Olympics-The India Story

by Boria Majumdar

  What would have happened had Henry Rebello’s hamstring muscle not snapped during the finals of the triple jump event at London 1948? What would have happened had Milkha Singh not turned back for a quick side glance in the concluding moments of the 400 metres final at Rome in 1960? He could well have added an Olympic medal to his already impressive career record: four gold medals at the Asian Games, a gold in the Commonwealth Games in 1958, victory in 77 of the 80 races he ran in his career, and the ‘Helms World trophy’ in 1959, given by the United States Athletics Federation to the best 400 metres runner in the world. What would have happened had P.T. Usha thrust herself forward a millimetre, enough to nudge ahead of the Romanian Cristina Cojecaru, who caused national heartbreak after the results of the 400 metres hurdles were announced at Los Angeles in 1984? What would have happened had Abhinav Bindra not lost his nerve in the final at Athens in 2004 after qualifying for the ultimate round in third place? Or, as his recently published autobiography reveals, had the floor not been loose under his feet during the final at Athens?

  There are other heartrending stories of men and women who missed the grade narrowly and in so doing, lost their place in the country’s sporting pantheon. Not many remember freestyle wrestler Sudesh Kumar, who in 1972 had come tantalizingly close to winning an Olympic gold medal. Again, few remember that the Indians played quality soccer when they got their first taste of international competition at the London Olympics of 1948. India matched a far superior French side, although it ultimately lost the game 1–2. The barefoot display of quality football impressed many in the West. In fact, India had also qualified for the World Cup in 1950 to be held in Brazil. Despite having a rich band of footballers, however, it could not take part in the only World Cup it qualified for. The most commonly ascribed reasons for this withdrawal are lack of foreign reserves, the barefoot style of play, the long sea journey and apprehensions about India’s chances against the world’s top teams. On the Asian circuit, India began with a bang. It clinched the gold medal in the first Asian Games soccer competition in 1951, beating a booted Iranian side in the final by a solitary goal. The pinnacle of India’s soccer glory was the semi-final appearance as the first Asian nation at the Melbourne Olympic Games in 1956.2

  India’s Olympic encounter, this chapter will demonstrate, is as much a story of the men and women who have not been given their due. This is because a history of India at the Olympics cannot be complete without an evaluation of the athletes who have been pivotal to the nation’s presence at the Olympics. When Leander Paes won a bronze at Atlanta in 1996 or Rajyavardhan Rathore punched his fists in the air after winning the silver medal at Athens, a billion people were rendered euphoric. Within minutes they became national icons at the pinnacle of sporting glory. Abhinav is even being considered for the Bharat Ratna, India’s highest civilian honour. At the same time, when news trickled in that P.T. Usha had missed the bronze medal at Los Angeles, the country was thrust into a state of national mourning. In a nation where sporting legends are rare, news of such heartbreak often leaves a lasting impact. To put it bluntly, when such things happen, a billion-strong nationalist minds appear to crumble.

  What is significant in this history of iconicity are the varying registers of stardom, especially so in the decades following the advancement of television and India’s commercial revolution in the 1990s. Sports, by the 1980s, had become salve for a troubled nation. For example, K.D. Jadhav’s bronze-medal winning effort in wrestling never found a first-page mention in leading newspapers in 1952. The celebrations were muted and were restricted to the sports pages, which were often inconsequential and insignificant.3 Only the men from his native village, who escorted him with a cavalcade of over 150 cows, gave him a memorable reception. In contrast, Leander Paes’ effort in 1996 was perceived as a ‘national’ triumph, one that was celebrated nationwide amidst all classes and vocations. In terms of significance, an Olympic medal in the 1990s appeared to matter much more than in the 1950s when sport was at an all-time low on the national list of priorities. This was yet another reason why athletes who failed to win medals rarely found a mention in India’s nationalist history. Also, hockey had captured the nation’s imagination in such a manner that other sports, team and individual, were not given due recognition.

  To drive home the point, while there were a series of celebrations countrywide when the hockey team returned in triumph after the Helsinki Games in 1952, K.D. Jadhav’s efforts were hardly given due acknowledgement. The political class, which celebrated hockey as a potent symbol of nationalism, did not treat Jadhav with similar respect even after he had won the first individual Olympic medal for independent India. This explains why Jadhav had to wait until 2001 to posthumously receive the Arjuna award for lifetime contribution to Indian sport and had to build a rather modest cottage by selling his wife’s jewels in his lifetime.4 Hockey’s lasting nationalist significance since the 1920s, detailed in earlier chapters, was the principal reason behind such differential treatment. Politicians and sports administrators wanted to join the hockey bandwagon, just as people today are desirous of getting into the cash-rich Board of Control for Cricket in India.

  This final chapter is also a personal tribute. It is a tribute to some exceptional people who have given India a voice in the biggest sporting realm of all. We remember watching Leander Paes play Andre Agassi at Atlanta in 1996 and the pride we felt each time Paes stunned the crowd with one of his fancy drop shots, too many of which may have ultimately cost him the match. Leander, then ranked 127 in the world, was an average tennis player who raised the bar a series of notches when he donned the national colours at the Olympics. In qualifying for the semi-finals, Leander upset four competitors ranked higher than him in the ATP rankings. This was a player who by sheer force of his passion and rage transcended ‘his averageness when his nation’s flag flew’,5 a rare non-cricketing hero who moved India like no other, a tennis player who was to be hailed as the ‘spiritual leader’ of a new movement of ‘the art of the possible’.6 We also remember the elation in the voice of the All India Radio newsreader when she revealed to the nation Karnam Malleswari’s feat, finally getting Indian women into the Olympic medal winner’s list. And we certainly remember watching with bated breath Rajyavardhan Rathore shoot his way to silver around 4 p.m. in the afternoon in India, becoming in the process the first Indian to win a silver medal in an individual event. Finally we remember Abhinav Bindra shooting a miraculous 10.7 in his final shot at Beijing giving India her first individual gold at the Games. At the same time, we remember as children the heart-wrenching gloom at school and in our localities when inexperience cost P.T. Usha the bronze at Los Angeles. Having won her semi-final, Usha, someone we had never seen or heard of before, was truly at the centre of our nationalist imagination in 1984. When the serious-looking DD newsreader on the black and white television set made the announcement, the sense of loss and sympathy extended far beyond the sporting realm—everyone, including our grandmothers, could empathize with the poor Indian girl who was believed to have been let down by the lack of modern training. If only she had bent her body forward as she crossed the finishing line, if only someone had told her—the conversations went on for days after the competition was over. In a country where sporting achievements were few and far between and where pathos is an enduring theme in popular culture, the misfortune of P.T. Usha struck a chord and turned her into a legend. Despite having failed to win a medal, Usha became a national icon and a symbol of women’s empowerment at the same time.

  Finally, the entire nation jumped with Anju Bobby George each time she started her run to the pit at Athens. Her jump of 6.83 metres may not have been good enough for a medal but it was enough to make her the poster girl of Indian athletics for some time. This is what the Tribune had to say about her on the eve of the Olympics: ‘For a Syrian Christian girl from the remote village of Cheeranchira in Kottayam district of Kerala, an Olympic gold was farthest from her dream when she took to athletics at school, at the p
rodding of her businessman father K.T. Markose. She had the height, the stride and the stamina to become a long jumper of promise, but nobody told her that she was Olympic medal prospect, not even Markose’. It went on to suggest that ‘Anju has shed gallons of tears and sweat to prepare for Athens Olympics 2004. She has been toiling with the one-pointed aim of striking gold at Athens’.7 Coming from the great tradition of women’s athletics in Kerala, Anju was the first Indian long-jumper to win gold at the Asiad, to land a Commonwealth bronze, and then the first Indian of any sex to win a World Championship bronze in 2003.8 She could never replicate those efforts at the Olympics but her emergence was symbolic of a new resurgence, a sense that Indians could compete in the athletics track—in events that they had never competed in before.

  THE EARLY HEROES

  Among the early heroes, barring the hockey gold-medal winning teams, was surely K.D. Jadhav, the first individual medal winner for India at the Games. At Helsinki in 1952, Jadhav started the competition in terrific form, winning all his early bouts. Such was his performance that he was assured of a medal even before he fought his last two fights on 22 July.9 Whether or not complacency had crept in, history will never know. What is known is that had Jadhav not lost both of his last bouts, he would have managed a higher podium finish.

  This is how the Times of India celebrated his achievement: ‘History was created here today when India, who has been competing in the Olympic Games since 1924 gained a place in the individual honours list for the first time through K.D. Jadhav, the bantamweight wrestler, who won a bronze medal. Although Jadhav was today beaten by Russia’s Roshind Mahmed Bekov (gold medal) and Japan’s Shihii in a points decision (silver medal) he gained his place with a series of brilliant bouts during the last week’.10 The newspaper went on to describe Jadhav’s bout against the Russian in detail:

  Although Jadhav was aggressive and a good trier, able to equal the formidable Russian’s skill he was unable to match his strength and this weighed the scales against him. The Russian won all three periods. In the first Jadhav jerked him down but was himself twisted over in falling and narrowly escaped a fall. Bekov had the Indian in difficulties after that but Jadhav always wriggled clear.11

  What made Jadhav’s performance all the more significant was that the rules at international contests were different from the rules followed in India. While Indian wrestlers were used to winning simply by putting their opponents flat on their backs, international rules specified that the opponent had to be pinned for two seconds on the canvas with their shoulders touching the mat before a fall verdict could be declared. Jadhav had learnt of this rule in London four years earlier when Reese Garder, the US lightweight champion, who had trained the Indian wrestlers for a week before the Games, coached him. In London, Jadhav had finished sixth in a field of 42.12

  Jadhav is now a forgotten man in the annals of Indian sport but his story is one of true grit and resilience. The manner in which he made it to Helsinki is nothing short of thrilling. Gulu Ezekiel describes it thus:

  Jadhav’s berth to Helsinki was sought to be sabotaged by officials who placed him second in the nationals at Madras. But Jadhav fought the system by writing a protest letter to the Maharaja of Patiala who intervened on his behalf.

  Back then, those representing the country in most sports had to fend for themselves and arrange their own funding. Friends and neigbhours helped out with the shopkeepers of Karad arranging to buy his kit. It was the remarkable sacrifice of the principal of Raja Ram College, Mr Khardekar who sold his house to get the funds needed for the trip, that finally saw Jadhav on his way to Helsinki.13

  Another Indian wrestler who distinguished himself at Helsinki was K.D. Mangave, who eventually finished fourth in the featherweight category. Mangave bowed out of medal contention in the fifth round when Josiah Henson of the United States beat him. However, as the American had four bad marks and had gained another against Mangave, he too was eliminated from the medal race.14

  While Jadhav had a medal to show for his performances, Henry Rebello was distinctly unlucky in the London Games of 1948. A young 19-year-old triple jumper, Rebello was a favourite to clinch gold, having shown exemplary promise in meets preceding the Games and consistently jumping over 50 metres, a distance covered by the eventual gold-medal winner at London.15 Rated very high by experts, Rebello had qualified for the finals with ease with a jump of 49 feet, easily clearing the cut-off of 48 feet 6 inches. But as luck would have it, he tore a muscle during his first jump in the final and had to be carried off the field in pain in one of the worst tragedies in India’s athletic history. This is how he later described his fate:

  We were huddled in our tracksuits and under blankets to keep ourselves warm. I was training with Ruhi Sarialp of Turkey when it was time for my turn. I was wondering how to approach the event. Should I go for a big jump in my first effort or keep it till the third or fourth attempt? I took off the track suit and was getting ready when an official suddenly stopped me as a prize distribution ceremony was about to commence near the jumping pit.16

  When he was asked to commence his jump 15 minutes later, Rebello committed two follies that transformed his life:

  I was just 19-and-a-half and inexperienced. I should have insisted on some time for warming up. That was my first mistake—not to warm-up. My second was to go flat out on my first jump. We had a total of six and I should have taken things easy at the start…I approached the takeoff board at considerable speed. I got my takeoff foot on the board and started to take off for the first phase of the triple jump—the hop. Then, suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my right hamstring muscle and heard a sort of ‘thwack’ like the snapping of a bowstring. My right hamstring muscle had ruptured. I was thrown off balance completely and landed with a tumble in the pit.17

  Rebello, as Gulu Ezekiel has written, ‘was carried off a on stretcher in agony. His hopes and dreams had been crushed’.18

  Others who did well in the early years after independence were Lavy Pinto and Nilima Ghosh. They performed better than they had ever done at home at the Helsinki Games of 1952. Pinto ran his 200 metres in a time of 21.5 seconds, his best ever. Commenting on Pinto, the Times of India noted, ‘India’s ace sprinter Lavy Pinto, the fastest man in Asia after a slow beginning, finished with an electrifying burst of speed to nose out France’s Bonino for second place in the eleventh heat of the 100 meters and so make the second round…’19

  If Helsinki was an Olympiad where India’s individual contestants fared well, Melbourne 1956 will forever be remembered as the finest hour for Indian soccer. This was the only time in its soccer history that India made the Olympic semi-final, defeating hosts Australia 4–2. Commenting on the performance, the Hindu, saw in it the start of a glorious Indian innings in the global game: ‘Indian football made new history this afternoon when she scored a deserving 4–2 victory over Australia…N.D. Souza was in grand form to secure a hattrick… India richly deserved her victory. This should take her a long way in international football…’20

  Even in the semi-final against Yugoslavia, which India lost 1–4 the team was not disgraced. The Hindu, in fact, hailed India’s performance against the fancied Yugoslavs in glowing terms. ‘The stock of Indian soccer shot high up today when India met Yugoslavia in the semi-final of the Olympic soccer tournament in spite of the fact that India lost four goals to one. After the conclusion of the match the President of the International Football Federation Mr J. McGuire accompanied by FIFA Secretary Kurt Gassman and Sir Stanley Rous came to the Indian dressing room and warmly congratulated the Indian team on its fine performance. Sir Stanley further conveyed the Duke of Edinburgh’s congratulations who asked Sir Stanley to convey the Duke’s felicitations to the Indian team. The Duke was an interested spectator throughout.’21

  In the semi-final, the Indians had managed to hold the Yugoslavs at bay in the first half and had in fact taken the lead in the fifth minute of the second half. Also, had P.K. Banerjee not left the field, injured in the second h
alf, the result may well have been different, something Banerjee talks about with passion. ‘It was certainly our highest hour. We had a great tournament and I personally was in the best form of my life. Against Yugoslavia I had to leave the field and that’s when things turned against us. Though we did not win a medal, I’ll always remember with great fondness our performance at Melbourne.’22

  OH, MILKHA! THE FIRST NATIONAL HEARTBREAK

  Even a week before the start of the Rome Olympics, Milkha Singh was considered to be the favourite for the 400 metres gold. Vince Reel, the American assistant coach to the Indian track team, was confident that Singh would win a medal, maybe even gold. Such hope was based on the fact that Milkha was in peak physical condition at Rome. His training was described by the Hindu in some detail: ‘India’s great hope has been devoting between an hour and an hour and a half to training every day since his arrival in Rome. He is cutting the distances to sprints of about 150 yards with the object of speeding up.’ ‘If he has not the stamina now, he will never have it’, said Vince Reel, explaining the reason for reducing the distances.23 What was expected to go in his favour in Rome was the tremendous heat which, Milkha Singh was confident, was sure to bother the others in the fray. Christopher Brasher, steeplechase winner at the Melbourne Games, also fancied Milkha Singh and suggested that he had a great chance of a podium finish for two reasons: his form and more importantly the schedule, which ensured that the semi-final and final were run on consecutive days and not on the same day as had been past practice. This was expected to help Milkha more than some of the other competitors.