The Race of My Life (5 page)

The Meet opened with much fanfare. Our unit’s team was smartly clad in full khaki uniforms—boots, jersey, trousers and vests carrying the name EME; the Sikh soldiers had tied turbans over their joodas (topknots). The military band played stirring martial tunes as all the regiments marched in perfect tandem round the stadium, dipping their colours before the dais where Brigader S.P. Vohra, our commanding officer, took the salute, and declared the Meet open. We then returned to our tents to change into our sporting kits.

As soon as the call for the 400-metre race was given, we reported at the starting point. I was very apprehensive; this was the first time that I was competing in such an event and that, too, before the eyes of some four thousand spectators. My fellow competitors had all stood first in national events, and here was I, a puny, barefooted village bumpkin surrounded by stalwarts. I had no idea what the procedures were for such events, or what the technicalities were until the race began. And then it all became clear. Numbered lots were first drawn, indicating the lane in which we would run. Then when the starter, who held a gun in his hand, said, ‘On your marks,’ the participants would place their feet on the starting line and ‘get ready’; and when he fired the gun, it was a signal for us to take off. I came fourth in the race, but this was of little consequence when compared with the line-up of stars before me—Sohan Singh of the Sikh Regiment, who was also the national champion in the 400-metre race, came first, and Pritam Singh, one of the privileged few who had represented India, was second.

I was disappointed but not disheartened. My participation in the Brigade Meet gave me the chance to attend the coaching camp in Secunderabad, and also go to Bombay for the Southern Command Meet, where I was given the chance to be a part of the Brigade team for 4x400-metre relay race.

When I returned to Secunderabad it was back to work as usual—parades, other military duties and sitting for examinations, simple language tests that we had to pass if we wanted to be promoted to the next level. Despite the regular routine, my burning desire to succeed as an athlete never dissipated. In the evening, after a day’s hard work, I would carry my food back to the barracks and hide it under my bed. While my colleagues relaxed, I was at the grounds practising. I was still unaware of the techniques needed to run a 400-metre race, but followed the rule of thumb—I would run one round at the swiftest speed, rest and then run another one. I would complete five or six rounds every night, then return to my room, bathe and eat my dinner. This was my nightly routine for many months—a clandestine activity no one was aware of.

Then one night, while doing my regular practice rounds, I was spotted by Brigadier S.P. Vohra, who was on his regular after-dinner walk. He stopped me and enquired what I was doing at that hour. I sprang to attention, saluted sharply, and modestly replied that I was practising for the 400-metre race.

‘Why are you practising at this hour?’ he asked.

‘Because I don’t have time for practice during the day, sir,’ I said.

This seemingly inconsequential encounter led to a series of incidents that I could never have anticipated. The next day, the brigadier spoke to my company commander asking him to exempt me from fatigue duty, so that I had the time to practice. The brigadier also expressed the desire to meet me. As a recruit, however, it continued to be mandatory for me to be present at PT (physical training) and the parade. The company commander told the JCO ( Junior Commissioned Officer), who in turn told my ‘ustad’.

The next day, I was summoned by my ‘ustad’, who severely reprimanded me for daring to complain to the brigadier. ‘If you had a problem, you should have come to me, not the brigadier,’ he said, poking me in the ribs with his stick. This was grossly unfair. I had made no complaint; the brigadier had spotted me and asked why I was practising at that hour. I had merely, and honestly, told him that it was because I did not get enough time during the day. But the furious ‘ustad’ chose to punish me by making me carry a knapsack full of stones and run up and down for two hours. I did not even realize why I had been penalized so harshly.

Still, the brigadier’s order had to be obeyed. But to get to his office I had to move, step-by-step, up the hierarchical ladder, being interviewed and threatened and abused by each officer. It took me almost a week to meet the brigadier, who ordered that I should be groomed as an athlete, given proper facilities and a special diet, and be exempted from fatigue duty.

This incident opened up a whole new world for me, one that offered innumerable opportunities. The armed forces in India have had a long tradition of promoting sporting events and athletes, and if soldiers show potential and are hardworking, they are given incentives to encourage and motivate them to develop as competent professionals.

he EME Centre’s sports meet, held in Secunderabad in December 1954, was the beginning of my rise. I stood first in the 400-metre race, with a timing of 52 seconds. A month later, at the Brigade Meet, in January 1955, Sohan Singh won the 400-metre race with a timing of 49 seconds, and I was second, clocking 50 seconds.

Sohan Singh saw my success as a threat to his position, and I now began to experience the hostilities and rivalries that ran beneath the façade of sportsmanship. Earlier, I had noticed how resentful established sportspeople were towards newcomers, who they saw as challenges to their positions. I had always had great respect and admiration for their prowess and commitment, and now had, for the first time, seen how competitiveness had warped their attitudes. Sohan Singh stopped talking to me and even refused to allow me to train with him. His uncooperative behaviour pained me, but in no way did it stop me from practising with renewed vigour and resolve. I was truly saddened by their demeanour.

About a couple of weeks after the Brigade Meet, I went to Poona for the Southern Command Sports Meet. For some mysterious reason Sohan Singh withdrew from the 400-metre event, preferring instead to concentrate on the 800-metre race. His decision gave me the chance to come first in the 400-metre race, with a timing of 49.4 seconds. The applause and cheers I received from the spectators greatly boosted my morale and self-confidence, which is very important for any sportsperson.

The next event that I participated in was as a member of the Southern Command team for the combined services meet in Ambala. This was a gathering of athletes from the Northern, Eastern, Western and Southern Commands as well as a team each from the navy and air force. There were several national- level champions, including Joginder Singh, India’s champion in the 400-metre event who was representing the Eastern Command. Once again I came second in the race, reaching the winning post just a few yards behind Joginder Singh. With this success I qualified for the National Games to be held in Patiala in 1956.

The national-level games were one of the most important sporting events in the country, and it was a great honour for me to have been selected. As a member of the services’ team, I would be mingling with the best athletes from all over the country, including sportswomen. What made it even more interesting was that running was just one of the events; other sports including basketball, volleyball, hockey and long jump were also part of the games. For me, everything was new, and it seemed strange but wonderful. I felt like a rustic village boy lost in a big fair.

The National Games in Patiala opened with great fanfare. Buntings, banners and flags decorated the Yadavindra Stadium and when the Maharaja of Patiala, Yadavindra Singh, declared the meet open, hundreds of white pigeons and multicoloured balloons were released. In his inaugural speech, the Maharaja urged all athletes, both men and women, to perform to the best of their abilities because the selection for the Indian team for the forthcoming 1956 Australia Olympics would take place here. This announcement unnerved me. Although I yearned to be part of the Indian team, how could I even hope to be selected? I would be competing against India’s best runners in the event, and was uncertain on how I would fare.

A couple of days before the opening of the Games, a sharp stone pierced my heel during practice and caused a swelling. I paid no heed to the injury and continued practicing. As a result, the injury turned septic, and I was ordered by the doctors not to run in the final race. But I could not let anything get in the way of my ambitions, regardless of the consequences. It was as if my entire existence depended on running the finals. I ignored medical advice and ran the race. I came fourth, while Alex Silveria from Bombay came first, Joginder Singh, second and Harjit Singh of Punjab Police came third. My hopes came crashing, as I knew that by coming fourth, I had no chance of being chosen for the coaching camp. But again, luck was on my side. The Maharaja had spotted me running barefoot in the race and had asked who that boy was. My effortless style impressed him and he recommended that I, too, should be selected for the training camp since I showed great promise. My decision to run in the finals was vindicated.

The training camp was held at the Sri Kanteerva Stadium in Bangalore. This three-week period was a great learning experience for me, particularly since I was being trained alongside India’s top sprinters and under some of our best coaches, including Rufus and Baldev Singh. It was the first time I was taught how to start a race as well as the technicalities of running a 400-metre race—to accelerate speed in the last 100 metres. We were made to do hill running and sand running to build stamina and we would lift weights to build muscle strength. We ate healthy food and were given regular doses of proteins to compensate for the nutrients we had lost during training. I was a quick learner and practised zealously. My dedication on the track pleased the coaches, who encouraged me with their praise and support. It was at the training camp that I decided to switch to spiked boots—the latest fad in sports footwear—after running barefoot for three years. I made this switch around the time when Roshan Sports, Patiala, had just started manufacturing spiked boots for the first time in India. I had always preferred the freedom of sprinting without the constraints of shoes, and felt that wearing them would hamper my speed. However, once I got used to them, I was amazed to find how wearing spiked boots could improve my performance.

At the end of the three weeks, a trial race was held, where Joginder Singh, the star of the event, and I were tied for the first place, both clocking 48.2 seconds. As a result, the boy who came second was relegated to the third place and the one who came third to the fourth. Suddenly, I had become the hottest topic of conversation in India’s sports fraternity.

Those of us who had attended the Bangalore camp were in Patiala once again for the final selection of the Indian athletic team. Once again, some of my colleagues reacted in a negative fashion, and I was constantly subjected to snide remarks, but I chose to ignore their jibes. I did not allow their animosity to come in the way of my aim and kept practising hard. However, I was completely unprepared for the sinister incident that almost broke my legs.

The night before the selection race, I was suddenly jolted out of a deep slumber by a hard hit on my legs. A bunch of people had pinned me down and thrown a blanket over my head, so I couldn’t see them. They continued to hit me with sticks, and only stopped when my screams alerted my companions in the barrack. By the time help arrived, my assailants had fled. Even though I could not see them, I knew who they were but never had the proof to confront them directly. I only knew that I had become such a threat that people thought the only way to prevent me from winning was by breaking my legs. This was also the first time I realized there are people who firmly believe in taking short cuts to excel in sports. So while my rivals—in the good old-fashioned way—tried to incapacitate me and take me out of the equation, the sporting cheats of today take much more sophisticated routes. My friends and colleagues had all asked me to identify the attackers, but I remained silent.