The Race of My Life (6 page)

Anyway, this incident made me even more determined for the next day’s race.

Looking at my wounds, my doctor advised me not to run— he said that the bruises and the swelling needed time to heal, but I was adamant. When I arrived at the starting line, I saw some of the competitors give me startled looks, but only I knew why. But I didn’t care. In that moment, all the hardships I had ever faced in the past flashed before my eyes. This was the catharsis I had needed. In that moment I swore to myself I would not let anyone (or anything) come in the way of my
future
. I focused all my energies on running fast. I took off like the wind when I heard the gunshot and easily won the race. I had overcome all odds. I was, however, truly saddened by the viciousness of my attackers, though in some way, my winning had probably given them the worst beating of their lives.

I was selected to represent India at the Olympics in Australia. My joy had no bounds. Here, at last, was the moment I had been waiting, even praying, for. It was my proudest moment yet.

ith eager anticipation we awaited the next stage. A tailor was called in to measure the five of us boys and one girl, Mary Lila Rao, for the sports kits. We were given blazers, tracksuits, shirts, vests, boots and turbans for the four sardars. I did not know what to expect, or what to hope for—all I knew was that I was filled with happiness, just like a child who had been given a bag full of candy. After all, I would be fulfilling my dream to wear a blazer with INDIA written on it!

A week later, we left for Australia. The night before we left I could not sleep. My small suitcase had been packed with my kit and bedding and I waited for the sun to rise. Excited by the prospects of what lay ahead, we boarded the train to Bombay, the first lap of our long journey across the seas to far-off Australia. We spent three days on the train, singing songs, drinking copious amounts of tea and animatedly discussing the trip. When we reached Bombay’s Churchgate station, we were taken by bus to the Astoria hotel. It was the first time that I had seen such a grand place, and I could barely believe my eyes. There was a posh restaurant, a bar and a ballroom where dances were held every night. What was I, a simple village boy doing in such a different world? While we were at the Astoria, Commander Rekhi, our manager, showed us how to knot a tie and gave us lessons on table manners—how to use a napkin and eat with a knife and fork. I have to say that we had great fun manipulating those two implements, trying to pick up pieces of meat and vegetables from our plates and pushing them into our mouths. How much easier it was to eat with our fingers!

On the day of our departure, a deluxe bus waited at the hotel’s entrance to take us to Santa Cruz airport. We were told to put our luggage in the bus—only our bedrolls were to be stored at the hotel. I was slightly bemused by that—why do we have to leave our bedding behind? Where would we sleep? What would we do if the nights were chilly? Troubled by these thoughts, I boarded the bus to the airport.

When we reached Santa Cruz, the entire atmosphere at the terminal seemed unreal—its bright lights, the strange sounds, the rush of people. Except for Mary Lila Rao, none of us has flown before. I was scared and confused. I had no bedding and no food. Where would I sleep? What would I eat? How would the plane take off with so many people, their luggage and other cargo? Would it crash under so much weight? I followed my companions towards the huge monster that awaited us, and blindly climbed up the ramp into the cabin. Once inside, like a child, I meekly followed the airhostess to my seat, which was next to Mohinder Singh, our triple and long jumper and another village hick like me. I was asked to fasten my seatbelt, but naturally I did not know what to do and was fumbling with the straps when the airhostess kindly helped me.

When the plane started to taxi along the runway, we both closed our eyes and recited: ‘Wahe-Guru, Wahe-Guru.’ I had butterflies in my stomach as the plane ascended. And then we were airborne. When I looked out of the window I saw smoke pouring out of the engines, and raised an alarm, thinking that the plane was on fire. The airhostess calmed me down, patiently explaining that it was only the fuel burning. I felt very foolish and laughed with relief.

Our first stop was Singapore. I was awestruck when I saw the airport, by how clean and organized it was, and by the different people all clad in the colourful garments of their respective countries. I had never seen such groups of races and communities before. It was a long flight to Sydney. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I was much too excited by what lay ahead. We had a six-hour stopover at Sydney and were given a tour of the city sights. I was shocked when I saw how skimpily dressed the women were and how freely and intimately couples behaved. How different this was from our orthodox society. In the India of the 1950s, it was considered disrespectful for men to look at women directly, or even talk to them. Such free-and-easy ways would definitely be frowned upon. I felt embarrassed watching them and turned my eyes away. At the same time, I realized that customs and norms differed from country to country.

When we arrived at Melbourne, the city that was hosting the Games, we were taken straight to the Olympics Village, where athletes from all over the world were provided with free board and lodging. The rooms were not large but had every amenity that a person would require. What a change from the barracks that had been my home for the past three years!

The Village itself was completely different from the village I grew up in. There was a swimming pool, a state-of-the-art training centre with sophisticated machines, recreational facilities like a cinema, dance hall and reading room, and a restaurant, which dished up a lavish spread for every meal. I had never seen so much food in my life, and yet yearned for the simple desi dal, roti and subzi.

In the evenings, the athletes would dance together in the dance hall. Again it was a culture shock watching men and women holding each other or gyrating to raucous music. I would shyly sit around almost in a trance watching the antics; for me it was both shocking and amusing but what I remember most was how cordial and friendly the atmosphere was. After a while, we also decided to have some fun. Then, regardless of the music that was playing, we would dance the bhangra.

Finally, the historic moment arrived. I proudly took my place in the Indian contingent for the march past. The men were immaculately clad in blue blazers, grey trousers and ties with the Ashok chakra printed on them, while the women wore maroon saris with blue blazers. My dream had come true. Here I was representing India at the Olympics, wearing a blazer with my country’s name displayed on the front pocket. The Melbourne Cricket Ground was packed to capacity, spectators clapping and cheering as their favourite athletes and top sporting stars marched past. I felt like a lost child who had strayed into the wrong party, and yet, I wanted to stay on and join in all the fun and games.

Although sports fans in India were getting more familiar with my name and exploits, I was unknown in the international field. The 400-metre race had a hundred and fifty competitors, and for the heats, we were divided into groups of six. The best three in each group were moved up, and the rest eliminated. I was so nervous and overwhelmed that I came last in my group and thus failed to qualify for the next stage. I was deeply disappointed for I had not realized how stiff the competition would be. How could a young and inexperienced athlete like me hope to compete with top international stars? Though this hurdle seemed insurmountable, it made me more determined to prove myself.

At the Village I met several foreign sportspeople, including Charles Jenkins, America’s top athlete who had won the gold medal for the 400-metre event at Melbourne. Jenkins was a great hero of mine and when I heard that he was occupying the room next door, I was determined to meet him. Although I had received very basic English lessons from an Anglo-Indian nurse in Secunderabad, I was not very fluent in it, so enlisted my roommate Mohinder Singh’s help. Jenkins was in the midst of an interview when we entered his room and invited us to return the next day. When we finally met him, Mohinder introduced me in his broken English saying: ‘Milkha Singh from India, 400 metres, timing 48 seconds’. He further requested him to advise me on how to improve my timing. Jenkins kindly wrote down his complete training schedule for me to follow and from what he had indicated, a runner could only improve his timing and technique through regular and rigorous practice. His kind gesture inspired me and strengthened my desire to excel.

I soon saw how celebrated athletes were and the adulation that was showered on them almost amounted to hero worship. Sardars with their turbans attracted a lot of attention and there were always huge crowds of people outside the Village waiting to meet us, some insisting that we visit their homes, while others wanted autographs. I could not understand why small books and pens were thrust before me, and asked Mohinder what I should do. He said, just sign your name—that’s an autograph—and so I did, many times over. When we would get back to our room we would compare notes and ask each other, ‘
Tu kinne sign kitte
? (How many did you sign?)’ That’s how innocent and naïve we were.

Once the Games ended, we were given a few days off. After I had been eliminated from the event, an Australian family called Smith had befriended me. One evening, they invited Mohinder Singh, and me to their home for dinner, but it was only when we reached their house and saw them bringing out the food that we realized what being ‘invited for dinner’ meant. We had both had our meal at the Village, but didn’t know how to communicate this to them. Mohinder tried to tell them in his broken English, or with gestures like rubbing his stomach to indicate we had eaten, but to no avail, and we were forced to have a second meal. After dinner was over, the two daughters, Christine and Mary, asked us to dance. We were embarrassed and said we could not dance. Mr Smith said, ‘No problem, our girls will teach you.’

This left us with no option but to accept. We nudged each other, whispering ‘you first,’ ‘no, you first,’ awkward at the idea of touching the girls. Boldly, the two sisters came up to us, took our hands and led us to the floor. The gramophone started to play and to the beat of the music, Christine instructed me to ‘put your right foot here and say “one”, put your left foot there and say “two”, one, two, one two…’ And so with my left hand resting on her hand and my right arm around her waist, we danced the foxtrot. Gradually my shyness vanished and I began to enjoy myself.

That night when we returned to the Village, Mohinder Singh and I discussed our evening in great detail. We had a good laugh about our ‘second dinner’, and I teased him, saying, ‘
Tenu ta angrezi andhi hai
(you claim to know English), so why didn’t you say that we had eaten?’

We were both horrified by the parents’ laxity, allowing their daughters to dance so closely with strange men. Such a thing would never ever happen in India. As the days went by, we shed our inhibitions and decided to join in the fun. We invited the girls to the Village and took them to the ballroom. But once there, we did not dare dance with them, so conscious were we by the censure we saw in our fellow Indians’ eyes.

We spent five days with the Smith family. They had begun to regard us with affection and even came to see us off at the airport. We promised to keep in touch, but this is not always possible. We were geographically too far apart, and culturally too different.

Our flight back was uneventful. By now, we had grown accustomed to flying and did not panic as we had before. I was returning home with no trophies or medals, just my resolve to be a world champion. From now on, this became my sole purpose in life.