And which districts do these musclemen come from? Sujit Maan, a young wrestler, tells me: "They come from villages in Haryana. After joining an akhara, they do exercises, often breaking their ears in a dangal. After that, they tie up with politicians, giving a bad name to genuine wrestlers." Outside an akhara in Munirka, another wrestler adds: "While most of the akharas have got into this business in Delhi, a lot of guys come from Sonepat in Haryana, too."
Following a two-day journey, with sojourns scattered all over the capital, one thing becomes clear: if one is a successful wrestler, one's passion for the mat remains alive. But if not, all passion is thrown to the winds while one scouts for a job with nothing apart from useless bulge to fall back on. Add to that, a typical wrestler's infamous temper, and it makes for the perfect composition a politician is usually looking for. A gold medalist at the World Police Games, Azad Singh admits with charming candour: "Pahalwanon ka dimag mota hota hai. Gussa aata hai to kisi ko bhi peet detey hain (the wrestlers are usually moronic, and they can beat up anyone if angry)."
Uneducated, aggressive, well-built and ready to take on anyone—definitely the ideal package—and available for a song if viewed in terms of the enormous sums spent on polls. Yet, their naivete reveals itself in more than ways than one. At a photo session inside Guru Hanuman's akhara, Azad Singh and another wrestler show a child-like zeal for posing for the camera. The first shot is with a mace. The second, without a mace. The third, with medals around Singh's neck. Then, Guru Hanuman, simple and idealistic, walks up to the duo and blesses them for the photographer's benefit.