The Race of My Life by Sonia Sanwalka Milkha Singh Page A
Authors: Sonia Sanwalka Milkha Singh
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we flew off at lightning speed.
I started off by being ahead of the others, and at the 250-metre mark, I was running so perilously fast that I decided to slow down in case I collapsed—a fatal decision I regret even to this day. As I completed 300 metres, the three competitors right behind me came abreast and began to move ahead, and even though I increased my speed, trying desperately to catch up with Spence, who I had beaten at Cardiff, or the two before him, I could not wipe out the deficit of those six or seven yards. And thus, as fate would have it, my error of judgment at that crucial point in the race, had dragged me to the fourth position and destroyed all my chances of winning that elusive Olympic gold.
Yet, it was a very close race, where the top positions were decided through a photo finish, which meant that the announcements were delayed. The suspense was excruciating. When the results were declared, all four of us—Davis, Kaufmann, Spence and I—had shattered the previous Olympic record of 45.9 seconds. Davis had come first with 44.9 seconds; Kaufmann was second with the same time of 44.9 seconds and Spence third with 45.5 seconds. Even though I had come fourth, my timing of 45.6 seconds was still a new record.
I felt completely bereft and humiliated by what had happened. I had scaled the heights of success and now the decline had set in. I knew no one can remain on the top forever. I had dominated the global sports scene for several years and it was time to go. I felt that I could not return to India in this dejected frame of mind, and so participated in competitions in London, Denmark, Sweden and Norway. And then it was time to get back home. On the flight back, I drank copiously to drown my sorrow and landed in Bombay in an inebriated condition, tired and filled with self-loathing. This time, however, there were no adoring crowds waiting eagerly to welcome me, just a few members of the press. Several well-wishers tried to console me, saying that one loss was not the end of the world and that other prestigious awards awaited me, but I remained adamant that my days as a sportsman were over.
Next day, my retirement was headline news. Many fans and supporters sent letters of regret, begging me to re-consider my decision. They said that Milkha Singh was not an ordinary individual, but the custodian of India’s honour in the sports world, and that I must continue to run, not for private gain, but for the glory of my country. Despite the defeat, I was still the hope of Indian athletes, they insisted. Thus, goaded by pressure from the press and sports officials, and the support of friends I rescinded my decision. After a short period of ‘mourning’, I resumed my practice again.
All through my life, I have been tormented by the fatal mistake I made in Rome on the day of the 400-metre race. I knew that I could have won, but perhaps, luck was not on my side that day. The one medal I had yearned for throughout my career had just slipped through my fingers because of one small error of judgement. Even today, if I look back on my life, there are only two incidents that still haunt me—the massacre of my family during Partition and my defeat at Rome.
14
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From Sports to Administration
n 1959, Gurnam Singh Tir, the Punjab government’s public relations officer, had kindly fixed an appointment for me with the chief minister of Punjab, Sardar Pratap Singh Kairon, who was a towering political figure in Punjab and wielded immense power at the state as well as national level. The little I knew about him was what I had gleaned from newspapers, but as a sportsman I had little understanding about the nature of politics and the extent of influence a politician commands. In our meeting, Kairon asked me probing questions about the state of Indian sports and why our athletes performed so poorly in the international arena, unlike their counterparts from other countries who won large numbers of gold
I started off by being ahead of the others, and at the 250-metre mark, I was running so perilously fast that I decided to slow down in case I collapsed—a fatal decision I regret even to this day. As I completed 300 metres, the three competitors right behind me came abreast and began to move ahead, and even though I increased my speed, trying desperately to catch up with Spence, who I had beaten at Cardiff, or the two before him, I could not wipe out the deficit of those six or seven yards. And thus, as fate would have it, my error of judgment at that crucial point in the race, had dragged me to the fourth position and destroyed all my chances of winning that elusive Olympic gold.
Yet, it was a very close race, where the top positions were decided through a photo finish, which meant that the announcements were delayed. The suspense was excruciating. When the results were declared, all four of us—Davis, Kaufmann, Spence and I—had shattered the previous Olympic record of 45.9 seconds. Davis had come first with 44.9 seconds; Kaufmann was second with the same time of 44.9 seconds and Spence third with 45.5 seconds. Even though I had come fourth, my timing of 45.6 seconds was still a new record.
I felt completely bereft and humiliated by what had happened. I had scaled the heights of success and now the decline had set in. I knew no one can remain on the top forever. I had dominated the global sports scene for several years and it was time to go. I felt that I could not return to India in this dejected frame of mind, and so participated in competitions in London, Denmark, Sweden and Norway. And then it was time to get back home. On the flight back, I drank copiously to drown my sorrow and landed in Bombay in an inebriated condition, tired and filled with self-loathing. This time, however, there were no adoring crowds waiting eagerly to welcome me, just a few members of the press. Several well-wishers tried to console me, saying that one loss was not the end of the world and that other prestigious awards awaited me, but I remained adamant that my days as a sportsman were over.
Next day, my retirement was headline news. Many fans and supporters sent letters of regret, begging me to re-consider my decision. They said that Milkha Singh was not an ordinary individual, but the custodian of India’s honour in the sports world, and that I must continue to run, not for private gain, but for the glory of my country. Despite the defeat, I was still the hope of Indian athletes, they insisted. Thus, goaded by pressure from the press and sports officials, and the support of friends I rescinded my decision. After a short period of ‘mourning’, I resumed my practice again.
All through my life, I have been tormented by the fatal mistake I made in Rome on the day of the 400-metre race. I knew that I could have won, but perhaps, luck was not on my side that day. The one medal I had yearned for throughout my career had just slipped through my fingers because of one small error of judgement. Even today, if I look back on my life, there are only two incidents that still haunt me—the massacre of my family during Partition and my defeat at Rome.
14
----
From Sports to Administration
n 1959, Gurnam Singh Tir, the Punjab government’s public relations officer, had kindly fixed an appointment for me with the chief minister of Punjab, Sardar Pratap Singh Kairon, who was a towering political figure in Punjab and wielded immense power at the state as well as national level. The little I knew about him was what I had gleaned from newspapers, but as a sportsman I had little understanding about the nature of politics and the extent of influence a politician commands. In our meeting, Kairon asked me probing questions about the state of Indian sports and why our athletes performed so poorly in the international arena, unlike their counterparts from other countries who won large numbers of gold
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