For all the nationalism that attaches itself to sport, the effort is also singular and personal. So, enjoy the best and appreciate the rest
The ultimate Olympian, for my generation, was the runner Milkha Singh. This is not to take anything away from India’s legendary hockey team and its Olympic exploits. But Singh was the lone runner, running against the system, running for us. He came fourth in the 400 metres final at the Rome Olympics of 1960 — before I was born — but his speed and his commitment made him a household name. For another generation, it was PT Usha, whose run in the 1984 Olympics mimicked Singh’s — she also missed a bronze medal by a hair’s breadth.
Monica Puig (C) won the first gold medal for Puerto Rico. Seen here with silver medallist, Germany’s Angelique Kerber (L), and bronze medallist, Czech Republic’s Petra Kvitova (R) after the women’s singles tennis event at the Olympics. Pic/AFP
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I am not going to get into the usual arguments about how India has traditionally been happy with too little, or alternatively, the opposite position of being bogged down by its own tall expectations. I leave that to people who are better placed to answer questions of sports management or cultural psychology. But like anyone who watches sport, I find the chase and the integrity of effort fascinating and thrilling.
The motto of the Olympics —Citius, Altius, Fortius or Faster, Higher, Stronger — is about that human quality to try and better oneself. And for all the nationalism that attaches itself to sport, the effort is also singular and personal. You are pitted against the world’s best, you have reached there after gruelling selection processes, you have pushed yourself beyond your best limits — all those embody the essence of sport.
The fact that the world’s jaw collectively drops at the exploits of swimmer Michael Phelps — 23 gold medals — and runner Usain Bolt — three 100m gold medals at three successive Olympic Games — has nothing to do with nationalism. How can you not be in awe of such prowess and how miserable are you as a person that you cannot appreciate greatness beyond the prism of patriotism?
And then, there’s nationalism. You can’t dismiss that either. Take tennis player Monica Puig of Puerto Rico. Puig came into the Games ranked 34 in the world and had only once in her career defeated a Top 5 player. No regular tennis watcher could have foreseen that she would defeat French Open champion Garbine Muguruza, two-time Wimbledon champion Petra Kvitova and Australian Open champion Angelique Kerber on the way to gold. But Puig denied the odds, played out of her skin and gave Puerto Rico its first Olympic gold. You never can tell.
And that’s why you do it. My heart breaks for all those athletes who did not achieve what they set out to do as much as it soars for those who broke all barriers in front of them. So what if Dipa Karmakar’s death-defying vaults did not win her a medal? She showed us that she can do us proud with the best in the world.
The wonders of television allowed us in India to watch the 1976 Montreal Games. Later, we listened enthralled as our sports teacher, Mumbai’s great Jal Pardiwalla, told us how he watched, in first person, the amazing Nadia Comaneci of Romania get her perfect 10s and her three gold medals. And we did not imagine the pain on his face when he watched us fumble over the pommel horse as un-Nadia like as possible. Now years later, the USA’s Simone Biles has displayed those Nadia-like qualities.
My own sporting life was restricted to school but was no less fun for all that. I was a sprinter and could run 100 metres really happily but because I was willing — and undoubtedly stupid — I was pushed into all sorts of events I was no good at and had never practised for. This included trying my hand at javelin, high jump and once, in a moment of madness, the 400 metres.
There was no one else, I was told, and I was the only hope for my “house”. I had never run 400 metres before. So there I was with all the champions. For the first 200 metres I was okay, by 300 metres my lungs burst, by 310 metres, I slowed down. I found another victim behind me, from a rival house. Both of us looked at each other, laughed and walked the rest of way. I finished the race. But sometimes you know that you just can’t go Citius any more!
I leave the judgment to the rest of you. For me, the Olympics is about enjoying the best and appreciating the rest!
Ranjona Banerji is a senior journalist. You can follow her on twitter @ranjona
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