Neeraj Chopra’s historic gold medal for India in javelin has somewhat muted self-criticism that a country of 130 crores does so poorly at the Olympics. If there was a gold medal for griping, we would have won it hands down.
The latest to be blamed are Indian parents, who, wherever they are, don’t encourage their children to pursue sports as a career, as evidenced by the fact that not one of the USA’s 113 medals was won by an American of India origin.
What we fail to appreciate is that in India, life itself is an endurance sport, beginning with commuting. Take for instance, boarding a local train during ‘crush hour’ in Mumbai. Charging at an oncoming train while muscling out fellow commuters, and then timing your leap to perfection requires the guts of a gladiator and the nimbleness of a gymnast.
A tiny miscalculation means that you can be swallowed by the three-foot gap between the platform and the footboard. Millions of office-goers participate in this extreme sport daily, but all that the winner gets is a window seat. Can any amount of ‘training’ ever prepare a Western athlete for the Virar Fast?
In fact, commuting by local trains in Mumbai has so many disciplines that it is an Olympic in itself. Those who fail to get a window seat compete for a perch on the footboard. This mean hanging out of the train on two fingers and two toes, while dodging signal poles, and fellow contestants in trains passing you by. Four contestants, sorry commuters, perish in the act every day but this, by no means, is the deadliest sport.
The riskiest sport is sky-riding; simply getting on to the roof of a moving local train by swinging your legs from the door to the window grill and heaving your body to the top. Once here, the breeze dries up your sweat in a jiffy and you can look down on the lesser mortals, provided you steer clear of the 25,000- volt pantographs and duck under the bridges. Forget Western sportsmen, Spiderman would think twice about doing this.
Boarding a train and getting a window seat is one thing, but getting out of the train at a midway station is quite another thing, sorry sport. This calls for deep reserves of energy for penetrating a dense human wall, six to seven-man thick.
Commuters packed between the doors are so resentful of those sitting inside that they gang up against the man trying to alight. This is akin to extreme rugby, but with no half-time breaks. The squeeze can also leave players with rugby balls.
As if this is not enough, commuters brace themselves for the next event after alighting from the train. Thanks to the potholes, which have opened up in the rains and the manholes that are left open to drain the water, the sprint to catch the bus to the office is a steeplechase. Only, this has to be done with a briefcase in one hand.
While athletes from the First World would take a day to recuperate, our unsung athletes slog nine hours at the office and then repeat the grueling routine on the homeward journey. The winners reach home in time to watch the Olympics.
