The 'Commonwealth' Kabaddi Spectacle in Ahmedabad: 13 Nations, No Broadcaster, and an Empty Team List

I read the article promising to tell Indian viewers where and how to watch the Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship 2026 for free three times last week. The headline made a promise. The body named zero channels. There was a heading for 'List of all teams' with nothing beneath it. This is not an editing slip. It is the most honest story about this entire event.

From October 23 to 31, at the Veer Savarkar Sports Complex in Ahmedabad, teams from 13 nations will take the mat. Men's and women's categories. India is billed as favourites in both. Pakistan has withdrawn. And all of this is happening in the city that will host the 2030 Commonwealth Games.

Now hold on. I have watched every Pro Kabaddi League season since 2026. I watched Patna's three-peat, Haryana's maiden title, Dabang Delhi's Season 12 run frame by frame. I know what a tournament's real priority is when it cannot even deliver its own broadcast details. And here the priority is not kabaddi. The priority is the 2030 sports programme.

This tournament is not a sporting competition; it is a lobbying device. Until you see it through that lens, nothing about its decisions will make sense.

13 Nations, 9 Days, and a Missing Format

Here is simple arithmetic that nobody did. 13 teams, 9 days. A single round robin would require 78 matches. 78 matches in nine days? On one mat? That is impossible. So the format is pool-based—probably two pools, then semifinals and final. But no article states this. No draw. No match schedule. No indication of how many matches per day.

For me, this is the biggest red flag. When a tournament does not disclose its format, it means either the organisers have not decided what they are building, or they believe the viewer does not need to know.

Both are bad.

You might say this is just a small event. But remember, when India lost 18-27 to Iran in the Jakarta 2026 semifinal, nobody called it a small event. The excuse then was selection—a team picked on reputation against wrestling-based defences. The same selection culture is visible here, except this time it is showing in the tournament's basic information rather than a squad list.

Pakistan's Absence: The Biggest Untold Story

The article has one line: Pakistan withdrew. That's it. No reason, no context.

I have watched this sport for 33 years. Kabaddi is perhaps the only sport in the world where an India-Pakistan match carries the same emotional charge as cricket. Players from mud courts, the circle-style tradition, the other half of Punjab—all of it dissolves into that one match.

Pakistan's absence has done two things. First, India's path to favouritism has become easier. Second, the tournament's competitive value has dropped. Because apart from Iran, there is no team left that can genuinely challenge India.

And here is the uncomfortable truth: if you want kabaddi in the Olympics or Commonwealth Games, you need rivals who generate headlines. Pakistan's withdrawal was news the day the tournament began. Nobody asked why.

I do not know if the reason was administrative, political, or a clearance issue. But I know this much—national teams do not pull out of a 13-nation event on form.

The Missing Broadcaster Is Not an Accident

Now back to the headline that stung me most. 'How to watch for free in India?'

If you don't know the answer, why write the article? And if you do know, why not write it?

To my mind there are only two possibilities. First, the broadcast deal was not finalised at the time of writing. Second, the deal existed but the information never reached the publisher.

Either way, the conclusion is the same: this event's broadcast product is not yet ready.

And the word 'free' is itself a signal. When an event positions itself as free-to-air or free-stream, it means it lacks evidence of demand for a paid tier. How can an inaugural event with 13 nations and no track record command a premium subscription channel?

But the real money here is not in broadcast rights. The real money is in Ahmedabad's infrastructure. The Veer Savarkar Sports Complex is being positioned as a test event facility for the 2030 Commonwealth Games. This Championship is an operational dry run—to see whether the venue works, whether volunteers are ready, and most importantly, to prove that 'look, 13 countries came, put kabaddi in the programme.'

This is not wrong. It is a legitimate strategy. But do not call it kabaddi development.

The Women's Competition: Where the Real Story Is

The article says India is favourites in both categories. True for the men. Half-true for the women.

I watched the 2026 Asian Games women's final. Iran's women have been the most consistent threat in Asian kabaddi for over a decade. India's women's team has no professional league—the PKL is men-only. That means multi-nation events like this one are the only route to visibility for women players.

In 2026, India beat Chinese Taipei 35-28 in Dhaka to win the world title. An achievement accomplished without any franchise league. And here, in Ahmedabad, the women's category has been dismissed in the same sentence as the men's 'dominance.'

For me, the most valuable output of this tournament is not medals. It is squad rotation. With 13 teams over 9 days, you do not have to play your best seven every match. You have to see who stands up in the third and fourth matches. And that is where India's bench strength will reveal itself—the players who play in the PKL but have not yet broken into the national team.

This is the first signal of the 2028-2030 pipeline. If you came to watch results, you are just watching the scoreboard. If you came to watch squads, you are watching what will matter over the next four years.

I Could Be Wrong

Maybe I am looking at this event with too much suspicion. Maybe the broadcast deal was already done and the publisher just reported badly. Maybe Pakistan's exit was a simple administrative matter that I am colouring as geopolitics.

And most importantly—maybe this tournament is actually doing its job. Getting kabaddi into the 2030 Commonwealth Games is a long fight, and criticising every lobbying step is not necessary.

But my objection is not to the event's existence. My objection is to presenting it as kabaddi development when it is fundamentally a city-diplomacy exercise. If the organisers clearly said 'this is a test event for 2030,' I would have no problem. But when it is called 'the second major international kabaddi event of the year,' I have to pull out my calculator.

So How Should You Watch It?

My advice is direct. Do not watch this as a competition. Watch it as a casting call.

In the men's draw, watch which new raiders wear the national jersey for the first time. Watch how corner defenders tackle when the opposing team has no big names. Because tackle numbers against weak teams are always inflated—a well-documented distortion. If a corner makes 30 tackles here, it does not mean he will make 30 at the next Asian Games.

In the women's draw, watch how strong a team Iran sends. If Iran sends its full squad, the final will be closer than the men's. If not, India gets a walkover—and walkovers teach nothing.

And most importantly—if you cannot find a broadcast anywhere, it is not a failure of your search. It is the state of the event. The day a broadcaster's name appears, take it as confirmation that the organisers believe this is more than a dry run.

Until then, I will keep my scoresheet ready. And a screenshot of that empty team-list page. Because one day, when this event becomes big, it will serve as evidence of where it started.

If you think I am against this event, you are wrong. I just want the next time someone writes a 'Commonwealth Kabaddi Championship' headline, there is a broadcaster's name beneath it. And a team list. That is not empty.