Why a Solapur Pehelwan Changed His Name from Akbar to Amar

Akbar Sheikh set out for a wrestling match in a neighbouring village in 2008 with dreams of becoming Maharashtra Kesari, the highest competitive title for pehelwans in his home state. Hailing from a family of farmers in Takali Tel Madha village in Solapur district, he had just qualified for the semi-finals of the minor wrestling tournament, when the local politician’s son asked to meet him in private. In the meeting, Sheikh was told he would be killed if he didn’t agree to lose the next fight.

The wrestler who Sheikh was supposed to fight was a favourite of the powerful man and couldn’t be seen losing to someone with ‘a Muslim name’. This was not the first time the pehelwan was 'asked’ to lose a fight in a wrestling career that spanned six years.

“Most Muslim wrestlers have faced this. Some are just neglected or discriminated against, while others are victims of dirty politics. Gussa ho jate hain log, agar kisi Musalman ne apne bacche ko giraya toh (People get angry if their boy is taken down by a Muslim), says the tall and burly pehelwan with a shy smile, as we had lassis in Delhi's Nizamuddin, a crowded area near a busy railway station.

The prevalence of caste and religious discrimination in the rural akharas of south Maharashtra forced Sheikh, now 30, to do something drastic to save his budding wrestling career—he adopted a Hindu pseudonym. Inspired by the 1977 Bollywood classic and Amitabh Bachchan starrer Amar, Akbar, Anthony, Akbar turned into Amar, with a surname that he kept fluid to ‘fit’ the village he was going to fight in. “I wanted a name that was common and easy to remember,” he says.

He felt a bit afraid the first time he used his pseudonym in 2008, but it soon became a habit filling forms with a false name when he travelled to participate in dangals or wrestling tournaments in villages across Maharashtra. “Who will recognise me in a distant village? It’s not written on my face that I am a Mohammedan.”

On that first occasion, Akbar Sheikh wrestled as Amar Kulkarni. He also developed a tactic of adopting the most common surname of the area he was in. “I have been Amar Kate, Amar Sathe, Amar Deshmukh and Amar Namdaar. People don’t really mind losing to someone from their own community, but lose their mind if he is an alien.”

The next year, Sheikh attended a match organised by people associated with the RSS in Pune, lured by the prize money of Rs 10 lakhs. “The night before the match, I memorised all the Hindu shlokas and on the morning of the match, I put a tilak on my forehead. I didn’t win in the end, but it was a relief not to hear the abuses I had grown accustomed to during a match.”

Abuses from the crowd are pretty common, especially from people who react angrily when someone from another caste or religion defeats a pehelwan from their village. “People throw stones at you or even beat you up. Nanga bhi bhagna pada hai kabhi kabaar (You often have to to run naked after the match).” Sheikh also believes that most of the referees are biased too. “Even if I was giving a patakhani (the art of knocking down an opponent) two-three times, they refrained from declaring me as the victor.”

Inspired by regional wrestling legends like Kamal Babu, Vishnu Koli and Ganpat Mahar, Sheikh started wrestling after failing his English exams in the 12th standard. He honed his craft at Hanuman akhara in his village. “In the akhara, you have to work really hard, run long distances, learn the tactics and the craft by sweating it out in clay courts,” he says. His training led him to fight at district and regional levels.

But the discrimination at the akharas and family pressure to earn money began to take a toll on his motivation. “Why should I hide my identity for a fight? Why would I wake up early, eat healthy, work out and pick weights the whole day, just to be asked to lose?”

In 2010, Sheikh left wrestling to concentrate on his family farm. However, the desire to fight social and religious injustice led him to concentrate on Marathi literature, and he started to write. Aashrit, his first novel explores the hopes and trials faced by Muslim youth, and was published in 2011, while Rudrapashupati that delves into the history and traditions of the Lingayat community, was published in 2013. He is currently working on documenting the struggles of rural women his state. “I mostly write about issues of discrimination that Muslims face, but I also dwell on the faults within the community itself, their ignorance, inability to gel with other communities, and propensity towards religious fundamentalism.” In one of his poems, he speaks about the alienation faced by the community.

“Why sir, do you see us with suspicion in your eyes?
Have you ever travelled to my mohalla,
And seen screaming hunger arise from ruined homes,
And the posh mosque of the neighbourhood amidst them?”*

He is especially concerned about documenting the existence of casteism in India’s Muslim community. “There are a lot of ‘Savarna Muslims’ or ‘Afzal’ who exploit the Muslims they believe to be inferior. Muslims say everyone is equal, but they fight me instead of recognising the problem and trying to end it.” Sheikh, now married, thinks there are a enough faults amidst the Muslim community itself that needs to be desperately corrected.

“However, no Muslim should have to change their name.”

*Translated from the original in Marathi.

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