He doesn’t have the imposing presence of ‘Mahabali’ Satpal Singh — the revered patriarch of Delhi’s Chhatrasal Stadium. He doesn’t even yell instructions from the sidelines while putting his wards through the paces. But when the mild-mannered Lalit Kumar speaks, the 250-odd eager trainees listen. For 11 years now, Lalit’s eye for talent and penchant for perfection have served Indian wrestling well, grooming a host of young men for greater glories.
“A lot of them started from nowhere and now have stable government or public sector jobs. It is good to play a small part in their growth stories,” Lalit says.
A hands-on coach who likes to pore over wrestling videos to keep him updated, Lalit follows the horses-for-courses policy when it comes to dealing with his wards. Modern coaching, he insists, is all about flexibility, which means some boys need to be schooled the hard way while others can be taught with a quiet word.
“On the mat, I am neither their big brother nor friend. I am a silent observer who notices everything that goes on each mat in the hall. Our training is very technical and scientific. Wrestling is not all about brawn.”
Lalit has been recommended for Dronacharya Award for 2023, making him the 13th wrestling coach to get that honour for coaching excellence. The recognition also ends Chhatrasal’s 11-year wait for a Dronacharya. The late Yashvir Singh, who worked with Olympic medallists Sushil Kumar and Yogeshwar Dutt, was the last Dronacharya recipient (2012) from the storied nursery before Lalit.
Mahabir Prasad (2014), Anoop Singh Dahiya (2015) and Sujeet Maan (2022) too received the Dronacharya award after Yashvir, but they are not from Chhatrasal.
A promising wrestler in his youth, Lalit participated in the Nationals and All India University Games but recurring injuries derailed his career. He then cleared the coaching diploma course from National Institute of Sport, Patiala in 2006. Hailing from a family of wrestlers — his uncle and father were into the sport — it wasn’t a tough choice for him. His uncle, Lala Ram, even owned an akhada — Lala Ram Vyayamshala — in Delhi’s Roshnara area.
“My uncle was a serious wrestler. My father took up wrestling too but left the sport after he got a bank job. As a kid, I was always fascinated by the intricacies of wrestling,” Lalit recalls. “My career couldn’t take off because I injured my knees very badly. My dream to become a wrestler ended but I knew I had to do something in wrestling. That’s how coaching happened.”
Fresh out of NIS, Patiala Lalit coached in Uttar Pradesh’s Bulandshahr for six months before returning to Delhi. The next few years were spent coaching at his uncle’s akhada until he landed a Delhi government job. His first posting was in Singhu Sports Complex in 2010 and he was transferred to Chhatrasal in 2013.
Lalit’s day begins at 4am and he hits the mat by 4:30. For the next five hours, he oversees the training in Chhatrasal’s basement — a dank, dingy hall whose acrid smell of sweat and pain relief sprays is broken only by wafts of cool air from the air-conditioning ducts overhead. Another five-hour shift follows in the evening. While the mornings are usually heavy on techniques and throws, the evening schedule involves light mat work and gym sessions too.
“Modern wrestling is very technical. Coaching is an ever-evolving exercise and if you don’t learn, you won’t be able to teach. On overseas tours, I observe other coaches and wrestlers, I watch a lot of wrestling videos and I converse a lot with our regular international wrestlers. I have grown a lot as a coach in the past decade. What I teach Ravi (Dahiya) is very different from what I tell Deepak (Punia).”
Besides Olympic silver medallist Dahiya and Punia, a world championships silver medallist, Aman Sehrawat, who won bronze at the Hangzhou Asian Games, is also a prominent trainee of Lalit.
A committed wrestling coach’s career can sometimes mean one is not there when the family desperately needs him. Earlier this year, when Lalit was in Russia with the team, his 11-year-old daughter palm got stuck in a grass cutter and she lost a finger.
“One of her fingers was barely hanging from the joint while one was severed. My wife didn’t know what to do. The damaged finger was later surgically fixed but the severed one is gone forever. That day I felt I had let my family down. Even my family members occasionally complain that I give more importance to the wrestlers. They are not entirely wrong.”