestling in its most primitive and pristine form. The rules of gushti have been preserved from its inception, which some historians have traced back to the time of the Buddha, around the 5th century, B.C.E.
Gushti, though virtually unknown in the West, enjoys a wide following throughout India. Matches closely resemble boxing prizefights, drawing crowds of up to 10,000 spectators. The Mysore team is especially well-known, as it has been the Karnataka State Champion for many decades. A gushti match resembles a Greco-Roman wrestling bout, the object being to bring your opponents’ shoulders in contact with the ground. Gushti is a sacred event, taking place in a ring of hallowed soil. Contests are always preceded by an elaborate ceremony where priests bless the fighting ground. Fighters don a thin strip of cloth around their waist and cover their bodies with coconut oil.  Opponents fling mud at each other in order to facilitate any type of grip. Matches have no time limits, no rounds, and no draws. A bout does not end without a victor.
Our new friend, Punesh Urs, explained to me that the reason we were unable to find the famous Mysore wrestling team was that Phil and I had used the wrong words for wrestling – we had been using Sanskrit and Hindi variations on the word “wrestling”, which were very uncommon and virtually unknown. Gushti is the formal name for Indian wrestling. Unlike “wrestling” or “grappling”, which are broad terms that encompass a wide variety of contact sports, gushti is a very specific term that refers only to one particular form of Indian wrestling. (Author’s note: the term “gushti” has often been transliterated as “kushti” in some English publications. However, perhaps as a consequence of regional accent more than anything else, I found that all wrestlers I spoke to in South India unmistakably used the initial “g” sound rather than the “k”, which I understand is more commonly heard in the North, especially Pakistan.)

Initiation

The two men who initially caught our attention in the Mysore market happened to be two of the most prominent athletic figures in Mysore. Punesh Urs was a former champion bodybuilder, and worked as a physical trainer in the most prestigious hotels and sports clubs around Mysore. The driver of the motorcycle was Shankar Charawarthy, an imposing hulk of a man, who at 150 kg, commanded attention and respect with his mere presence. Shankar was the reigning Karnataka State champion of gushti, and his skill and strength were legendary. The other men in the banana stall were also wrestlers, two of them having been former members of the Mysore gushti team. The oldest man there, who turned out to be 65, which belied his 40 year-old appearance, was Shankar’s father, and the proud owner of that very banana stall. After an hour of numerous gesticulations, demonstrations, and thankfully, translation by Punesh, Phil and I won ourselves an invitation to a practice session with the Mysore team the following day.
At 3:00 pm the next afternoon, Punesh and Shankar showed up at our front door in two separate motorcycles and gave us a lift to the gushti shala (wrestling school). It was a very humble, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it establishment, located along a dirt road in the middle of a very nondescript neighborhood in Mysore. No signs indicated that this is where the wrestlers trained.
     We entered a very narrow, rickety metal gate and found ourselves in a small open-air square with a large basin of water sitting squarely at the center. A thin clothesline was strewn around the square, upon which hung several strands of cloth. To our horror, we learned that these meager fibers would serve as our uniform during practice. These loincloths are not unlike the mawashis used by sumo wrestlers. Their sole purpose is one of practicality rather than modesty – to keep unwanted appendages out of the way during a match.
After reluctantly donning our (very uncomfortable) loincloths, we entered a separate room that measured about 30x30 feet. The room reminded me of any regular jiu-jitsu or judo room, where there is a small area for spectators and the rest of the room covered by mats. In place of mats, however, this training room had a pile of mud rising about 2 feet from the floor and flattened perfectly to allow for a horizontal surface. We lined up along the foot of the mud pile to begin the day’s practice. There were about 15 wrestlers gathered that day, ranging from 12 years to 91 years old. The 91-year old patriarch, Balaji, began with a solemn chant honoring the god Hanuman, the patron of all gushti warriors. After the short puja or prayer ceremony, we stepped onto the mud platform and formed a circle.
Warm-ups were arduous. This consisted of several suryanamaskars, or sun salutations, where one bends forward to touch his hands to the floor, jumps back to a push-up position, moves his chest forward and upwards to do a backbend, and then lifts his buttocks up to the ceiling for what is known in yoga as a “downward-dog” pose. This series of movements and postures is difficult enough by itself, and yet, the wrestlers make it even more challenging. Each of the wrestlers passed around a cement ring, weighing about 50 kg, placed it around his neck, and did one or two sun salutations with the weight around him. Needless to say, Phil and I couldn’t even support the ring standing up. Already, it looked like we were at a disadvantage in terms of strength.
Following the sun salutations were a more familiar series of calisthenics and stretches that thankfully, Phil and I were capable of doing. Fifteen minutes of warm-ups and we were ready for wrestling.
Shankar Chakrawarthy was the instructor of the class and he walked us through the general objective of gushti. Just as in Greco-Roman wrestling, the point is to touch your opponent’s shoulders to the ground. However, in gushti, there is no point system. The match goes on until there is a victor. The techniques Shankar demonstrated were very similar to standard NCAA wrestling pins, throws, and locks. I dare say that the Mysore team was quite impressed with our command of these techniques. After about 45 minutes of this type of practice, Phil and I thought that we had this gushti thing down pat. Practice, however, is only a rehearsal for the real thing, which as we all know doesn’t always turn out the way we expect.
Shankar decided that Phil and I were ready for our first gushti match. I was up first, and my opponent was Punesh Urs. Before we began wrestling, we were given a bowl of coconut oil to spread over our bodies. In fact, one’s team members help spread the oil around a fighter’s body to make sure that every area is covered! Although slightly shaken by this unforeseen moment of intimacy between myself and five other men, I was ready to rumble. I faced Punesh and moved forward to attack. Rather than defend, however, Punesh bent down, took a handful of mud and threw it at me! I retreated, not knowing exactly what was happening, and Punesh kept on dealing the dirt. Not quite ready to engage in a mudslinging contest, I went for a double leg takedown . . . and slipped. Punesh was just too darn slippery! On the other hand, I was covered with mud and provided him with enough friction to apply a hold. The match was over in a few seconds. My instinct when faced with an unfamiliar adversary is to take him in my guard. In gushti, that involves placing your shoulders on the ground, and therefore, being defeated.
Next were Phil and Shankar. Phil had learned from my mistakes, and immediately engaged in the mudslinging ritual prior to the actual wrestling. A Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu blackbelt is a dangerous individual. So is a gushti champion. Both Shankar and Phil knew this, and rather than release their full fury upon each other, they took it easy, applying a few leg sweeps here and there, attempting a throw, etc. The match wasn’t all that exciting, and unsurprisingly, Shankar got Phil on the ground pretty easily. Phil was impressed with Shankar’s technique and the feeling was mutual.
There’s nothing better than the end of a hard practice. The gushti wrestlers know this and milk it for all its worth. After a final puja thanking Hanuman for the opportunity to practice, we all lay down on the earth, and covered ourselves with this very cooling, very healing mud. I’d never had a mud bath in my life, but at that moment, I understood why people did it. We rested there for a good five minutes, got up, and bowed to Shankar and to Balaji. At 91, Balaji did not participate in most of the practice, but his presence did lend an air of profundity and wisdom to the practice. I saw that the younger wrestlers appreciated the suggestions he would give them in the course of the afternoon.
Covered in mud, the logical question is “where’s the shower?”. There were no showers at the shala, but if you recall, there was that large basin of water at the center of the square. Phil and I joined the wrestlers as they formed a circle around the basin and faced to the right. The process was then, to take a little bucket out of the basin and to wash the person in front of you. This was the only way one could truly get all the mud out of the most hard-to-reach places. Again, Phil and I were taken aback by yet another intimate exchange, but we decided it would be best to go with the flow. Besides, we probably turned out cleaner that way.
At 5:30 pm, Shankar and Punesh drove us back to our homes. Thus concluded our first day of gushti.

Competition

Phil remained in Mysore for one more month after our first session, and both he and I trained regularly with the team. I remained in Mysore for three more months after Phil’s departure, and had the opportunity to witness the Karnataka State Gushti Championships, which were being held at Mysore that particular year
The championship took place in mid-July, at the large Mysore City Stadium, and more than 5000 spectators witnessed the matches. The Mysore team had eight competing wrestlers, and I had the honor of sitting with the team, ringside. The “ring” itself was a circular mound of mud, about three feet tall. The competitions began with an elaborate puja. Gushti is, after all, a sacred art form, and the necessary rituals must be carried out in order to properly prepare the field of battle. Garlands of flowers, colored dust, and assorted charms were strewn around the mud ring, and Brahmin priests circumambulated the ring several times, chanting a litany of praises to the large pantheon of Hindu gods, especially to Hanuman.
After the puja, the matches commenced, beginning with the lightest weight class, which for that particular day was around 45-50 kg. About thirty matches took place in the course of the day, with six out of the first seven Mysore wrestlers winning their bouts. Though not restrained by any time limits, each bout finished fairly quickly, lasting an average of three minutes. The headline fight was between Shankar Chakrawarthy and an equally imposing giant from the northeastern part of Karnataka. The match lasted about fifteen minutes, with both Shankar and his opponent exhibiting impressive grace and agility for men of their size. Finally, it was Shankar who prevailed, taking his opponent’s back, and lifting him over his head for a perfect takedown. The home crowd erupted in jubilation. For the fourth year in a row, the Mysore wrestlers had won the majority of their matches, and although no formal title was bestowed upon the team, everyone in Karnataka knew that day who the true gushti champions were.

Afterword

Since that initial visit to Mysore in 1998, I have kept in touch with Punesh Urs, who has kept me updated about the status of gushti in Mysore. Sadly, its popularity has declined over the years. Younger people aren’t as drawn to the ring as they are to computers, movies, and cars. Still, the wrestlers command the same respect from the local populace. Both Punesh and Shankar took jobs with the Mysore Police Department, and Shankar is the proud father of three beautiful children. The demands of fatherhood and livelihood have both taken away from his practice time. Still, he continues to dominate the field. In 2002, I returned to Mysore, where I practiced with the team again for two months. Balaji, now 95, was still going strong. In April 2002, there was a small regional gushti championship that I was lucky enough to attend. As expected, the Mysore team dominated, and Shankar won his match handily.
Gushti matches continue throughout the rural areas of India, and even some city dwellers have shown interest in the sport. In February 29, 2004, a large gushti competition was held in Mumbai, where over 60 wrestlers competed in front of more than 5000 spectators. There are even some American organizations, such as Dungal U.S.A., located in Texas, that promote the art of gushti outside the Indian subcontinent.