The Race of My Life (9 page)

We landed in Calcutta to a tumultuous welcome. And then it was on to Delhi. As we entered the airport building, a band started to play and well-wishers rushed up to garland us and offer us sweets, felicitating us for the many gold, silver and bronze medals we had brought back with us. Invitations from the president, Dr Rajendra Prasad, prime minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, defence minister and the chief of army staff poured in.

Panditji held a grand reception in honour of the Indian team on the lawns of his imposing residence, Teen Murti Bhavan, which was attended by cabinet ministers, government officials and high-ranking officers from the armed forces. He received us graciously, warmly shaking our hands. When I was presented to him, he gave me a friendly smile and then embraced me. I was elated that such a great man had greeted me so fondly.

Panditji asked me to sit next to him at one of the tables. ‘My boy,’ he said to me, ‘you have brought great pride to our country. If you keep up the hard work, you will be one of the world’s top athletes.’

‘Panditji, my interest in running was awakened recently, and I have taken an oath to persevere until I attain the goal I have set for myself.’

The prime minister was pleased by my reply, and asked me to tell him about myself. When I narrated the story of my past and the tragedy of losing most of my family during Partition, he reassured me in a voice choked with emotion, ‘I cannot change the past nor bring the dead back to life, but remember my boy, you are not an orphan. I, and many Indians my age, are your father and mother. If ever you are in need of anything, you must come to me.’

He then told General Thimayya, the chief of army staff, to take special care of me.

At Defence Minister V.K. Krishna Menon’s reception the next day, it was announced that all gold medallists would be promoted immediately, an unprecedented move that elevated me from a sepoy to the rank of a junior commissioned officer (JCO). This promotion was a huge jump in my career. If I hadn’t won two gold medals, I would probably have remained a sepoy or risen to the rank of a havaldar at the most. Now thanks to the decision taken by the defence minister and chief of army staff, a new military tradition had been initiated, where it was mandatory that all soldiers who received gold medals in international events would be promoted automatically. What a tremendous incentive this would be for future sportsmen!

On the third evening, at General Thimayya’s reception, my promotion became a reality. All of us who had received gold medals stood in a straight line while we waited for our names to be called. When it was my turn, the general called for the stars and ceremoniously fixed one on each of my epaulets. He congratulated me saying, ‘The honour of the army and the nation is now in your hands. I have ordered your unit to provide you with special facilities.’

After the function, I returned to my lodgings at my unit. My promotion had filled me with such pride that I refused to remove my uniform and, wherever I went, I was saluted by jawans—a novel experience for me. Throughout my army life I was the one who had been saluting my seniors, and now, here I was, being saluted at. Such are the ironies of life!

I returned to my unit in Secunderabad after a few days. As the plane was hovering over the airport, a flood of emotions swept over me. This was the place where I had begun my career, where I had made a solemn pledge that one day I, too, would represent my country in international tournaments, where coaches like Gurdev Singh had given me the confidence to compete, succeed and move ahead. I remembered my late-night practices and the sacrifices I had made. The insignificant jawan was now returning as a hero! But I would never let success go to my head. My past helped to keep me grounded and I remained focussed on higher goals.

Thousands of jawans, officers and the general public were impatiently waiting for me at the airport. When the plane taxied to a halt, I emerged from the cabin and waved to the waiting crowds, who cheered me vociferously. The military band started to play as I slowly descended. Brigadier G.S. Bal, our commanding officer, came up to greet me, while cameras flashed. Jawans presented the guard of honour and I proudly took the salute. With my face covered by garlands of marigolds, roses and jasmine, I walked alongside Brigadier Bal and other officers, down the red carpet lined by cheering jawans dressed in their best uniforms.

Tea was served at the airport, and throughout the time we were there, officers and their families kept coming up to me, eager to know more about my victories in Tokyo. The band preceded me as I came out of the building, where an open jeep awaited me. I sat between Brigadier Bal and Colonel Bhave, as our cavalcade slowly moved through the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad until we reached the unit. The roads were lined with local citizens, as well as jawans who smartly saluted us. It was flowers, flowers all the way. My joy was limitless and I was filled with gratitude for the affection and respect I had received. God had been more than good to me.

spent a few days at the EME Centre before the next major sporting event—the Sixth British Empire and Commonwealth Games was a few months later. It was initially known as the British Empire Games and was renamed to the British Empire and Commonwealth Games in 1954 and the British Commonwealth Games in 1970, before finally gaining its current title, the Commonwealth Games, for the 1978 edition.

I had resumed my practice schedule soon after I returned from Tokyo and when it was confirmed that I was part of the Indian team, I was filled with both joy and trepidation. Joy at the thought of competing with some of the best athletes in the world, trepidation because I was uncertain about the outcome. Friends and well-wishers who came to see me off at Delhi airport were all very supportive and repeatedly remarked that they had great hopes of me returning with another gold medal. But in my present state of apprehension and self-doubt, this seemed a formidable task.

We landed in London and after a brief stopover left by train for Cardiff in Wales, where the Games were to be held. On the train we were informed that for part of our journey we would be travelling through a tunnel that had been built under the River Severn. I was flabbergasted by this fact and wondered what amazing engineering feat had created this underwater tunnel.

At Cardiff, we were received by representatives of the organizing committee and taken to the military base where we, along with the other teams, were staying. In the evening we were taken to the Cardiff Arms Park for practice. There I saw athletes who looked stronger and sturdier than I. Some even seemed seven feet tall! Compared to them I was like a pigmy among giants. All the press reporters and cameramen were clustered around athletes of international repute and no one paid me the slightest notice. My fame was restricted to Asia, but here I was just another participant in the midst of eminent sportsmen from about thirty-five nations who formed the Commonwealth.

Three days later, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth declared the Games open, and the specially designed Commonwealth flag was ceremonially raised. The Queen’s Baton, which she had handed over at Buckingham Palace and which had then been carried by a relay of runners to Cardiff, was presented to Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, so that he could read the Queen’s message to the assembled participants and audience. The Queen’s Baton, which is so much a part of the Commonwealth Games today, was launched at Cardiff.

Our American coach, Dr Howard, had accompanied the Indian team. He was an outstanding trainer, who was very well acquainted with international training patterns and techniques. He was also very astute and could easily judge the strengths and weaknesses of the other athletes. For an entire day he mentored me, giving me pointers on what to expect. More than anything, he was trying to rid me of my inferiority complex and instil self-belief. I had convinced myself that there was no way that I could be among the six finalists, let alone win a gold medal. What chance did I have against superbly fit professionals like Malcolm Spence from South Africa, George Kerr from Jamaica, Kevan Gosper from Australia, Terry Tobacco from Canada and John Salisbury from England.

However, because of Dr Howard’s motivation and advice, I won heat after heat, and effortlessly reached the finals. The night before the race, Dr Howard reiterated the tips he had drilled into me. He revealed that Spence had more stamina than speed, and that I should stick to my own style of running the 400-metre race, that is, to start in top gear. He emphasized that I must not start slowly, that I must maintain my speed for the first 300 metres, and then give it my all in the last 100 metres. He said that if I ran the first 300 metres at full speed, Spence would do the same, although that was not his running strategy.

The morale-boosting attitude and clever strategies Howard gave me, equipped me with the confidence I badly needed. I started believing that I could be the best. Another constant motivation was a burning desire to do well for the country—I was well aware that my good performance would lead to the glory of India.

In spite of all my positive thoughts, I spent another sleepless night before the race, tormented by nightmares of what could go wrong. My confidence again had plummeted and I wondered what I should do—participate or quit. The lack of sleep and my morbid thoughts had drained me. The race was scheduled for 4 p.m. in the afternoon. I got up at the usual time, soaked in a tub of hot water to relax, had breakfast and then fell back into bed and covered myself with a blanket. After a refreshing nap, I awoke at noon, had a meagre meal of a cup of soup and a couple of slices of bread. I did not want to overeat, in case it would impact upon my performance.

At 1 p.m., I combed and knotted my long hair on the top of my head and covered it with a white kerchief. In my Air India bag, I packed my spiked shoes, a small towel, a comb and a packet of glucose. Then I put on my tracksuit, and closed my eyes in meditation, conjuring up images of Guru Nanak, Guru Gobind Singh and Lord Shiva. I silently and fervently prayed to them to give me strength and to guide me through what lay ahead.

My other team members were waiting for me on the bus. When I took my seat, they jokingly remarked: ‘Today, Milkha Singh is off colour.’ ‘Well my friend, what is the matter?’ ‘Why are you not happy?’ I did not respond to their wisecracks and humour, but it did lighten my mood. All my thoughts and emotions were focused on the forthcoming event.

Sensing my nervousness, Howard came and sat next to me. Encouragingly he said, ‘Milkha Singh, today’s race will make or mar you, it will either put you up or pull you down. Such a chance will not come your way for another four years and four years is a long time. It is now or never. If you follow my tips, you will beat Malcolm Spence. This feat is not beyond your capacity.’ His words raised my spirits, somewhat.

When we reached the stadium I went to the dressing room and lay down, agitated and disturbed. I felt feverish and queasy, sick both in mind and body. At 3 p.m., Howard came to me, rubbed my back and massaged my legs. He said, ‘My boy, get ready. Your race begins in an hour.’

I reached the track, put down my bag and, like the other competitors, began my warm-up exercises. Throughout the waiting period, Howard stood beside me, murmuring words of encouragement.

The first call for the 400-metre race came at 3.50 p.m. The six of us reported at the starting line and were made to stand in a row. As we stood there, I heard voices calling, ‘Come on, Singh; come on, Singh’. I wiped the sweat from my legs with my towel and was tying the laces of my spiked boots when the second call came. I removed my tracksuit and stood there in my shorts and vest emblazoned with the word INDIA under the Ashok chakra. I took a few deep breaths. The six of us went through the usual courtesy of wishing each other good luck. Salisbury was in the first lane, Spence in the second, Kerr in the third, Gosper in the fourth, Tobacco in the fifth, and finally I in the last one. My heart was pounding wildly. When the starter said ‘On your mark’, I got into the starting position, with my left foot just behind the starting line, my right knee parallel to my left foot and both hands touching the ground.