India As A Race

In my mind I see 20 7th and 8th grade boys lining up at the curved starting line, jockeying for position to begin the 800 meter race. Feet – some shod, some bare – inch towards and over the chalked line, seeking any bit of overlooked advantage they can get away with. The official barks, “ON YOUR MARK . . . SET . . .”


“BANG!” claps the wooden starter blocks – triggering a stampede of pre-pubescent stallions around the track.

In the frenzy of the mass start, every boy aims for the inside lap and converges in a packed swarm of churning legs – spitting out those who have lost balance and fallen in its dusty wake. The mob begins to stretch out, revealing the true abilities of the runners after the initial surge of adrenaline begins to wear off.

The hasty and ambitious lead for a while until they tire and are swallowed by the pack. The slow trudge willingly along, attempting to avoid the shame of last place. And those who run at a steady pace slowly inch their way to the front of the shifting line to eventually cross the finish and claim their winning honors. Ah, victory!


For two days last week, Jennifer and I had the honor of helping officiate the annual Sports Days competition for the Bhawan Vidyalaya. Since there are only 4 running tracks in a city of nearly 1 million people, this involves renting out the nearest track for a couple of days so the students could have inter-class competitions. The top three winners of each event will eventually go on to compete with the other top athletes from each school in Chandigarh.

I was the timer. Armed with the athletic director’s Nokia cell phone set on ‘Stopwatch’ and lightning fast fingers, my job was to get the splits for the first 3 or 4 finishers of each race. It took extreme concentration and, more often than not, a little creative fudging to relay the times to the recorder as sometimes the button would catch, my timing was interrupted by an incoming call or two students finished inches apart. Since no Olympic records were broken, my conscience remained clear.


Whether donning spikes or barefeet, skirts or track pants, tank tops or sweaters, the students didn't seem at all to mind their outfits. Each smilingly gave their best in competition.


That's not a coconut folks.


Though better dressed for a polo match, this jumper set the mark.


This little guy hung there for 3 minutes for me just so I could get this picture.


Jen briefly switched roles from finish line spotter to celebrity medal awarder. Not to worry, no podium smooches were bestowed.

It was indeed a fine day to see India's future giving their best.

Jimmy