Milkha Singh

When Milkha Singh ran, it seemed he ran not only for a country but for a continent. Every Asian from Tokyo to Teheran ran every galloping-stride with him. His popularity was mind-boggling. It is doubtful if any other Asian athlete has matched the mass support of millions that he had around the world, especially from the developing Oriental nations.

From the late-1950s a skinny Sikh sprinter from India held the world athletic followers in thrall. Commonwealth Games (then Empire Games) he dominated. At the Asian championships including the quadrennial Asian Games he was the perpetual champion. Across Europe and United States wherever he competed, the fleet-footed ‘cheetah’ was among the best. Milkha’s hair knotted into a bun gave his presence a distinctive appeal to the international audience.

The slight physique gave the impression that he was not really running but ‘flying’! The sobriquet ‘Flying Sikh’ stuck, very appropriately. Whoever coined the nick-name was absolutely on the spot to describe the frail sardar in running spikes, shorts and sleeveless vest. The image that he created by his graceful flow was a gift to the spectators. Silken smooth approach developed into a momentum of speed. A delight to watch for spectators. In awe and wonder for competitors. His movements and mannerisms revealed a distinct impression of a man with a mission.

Yes, a mission he had. He desired that his nation would be the best. The feline grace of the quarter-miler gave the impression of a speeding gazelle in its natural habitat. A sight for the connoisseurs. His ease of style, his determined look, his non-emotional bearing made him hugely popular all over the world. A slight frame dominating the strong, physically endowed giants had an appeal beyond description. A David among the Goliaths.

In 1958 at Cardiff in Wales at the Commonwealth Games, Milkha Singh left the field far behind to win the gold in the 440 yards. In 1958 yet again this time at Tokyo Asian Games he was the undisputed champion in the 200 metres and 400 metres.  At the end of the season, he won the Helmes Award for the best quarter-miler in the world. He was certainly among the favourites to win the 400 metres at the Rome Olympics in 1960.

When the news filtered in, a shocked silence pervaded the atmosphere. Strange was the feeling: a certain kind of void. People felt morose. As if a close friend or relative had passed away. The disappointment was not only Milkha’s, it was felt all over the country by every Indian. Around the Asian continent too. We all felt sad. Gradually we began to realize the enormity of the issue.

We were so used to Milkha Singh winning that we could not visualize that he could also lose. He was only human, we realized. He was competing against the very best that the world had to offer. He was the representative not only of India, but of the whole continent of Asia as well. Now he was competing not against the best sprinters of one continent, he was competing against the best of five continents. As the magnitude of the achievement seeped into us, we began to admire the magnificent athlete still more.

In much less than a minute our world came to a stand-still. Six best quarter-milers on earth took their positions for the 400 metres sprint at Rome on a day of sunshine with a light breeze. Ideal conditions for outdoor athletics. In a matter of barely 46 seconds all six of them crossed the finishing line. Two of them beat the existing world record and four of them the existing Olympic record. Amazing race, it was.

Later Milkha remembered that he had a splendid start and breezed ahead till 200 metres. “Then suddenly,” quoted by sports researchers Ezekiel and Arumugam, “I slowed down a bit. I thought the pace was very fast and I would fizzle out in the end if I continued at that speed…may be I also took a side-glance…” Why? Why? Why? An answer that will forever remain shrouded in mystery.  No one would ever know, not even Milkha Singh himself. That momentary lapse proved to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Many theories have been cited. But none at all convincing. Typical of our Indian bio-pics, we have even tried to give a ‘filmy’ sob-story to the disastrous moment. ‘Side-glance’ perhaps makes a good story for movie-goers and media publicity. But in the world of real sport no one resorts to a ‘side-glance’ when running a sprint.

Milkha Singh did not give a ‘side-glance’ during the 400 metres sprint. No way. He perhaps made the mistake of slowing down a stride or two before the final burst of speed.  Why can we not accept the truth that a moment’s mistake cost him an Olympic medal?

He returned to his homeland to a hero’s welcome. But he just could not forget the blunder. On a fraction of a second his destiny changed. He missed even the bronze medal by a whisker. Milkha finished just behind the South African Malcolm Spence, whom he had defeated earlier. The mind rankled: nothing would compensate for missing the bronze medal. In fact some athletic experts had predicted before the Rome Olympic Games that Milkha Singh was good enough to get either the gold or the silver on his current form.

If this run left him without even a bronze medal, it was another run that saved his life from marauding murderers. Innocent, hardworking millions suddenly found one night that they had become refugees in their own homeland because of some callous politicians who gave precedence to their own self-interest ahead of genuine public service.

Born in Llyalpur (now Faisalabad in Pakistan) in 1935, he witnessed the murder of his parents and relatives at the time of the Partition of the sub-continent. The young Sikh managed to escape. He just ran and ran. There was no time to think, no time to collect anything, no time to plan. He hid himself under a railway-coach compartment that made its way to India. Or, perhaps, in the ladies toilet of a train, according to another version. His memories of certain incidents are crystal clear. But a lot of it is only a blur. It is not possible for one to remember details when one is desperately trying to save one’s life from assassins.

Milkha’s case was multiplied by millions who had to flee from the newly-declared country of Pakistan. The mass exodus of the population on either extreme of India – Bengal and Punjab – brought forth misery unfathomable. Self-centred political leaders deprived innocent people of their lives, limbs, land and livelihood. Milkha was no exception as a haunted refugee.

In India the young Sikh found refuge in the Indian Army. It was the Indian Army that gave him the opportunity to pursue his fancy: the will to run and to compete with the best. With each passing day, the young jawan of the Indian Army breezed through and breasted the tape way ahead of all others. Army meets he won with ease. National championships he won again with ease. Now international exposure was required. But where would the money come from? Who would help to arrange and organize? Invariably the House of Patiala came to the rescue, as they had done to Indian sports and sportsmen for decades.

What Milkha achieved in his Rome Olympic defeat was much, much more than what he achieved in his innumerable victories. His exploits revealed to the athletic world a glimpse of Asia emerging as a sporting giant. He was an Indian first and an Indian till the last. But he was also Asia’s favourite athlete all along. Very few sportsmen can lay claim to such heights of fame and adoration despite being an Olympic non-medalist.

More than any of his various victories around the world, it was Milkha’s failure to win a medal at Rome in 1960 that gave him immortal fame.  People hardly remember any of his outstanding performances over world-famed sprinters. Ironically, it was his missing an Olympic medal that made him a legend in the eyes of his countrymen!

Doubt if any other sportsman has been eulogized to such an extent for not having won any Olympic honours. Such was the appeal and the mass admiration for this superlative athlete.