The Race of My Life by Sonia Sanwalka Milkha Singh Page A

When we reached Diatchi hotel, the place we were staying, hordes of people had gathered outside, waiting for me. I was mobbed when I got off the bus, some people even thrust autograph books at me. Suddenly, Mr Kumar was at my side. He grabbed my arm and led me away, saying, ‘Please don’t get distracted by all this. Concentrate on your practice and the event. I have collected the autograph books and you can sign them in your room. I will return them to their owners.’ He then turned to the crowds and said, ‘I request you all to please excuse us so that the athletes can settle down in their rooms and rest after their long journey.’
    When we entered the hotel, the receptionist greeted us, saying, ‘We have received many telephonic enquiries about Milkha Singh. Kindly give us a time when we can hold a press conference.’
    Mr Kumar replied, ‘We have just arrived after a long journey and are tired, so at this moment it will not be possible for Milkha Singh to meet anyone. We request all well-wishers to excuse us for now. If they can come to the hotel tomorrow morning at 11, Milkha Singh will be at their disposal.’
    My roommate on this trip was Parduman Singh, who had for many years been the Indian and Asian champion for shot-put and discus. We were both gratified by the affection that we had received but could not understand why this was so.
    In the bathroom, I looked at my face in the mirror—my eyes were bloodshot and I looked tired. At the same time I was flushed with joy. I smiled at my reflection, wondering how an ordinary person like me could receive such a hero’s welcome. I soaked in the tub for a while and then went to the dining room. When I entered, I saw flashes of recognition on the faces of the other diners and was greeted warmly by everyone. My English was still weak, even after all the lessons I had received, and I found it difficult to respond to their queries.
    At the dining table, Mr Kumar told us all about Tokyo and its famous sights, its clubs, nightlife and fast-paced lifestyles. He warned us not to leave the hotel at night, and said that whoever disobeyed this order, would face strict disciplinary action and be sent back home. He added that after the Games, we would be allowed to stay on and then we could do what we liked. His warning was timely, because Japanese society, like Australia’s, was open and sexually progressive. We retired to our rooms early because we had to report for practice at 8 a.m. the next morning.
    At 7 a.m. our doorbell rang. When I opened the door I saw a pretty girl, all dressed in white, standing there holding a tea tray in her hands. She bowed and politely wished me ‘Good morning.’ She entered the room, put the tray down and asked me, ‘How much sugar do you take? Would you prefer milk or a slice of lemon?’ When I repeated what she had asked to Parduman, he protested, saying, ‘She has not wished me “good morning”. Tell her to send another girl up to serve me tea.’
    The poor girl looked bewildered, so I asked her to sit down and explained. Smilingly, she poured the tea and handed the cups to us. As we chatted, I discovered that she, like many other young girls, came from good families and worked at the hotel to earn money so they could continue their education. They cleaned the rooms, made beds, washed and ironed clothes, as well as did other chores that made a hotel guest’s stay comfortable.
    After we drank our tea, we changed into our running kits and left by bus for the stadium that was about three miles away. Teams from all over Asia had collected on the grounds, practising with great enthusiasm—I was electrified by the highly charged atmosphere. When we walked in, all eyes were turned towards us. Cameras clicked as I started to warm-up. Film units took action photographs of me from different angles. We practised for two hours and then returned to the hotel for the press conference.
    For about forty-five minutes, the journalists asked me