If you’re from India and have as much as a Facebook account, you might have been introduced to the debate on banning Jallikattu.

Almost every single person I know has an opinion about this matter (perils of Christmas break I tell you!).

And today I realised that I have an opinion too (unfortunate, I know) and since being Indian and not expressing one’s opinion is an act of treason, I’ve decided to write it down. I’ve also tried to keep this structured, free of slander and bad language (may god help me with this one!).

Who am I?

It’s important that I set the context before I go on.

I have never taken part in Jallikattu and I don’t think I will in the near future.

I don’t think I fit the Tamil hinterland’s general definition of “brave”; I’m the guy that apologises to you when you step over my feet at the cinema.

I am emotionally and economically very detached from the majority of the people who celebrate and protect this sport. I’m writing this piece on a $1500 laptop sitting in the comfort of my air-conditioned high-rise apartment; very far from Jallikattu. Very, very far.

I also believe I’m part of the urban elite. If you’re reading this, you are too!

I have two beautiful Indian dogs who mean the world to me. But I’m also a staunch non-vegetarian who loves his meat to bits (pardon the terrible pun). So I think I practice some level of hypocrisy on a daily basis.

What is Jallikattu?

Jallikattu or Eru Thazhuvudhal or Manju Virattu are the names given to the South Indian sport that requires players to embrace/attach themselves to a bull for a specified period of time.

The game holds the safety of the animals involved with paramount importance and harming the animal in any way either before or during the game is enough grounds for disqualification.

Let’s look at these words for a minute: Jallikattu describes the bag of money, tied to bulls’ horns, that must be retrieved by the players. Eru Thazhuvudhal quite literally stands for “touching the bovine animal” and Manju Virattu stands for “chasing the bull”.

Compare this with “bullfighting” in the Spanish context and we see an immediate difference in the level of violence involved. Every bull entering a bullfight is guaranteed to die. Every human entering a Jallikattu has no guarantee of life. Let that difference sink in.

Also, I don’t consider Spanish bullfighting a sport since it seems to lack any form of competition; an armed human sending swords down the spine of a confused animal till it drops dead can be called a spectacle at best. But a sport? No.

Jallikattu as a sport has been practiced by Tamils since 2000–1500 B.C. several references to this sport can be found in classical Tamil literature as well as sculptures in ancient Tamil temples. Here’s how it works:

The Jallikattu “belt” of Tamil Nadu consists mainly of 18 districts. It is a large region spanning across central and south Tamil Nadu that is also home to most of the state’s native breeds of bulls.

Every village in this belt raises a stud as part of the village commons. Almost every household in a given village contributes towards the raising and maintenance of this stud. Such studs are allowed to mate exclusively with the village’s cows and are routinely exchanged between villages to prevent in-breeding.

Jallikattu is predominantly an event held to incentivise the raising of such studs and provide a platform for demonstration of the “power” of bloodlines. If a bull successfully avoids being embraced long enough, it is considered to be of a superior bloodline and it is used further for mating in the region.

Contrary to popular belief, losing bulls aren’t sent straight to the slaughterhouse. Most losing bulls spend the rest of their life working in agriculture and allied areas but there exists a small population of the losing bulls who end up in the slaughterhouse.

It is important to note however that there is no evidence that says banning Jallikattu will prevent bulls from being slaughtered. There is however evidence to prove the opposite.

Arguments for Jallikattu

It makes it economically viable to raise and safeguard native breeds of the state. They would go extinct otherwise.

I agree with this argument.

When they say economic viability, it is not just the monetary benefit: owners of victorious bulls usually receive a dhoti, a stainless-steel plate and some betel leaves (together costing not more than $10) which are nowhere near the money spent in raising those studs.

If economics is about the assumption of value and study of incentives, then the economic viability in this case is about the sense of pride and urgency it instils in people to protect the native breeds.

It is part and parcel of Tamil culture; it cannot be done away with.

I agree with this argument with some reservations.

Several Tamils hold this sport dear to their heart. Several thousand village youth spend a good portion of their lives preparing for this annual event since the victor basically stands to receive good sums of prize money and perhaps most importantly to them, earns the respect of everyone from surrounding districts.

Arguments against Jallikattu

It is barbaric; we don’t need this to protect Tamil culture. We have other art forms such as Bharatanatyam to do that.

I do not agree with this argument.

Barbarism is relative. A ballerina would call dancing in a sari with several pounds of gold jewellery barbaric. The Indian urban elite finds Jallikattu barbaric.

To me, watching Salman Khan on screen is barbaric. Going down this route will invariably bring out classist arguments that I despise. It is no single person or a class’s business to decide what Tamil culture is.

Bulls are treated cruelly. They are being intoxicated, their tails twisted, eyes rubbed with chillies. This is blatant animal cruelty.

I do not agree with this argument though I’d like this to never happen at all.

Truth be told, this used to happen albeit in very rare instances. A series of government prescribed regulations and years of self-regulation now mean that such cases are extremely rare.

Have you ever asked yourself why documented video evidence of such incidents are always from the 2009–2010 period?

What could be the solution?

As with any debate in this country, the solution can never be to give in to all the demands of any one side (Except for pineapples on pizza; they should never be there!).

I honestly don’t think banning an ancient sport is the true answer to keeping all the bulls in those 18 districts smiling. That would be something our parents would do

Kids are fighting over the remote? Let’s switch the damn TV off. Problem solved!

Banning something entirely because of a few incidents is the quintessential Indian way of solving things; it’s the easy way out.

People are driving drunk? Let’s ban cars!

I also don’t think any cultural practice, sport, art form or tradition is above the question of morality.

See how I didn’t say law? Because law in this country changes with Supreme Court benches.

A great solution would be for both the parties involved to reach a middle-ground, a compromise of sorts — something like allowing continuation of the sport in exchange for greater transparency and more regulation.

I would really like to see the state government step in and help reach the solution faster. It could possibly provide the necessary social, financial and physical infrastructure for raising of bulls and conduction of associated events so the people involved and the events themselves fall into previously laid out structures.

If something works, you cannot replace that without providing a working alternative. What did you think this was? Demonetisation?

The people who celebrate and protect this sport have demonstrated how it helps them in protecting native breeds and their identity. If you want this sport gone, never make an argument for banning unless you can suggest a viable alternative.

Also, please let’s not debate about this just for two weeks every year and go back to our businesses. If we’re really interested in saving our bovine friends in Tamil Nadu, let’s start with the thousands of abandoned cows and calves that throng the sides of Rajiv Gandhi Salai — eating plastic and becoming roadkill every other day.

As for me, I’m done with this rant and going back to protecting my South Indian values — writing good old fashioned software while sipping some Filter Kaapi.