Come on Chote!
The Burnpur United Club Ground was the largest stadium I had access to, growing up. A football ground, surrounded by a grass track, it could accommodate around 12,000 people or maybe the number was lesser but, in my memory, it felt like a cauldron on days that it was packed.
Conveniently located close to the most important parts of the town, it played host to my first race, and first sports quiz ever too, but as I was running adjacent to a beach on a very stormy day in Edinburgh, some 8000 kilometers away, I reminisced the inter-school sports meets that would be hosted at the BUC Stadium, as it was called.
My only appearance in one of these was quite eventful to say the least - I was never really an athletic kid to begin with – I used to love running but I wasn’t great, neither did I show any inclination to get better at it. And it didn’t pinch till I got to high school at least – I figured that despite me playing cricket which I was decent at, I was restricted to doing the march past or indulge in some stupid drill during these sports meets. People weren’t clapping for that – they were attending these meets to see the races and thus in Class XI, I made up my mind to try and do well in the shorter distance running events. Turns out I wasn’t so bad after all, as I made it to our team for a bunch of events. The first of them was the most important though, the inter-house medley relay – two girls and two boys per team to run 100 meters each and determine which team would soar to a lead in the overall standings.
I was quietly confident ahead of this, as my friend Neha who was in our team was perhaps the best runner that whole region had seen – she and I studied together for 14 years and I didn’t see her lose a single race – not a heat, not a recess-time fun race, and definitely not one in a competition. Our anchor, Prasun and Swarnakshi who was running the second leg was a solid runner too – in between, on the third leg, I was perhaps the weakling. As the start of the race approached, I made a last minute call to run barefoot and in a typical schoolboy type incident, a fellow participant decided to step on my feet with his spikes! Some scuffing and several “I will see you outside”s later, the race was set to start – my left foot was bloodied but that couldn’t have been an excuse to sit out of this one.
As the whistle went, Neha did what we expected her to – hand over in lead to the second runner who tried hard but was clearly struggling as she made it to me – I had tried to make the most of the extended ‘exchange zone’ so that I could run two curves, which, with my longer limbs would have been easier to navigate. As I grabbed the baton and kicked I felt really good – I could hear the usual ‘Mishra! Mishra!’ in the background – around 70 meters in though, my feet started to hurt and I started to lose a little steam. I distinctly remember this being just before the final turn – I wasn’t going to give in though, and as I tried to regain my stride, I heard a roaring “Come on Chote” – it wasn’t from the stands nearby – in fact it was from the grandstand, quite far from where I was. My father who was a coach had let go of this scream and it filled me up with a sense of fear that I would let him down; I must have run really well after that because by the time Prasun took over from me, we had a 10 meter lead!
Fast forward 19 years, this July, as Maa and Papa made it to the UK for their anniversary trip, I carefully curated a schedule which would let me run the Edinburgh half marathon. It was made even more special with my friends Billy and Hamza making their way from Bristol and London for the same. I was quite overjoyed to be running alongwith friends but more importantly in front of my parents after that eventful day in BUC!
The organiser had faced some issues leading up to the event and the race was curtailed to runners doing a 5.25 kilometer loop 4 times – it was right next to the ocean though and thus people didn’t seem to mind that. What was a little off putting for me though was the weather - it was perhaps a little too cold already and to make matters worse, it started pouring heavily around half an hour in to the race. Not the best of conditions but while we were there, it made little sense to fret over these bits. As we started warming up, I asked Maa and Papa to go around the area and indulge in some sightseeing along what seemed like a stunning coastline.
They didn’t take my advice too seriously though, positioning themselves next to the route - I took a picture of Maa sitting on the Marine Drive-sque pavement and Papa standing as the race was about to start. Over the next 100 odd minutes that I took to finish the race, I crossed them 8 times and each time both of them had their phones out trying to locate me in that herd of runners and egging me on.
As the rain persisted, I could see most people trying to rush to the tents for cover – and I wished my parents would do the same but every time I crossed, I could see them ducking under a single umbrella waiting for me to run past. It was overwhelming to say the least – then around the 16th kilometer, the weather went from bad to worse – so terrible that despite having my glasses on, I could barely see anything. I was just following the crowd in front and hoping my feet don’t slip.
Shivering through and with my legs heating up due to excessive lactic, I was toying with the idea of stopping and taking cover till the weather got better. The apt term here would be ‘fading’; not just my body but my mind was fading – it was giving up – this was just another race after all – why did I have to risk injury or catch a cold while attempting to finish this; intertwined between these thoughts, I was aiming to reach the warmth of a tent and then suddenly, I heard the same roar that I did, all those years ago in that inter school relay. “Come on Chote!”
Papa must have sensed that I wasn’t feeling too comfortable and over time he has come to acknowledge that that I react rather positively to his commanding voice - thus there he was ensuring I don’t give up, that I get just that extra push! And I did – scolded myself to not stop – what bigger motivation did I need than my parents being there to watch me finish a race.
The last 5 kilometers or so seemed a lot longer than they were but I had a man who was running with his baby in a pram for company – I told him that my parents were there and how my father would carry me back home in his lap when my legs would get sore after runs when I was really young! He would often offer to carry me past the finish line if I couldn’t do it myself and seeing him run with his daughter made me reminisce – there was a strange connection we built over the next 25 minutes or so, and as we made to the finish line, I pointed to my parents who had placed themselves right next and were holding their phones to record me getting past those final few meters.
The day felt surreal as my account would suggest and perhaps I have overused the word overwhelming by now but that is how it was; recollecting it, I acknowledge that to be able to hand over a medal to Maa isn’t something I would get to experience often. Also, the next time my limbs would be failing in a race, I don’t need to go back to 2005 and the Burnpur United Club Stadium to imagine what “Come on Chote” from Papa sounded like – I can just think of the Edinburgh half marathon on July 6, 2024.