“ TAKE THINGS SPORTINGLY’’

KC Kothandapani (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

KC Kothandapani (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

We were at the big Nike shop on Brigade Road in Bengaluru (Bangalore) having a look at the shoes and apparel around, when a young salesman on the second floor mentioned of his new found interest – running.

As the conversation progressed, he invited us to a small room behind the sales floor with posters of running, including one from what appeared to be the Bengaluru chapter of the Nike Run Club (NRC). Prominent in the photo was the gentleman we had met just the day before at the city’s Kanteerava Stadium.

Krishnaswamy Naidu Chakrapani Kothandapani or K.C. Kothandapani as he is known had given us a true runner’s appointment – meet at 7.30 AM. It was pleasant in Bengaluru at that hour, adequate proof for why many runners – professional and amateur – choose the city to train in. There were people running loops on the track at Kanteerava Stadium. Towards one of the curved ends of the track, a group of people were engaged in stretching. A man, distinctly athletic in bearing, stood among them, a file of papers in his hand. We were looking for a person we hadn’t met before. All we knew was – he is runner and coach. It has to be the one with the papers, we concurred. We were right. The restaurant outside the stadium served as venue for conversation. He had breakfast with his fellow runners, then, came over to join us. A young runner concerned about a detail in his training requested a minute from “ Pani Sir.’’ Matter addressed the coach spoke to us; he spoke in a composed, measured fashion.

1982-83 Air Force team prior to taking part in the Inter Services Athletics Championship held in Kochi, Kerala (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

The 1982-83 Indian Air Force team – Kothandapani in foreground, second from left – prior to taking part in the Inter Services Athletics Championship held in Kochi, Kerala (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

K.C. Kothandapani is among the best known coaches for running in Bengaluru, probably India. He is often, a podium finisher in his age category at races in the city and elsewhere. At the 2016 Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM), he finished second in the full marathon in the 55-60 years age category, completing the race in 3:42:12. Fifty eight years old when we met him, he was born November 1957 at Saidapet in Chennai, the eldest of three brothers and three sisters. The family was Telugu speaking; Kothandapani’s father worked at the Mysore State Electricity Board, the progenitor of today’s swankier sounding BESCOM. Young Kothandapani’s education was in Karnataka. “ I used to play some games in childhood. Mostly cricket,’’ he said. He matured to be a fast bowler, good enough to play in the initial rungs of league level cricket. Upon completing his college education, Kothandapani had to immediately look for a job as his family was big and he was the eldest son. In 1976, he applied to the Indian Air Force (IAF), joining the service in 1977. The first chapter therein was a 52 week-long training program at Belgaum in north Karnataka. At the training centre, for the first six months, he took to boxing. Then, for the local games he was drafted to run the 800m. That was the beginning of his relationship with running.

Kothandapani nearing the finishing line at the 1987 Air Force Cross Country Championship, Mt Abu, Rajasthan

Kothandapani crossing the finishing line at the 1987 Air Force Cross Country Championship, Mt Abu, Rajasthan

After training at Belgaum, he was posted to the IAF station at Kanpur, which fell under the Air Force’s Maintenance Command. There he formally got coached to be a runner. In his first year at Kanpur over enthusiasm earned him running injuries. Recovery entailed systematic training. “ In my case, everything was there from day one,’’ Kothandapani said of how the armed forces approached sports and how that in turn left its mark on him as a coach known for systematic approach. In his early days in the Air Force, he ran the 800m and 1500m, getting podium finishes in these disciplines. These were typically distances, athletes ran with spikes. “ I never used to run in shoes at that time. I ran barefoot,’’ Kothandapani said. Realizing that the use of spikes diminished with distance he shifted out from the 1500m and 800m, to cross country races. At that time, the standard distance for cross country was 14 km (today it is 12 km). He learnt soon enough that barefoot and cross country can be testing on one’s soles. He began using shoes. From this shift onward till he took voluntary retirement from the IAF in 1998, he remained a cross country runner. Except for two occasions; the first of which happened in 1989, when he was posted at Jalahalli in Bengaluru and the Training Command suddenly required a replacement for a marathoner. As part of his training for cross country, Kothandapani used to run long distances on weekends. He stepped in as replacement. The marathon was a team event. Running his first marathon so, he came in third with a timing of 2 hours 49 minutes, his best so far. That position, combined with a colleague’s second place finish in the same marathon, helped Training Command beat Western Command to clinch the championship. Kothandapani ran a second marathon in the IAF in 1992, when he was posted in Allahabad. He finished this race with a timing of 3:12.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Kothandapani retired as a sergeant from the Air Force. Post retirement he worked for some time with a friend who ran a super market. For 10 years, from 1998 to 2008, his training as runner was erratic. Bengaluru’s well known TCS 10k, then called Sunfeast 10k, was the point of serious resumption. In May 2008, he ran at this event for the first time. In the years that followed Kothandapani would finish first in his age category, four times. Till 2008, Kothandapani had trained by himself. Things changed that year when the Nike Run Club (NRC) commenced in Bengaluru; it was the first NRC in India. Sometime in 2009, Kothandapani also suffered a personal tragedy. He and his wife Sujatha had two children – a son, Karthik, and a daughter, Deepshika, who now works with an IT firm. In 2009, Karthik passed away. “ I feel sad when I think about him,’’ Kothandapani said. Running helped the healing process.

“ Many of the committed runners of the city trained with NRC. Every Saturday and Sunday we reported to Kanteerava Stadium for training,’’ he said. It wasn’t long before Kothandapani with many years behind him as runner, became a part of the coaching team at NRC. One of the runners he met through NRC was Thomas Bobby Philip. Although he was new to running, Bobby was a motivated runner, keen to become good at the sport. Bobby and Kothandapani were often running partners. Bobby used to encourage the soft spoken Kothandapani to do something about the wealth of experience he had in running. Thus was born PaceMakers, a group of runners anchored by Kothandapani, training under his guidance. “ I must give full credit for this to Bobby. For one year I dodged him while he persisted with his suggestion. One running group which was doing 12 marathons in 12 months, asked Bobby to coax me into training them. Eventually it worked,’’ Kothandapani said. PaceMakers started off with 7-12 members. As of February 2016, it had 157 members. They run every week on Tuesday, Thursday and either Saturday or Sunday.  On Tuesday, they focus on interval runs on the 400m track at Kanteerava Stadium. On Thursday, it is tempo run, uphill run and fartlek. On Saturday or Sunday, it is a long run.

KC Kothandapani (foreground) and Thomas Bobby Philip (yellow T-shirt at the back) at the 2011 Bengaluru Ultra (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

KC Kothandapani (foreground) and Thomas Bobby Philip (yellow T-shirt at the back) at the 2011 Bengaluru Ultra (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Kothandapani outlined the annual training calendar, which imaginatively uses Bengaluru’s much loved 10k and Mumbai’s SCMM as two main reference points with the Bengaluru Marathon typically scheduled for October, as a third in between. The first five months of training dwell on preparations for the 10k; the year thereafter deals with the half marathon at the Bengaluru Marathon before shifting focus to the full marathon at SCMM. Typically therein for each discipline, the first five weeks focuses on base endurance, the second five weeks blends endurance to speed endurance, the next four weeks concentrates on race strategy and pace and the last week is reserved for tapering, reducing the volume of training by 50 per cent. “ Every fourth week is an easy step-down week, when the training volume is reduced by 50 per cent,’’ Kothandapani said. He is quite particular about warm-up and cool down stretches. The warm-up starts with a four kilometre-run at slow pace followed by 15-20 minutes of dynamic exercises. At the end of the work-out, runners do a two kilometre-jog followed by stretches for about half an hour.

In 2009, Mumbai based-runner Mani Iyer had just finished his first half marathon. Introduced by a friend to Runners for Life (RFL), it was through RFL that he secured his contacts with experienced seniors. Many discussions used to happen on the RFL website; Kothandapani who was then a coach with NRC was a regular at these chats, providing tips and comments. “ He used to regularly share his workouts which included steps to be taken before and after running like warm-up, cool down and hydration.  For every new runner in the half marathon, sub- two hours was prized goal and Pani Sir in those days was a sub-100 minutes half marathon runner,’’ Mani said. Mumbai Road Runners (MRR) is among Mumbai’s best known running groups. On the first Sunday of every month they organize a run from Bandra to NCPA (Nariman Point) in the city, approximately half marathon-distance. For the second anniversary of this run on July 1, 2012, the group invited Kothandapani to join them. Mani recalled the morning of Saturday, a day before the Bandra-NCPA run. On Juhu beach, Kothandapani shared his knowledge on running. “ This was followed by almost an hour of warm-up. It was the most comprehensive warm-up I had done,’’ Mani said.

KC Kothandapani with a memento after the 2012 Bandra-NCPA anniversary run. Also seen are Giles Drego, Milton and Ram Venkatraman (Photo: courtesy Mani Iyer)

Kothandapani with a memento after the 2012 Bandra-NCPA anniversary run in Mumbai. Also seen are Giles Drego, Milton Frank and Ram Venkatraman of MRR (Photo: courtesy Mani Iyer)

On that 2012 trip, Kothandapani stayed with Bhasker Desai. Separated by a few years, Bhasker and Kothandapani sometimes found themselves running in the same age category.  “ We fondly call him Pani Sir. And he truly deserves and earns that suffix! He is not just a good runner, he is a fine gentleman, someone who leads his pack from the front. Yet he is humble and grounded, never making a noise, letting his work speak for itself. He has trained many good runners. Thomas Bobby Philip and Neera Katwal come to mind immediately, just to name two from his band of many,’’ Bhasker said.

Seventy seven years before the Sunfeast 10k run started in Bengaluru, a man was born in England, who would redefine the meaning of running for many picking up the sport in their later years. While Fauja Singh may be the oldest man around running a marathon, Ed Whitlock has timings that would stun any young runner. His Wikipedia page describes him as the oldest man to run a sub-three hours marathon, which he did at the age of 69. His timing was 2:52:47. At the age of 74, he ran the marathon in 2:58:40. He holds the world record for men in the 70-74 years age category with a full marathon run at age 73 in 2:54:48. The Wikipedia page includes a full marathon run in 3:15:54 in the 80-84 years age category. Born March 1931, Whitlock would now be 85 years old. “ I get much inspiration from him,’’ Kothandapani said. Having participated in many races in the domestic circuit, in 2015, Kothandapani travelled to the US to run the Boston and Big Sur marathons. The Boston Marathon is held every April on the third Monday (Patriots Day) while Big Sur in California, follows five days later. For Kothandapani, plans ahead include attempting the world’s oldest ultra marathon, The Comrades, in South Africa in 2017 (for more on The Comrades, please visit this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/the-comrade/).

Kothandapani during The Run of Raramuri Tribe, Bengaluru, 2014 (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

Kothandapani during The Run of Raramuri Tribe, Bengaluru, 2014 (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

We asked Kothandapani what qualities he liked in a runner. On top were the “ four Ds’’ – discipline, dedication, devotion and determination. Second was, remembering to give equal importance for nutrition alongside all the attention awarded for training. Third – adequate importance for rest. “ Sleep is important,’’ he said, adding, “ people are not taking proper rest.’’ He knows the ill effects of inadequate rest well, training people in a city that is the IT capital of India. Companies keep punishing, stressful schedules. It is a pattern of life every emerging Asian economy goes through; decades ago it was Japan, then Korea and the South East Asian economies, then China, now India. As people seek relief from this grind, the number of people trying the physically active lifestyle is growing. Kothandapani recommends that beginners stick to the simple basics first; do the basics for long before loading up on training. Fourth is the principle of specificity – the art of keeping your training relevant and appropriate for desired outcome. Finally and perhaps above all, Kothandapani said, “ be gentle on yourself. People must not take things too seriously. They must not obsess with a goal. You risk feeling dejected if you do so. You must take things sportingly.’’

That last bit stayed in mind.

As the young man at the Nike shop spoke about his running, we dipped into borrowed wisdom and suggested gently: take things slowly, enjoy your running.

Kothandapani at SCMM 2016 (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

Kothandapani at SCMM 2016 (Photo: courtesy Kothandapani)

EVENTS & TIMING:

Bangalore Ultra 2013

50k — 4:47:52 — First — Senior Men.

Marathon

SCMM 2016 3:42:12 – Second – Senior Veteran Category (55 – 65 yrs)

BOSTON FULL MARATHON 2015 – 3:38:06

BIG SUR INTERNATIONAL MARATHON 2015 – 4:11:04

SCMM 2015 – 3:42:57– Fourth – Senior Veteran Category (55–65 Yrs).

SCMM 2014 – 3:35:54 – Second – Senior Veteran Category (55–65 Yrs).

SCMM 2013 — 3:42:32 — Second — Senior Veteran Category (55–65 Yrs).

SCMM 2012 — 3:38:32 — Eleventh — Veteran Category (45–55 Yrs).

Air Force Athletics Championship, Allahabad, (95–96) — 3:12:00 — Second.

Air Force Athletics Championship, Bangalore, (87–88) – 2:59:00 — Third.

Half Marathon

Satara Hill Marathon — 2015 — 1:45:46 — Third — (55-64 Yrs)

Spirit Of Wipro Run – 2015 – 1:38:27.

Ajmera Thump Celebration Run — 2014 — 1:40:10 — Fourth— Senior Men

Airtel Hyderabad Marathon — 2014 — 1:39:49 — First — Super Veteran.

IBM Bluemix Monsoon Marathon — 2014 — 1:33:23 — Fifth — Open Category.

Mysore Celebration Run — 2013 — 1:38:00 — Third — Senior Men.

Airtel Hyderabad Marathon — 2013 — 1:44:25 — First — Super Veteran.

Ajmera Thump Celebration Run — 2013 — 1:42:12 — Third — Senior Men

Mysore Celebration Run — 2012 — 1:40:03 — Third — Senior Men.

Kaveri Trail Half Marathon

2010 — 1:35:20 –Second — Senior Men.

TCS World 10k Bangalore

2015 — 42:58 – First  — U 60 Yrs.

2014 — 44:00 – Fifth – U 60 Yrs.

2013 — 45:16 — First — U 60 Yrs.

2012 — 44:10 — First — U 60 Yrs.

2011— 44:00 — First  — U 60 Yrs.

Sunfeast World 10k Bangalore

2010 — 43:26 — Second — U 60 Yrs.

2009 — 46:43 — Third — U 60 Yrs.

Kaveri Trail Marathon ( KTM )

2009 10k — 42:43 — First — Senior Men.

16th Asia Masters Athletics Championship, Malaysia, Dec 2010

5000m — Sixth — 19:50.7 Sec.

34th National Masters Athletics Championship, Bangalore, June 2013

3000m Steeple Chase — First — 13:39.9 Sec.

5000m Run — Third — 23:08.4 Sec.

10,000m Run — Third — 45:26.4 Sec.

31st National Masters Athletics Championship, Tamil Nadu, Feb, 2010

5000m — Third — 19:50.4 Sec.

Urban Stampede 2010

4 X 5k — Mixed Category — First — 1:22.36 Sec.

Air Force Athletics Championship, Kanpur — (92–93)

3000m Steeple Chase — 00:10:17.19 Sec.

10,000m Run — Third — 00:36:11.00 Sec.

Air Force Athletics Championship, Agra — (81–82)

800m – Third — 00:1:59.0 Sec

1500m – Second — 00:4:12.0 Sec

(The authors, Latha Venkatraman and Shyam G Menon, are independent journalists based in Mumbai. For more on Bhasker Desai please see https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/04/06/from-zanzibar-to-boston-the-bhasker-desai-story/ For more on Thomas Bobby Philip please see https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2016/03/10/in-the-right-sport/)    

REVISITING 1936

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

On the poster of `Race,’ actor Stephen James looks you straight in the eye.

A front shot of the signature Jesse Owens pose, it is an expression of absolute focus; the edge of his palm in line with his nose, splitting his face and creased forehead into two halves. Each half is defined by a raised eyebrow with an eye below preying on a distant object – a finish line. The palm, the creased forehead, the eyebrows, the eyes – they emphasise his concentration to the expense of all else.

What that poster conveys is the strength of Stephen Hopkins’s film. It tells an uncluttered, linear story that is almost a documentary on Jesse Owens. Denied melodrama, the film lets sport and its main protagonist, be noticed. Despite the light physical build of the classical athlete, his position in script is secure. The casting is balanced. The acting is right sized; a powerful actor like Jeremy Irons shines in his role but doesn’t squeeze others out. Amid the simmering race relations in the US of that time, the racist views of the Nazis and the growing danger in Nazism, sport shines through. There is the relation between Coach Larry Snyder and Owens. But I remember more other instances. There is a dialogue in the film, one that speaks the perspective of sport: when you are running there is no black and white; there is only fast and slow. In age of propaganda, we see the equation between Joseph Goebbels and filmmaker Leni Reifenstahl. When Goebbels uses a construction project to bait builder and sports official Avery Brundage, in Berlin to evaluate whether American participation is possible in a Nazi run-Olympics, we see the colour of money (a 1999 article on the Berlin Olympics, in The New York Times, mentions a 1938 letter from Germany in the University of Illinois archives, indicating acceptance of the bid by Brundage’s construction firm to help build the German Embassy in Washington). There is the amazement America’s black athletes have in discovering no separate quarters for them at Berlin’s Olympic village. Then there is that conversation between Owens and Carl “ Luz’’ Long, the German long jumper Owens beat to second position. Long reveals his disapproval of racism under the autocratic Nazis and his belief that the democratic US system is better causing Owens to say reflectively that he isn’t sure. The scene sums up the predicament of individual in collective, then and now. Race is a good film. See it.

However, a linear narrative denies as much as it shows. Owens is an athlete at times of racial discrimination in the US. Across the Atlantic, Germany consumed by notions of racial supremacy, views the 1936 Olympic Games awarded to Berlin, as an opportunity to showcase country under Hitler. America contemplates boycotting the Berlin Olympics to display its aversion for the Nazis’ racist policies and anti-Semitism even as transport buses on its own roads kept separate seats for African American people. Amid this, in 1933 and 1935 (as per the Internet) , Owens equals the world record in the 100 yard dash, becoming one of the top sprinters on the planet. Whether he should participate in the Olympics or not – easily answered in his athlete’s mind – becomes a vexing question for the African-American community. He is confused. It is a web of charged histories with athlete entangled. The film doesn’t delve deep into these trends shaping Owens’s times, even his life. Although eventual outcome is a film I found more watchable than what Bollywood served up on India’s best known sprinter, it must be said that in as much as the Indian film traded sport for the muscular nationalism loved by prevailing market, Hollywood embraced sport and breezed over history, including personal history. You suspect a more creative script may have accommodated those times better. I wouldn’t mind it even if the resultant film was called `1936.’ As sport becomes event management and event becomes the hunting ground of those seeking power, sport isn’t sure anymore what happened to it. That perennial question of individual in collective isn’t just a social, political or business question; it is a question in sport too, a question of what you lose in sport when you want sport on grand scale or want sport to prove a point.

Race ends showing Owens and his wife taking the freight elevator to attend a reception in his honour because coloured people aren’t allowed entry via the hotel’s main entrance. This is in the US, soon after he won four gold medals at the Berlin Olympics. There is no hint, except as epilogue in text, of what followed. Owens returned to America from Berlin with no congratulatory message from the President of his own country. His sporting career ended early. Wanting to capitalize on his post-Berlin fame, he took up some commercial offers as a consequence of which, officials withdrew his `amateur’ status.  Denied participation in amateur events and unable to sustain his reputation, his commercial offers dried up. This forced him to run for spectacle, including racing against horses. He ran a dry cleaning business and even worked as a gas station attendant. He eventually filed for bankruptcy. In 1966 he was prosecuted for tax evasion. It was after this, that recognition and help came.

When you read this on Wikipedia, you realize how important it is for a biographical film to pick up those portions of a person’s life, which tell as much of his story as possible. In Owens case it is tough to do so for he packed much into his life, not to mention, his times was equally packed with social issues and political developments. How do you make a script of it all? Problem is – the moment one heard of a film on Owens, one thought of `Ray.’ The film on the singer-musician progressively built his character. You understood from where each brick came. The Owens of Race appeared parachuted into the movie, inhabiting it for a while and then disappearing with a scene, which is the last in the film but we know is the beginning of a tough phase for the athlete. If a man’s life is a reel of film, then Race with its linear narrative, has snipped and showcased the middle.

Owens merits a Ray.

That is still awaited.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

IN THE RIGHT SPORT

Thomas Bobby Philip (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Thomas Bobby Philip (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Early morning, like the quiet before the storm, MG Road was vacant.

It was a welcome sight for anyone valuing a walk or a run. That generally temperate weather – for long Bengaluru’s USP – may be altering but it’s still there. Bengaluru isn’t the humid oven Mumbai has transformed to. Cubbon Park, sprawling and hosting walkers and runners by dawn, bristled with activity. Some walked slowly; some fast, others jogged, a few ran. The man in orange T-shirt seemed settled into a rhythm, as distance runners do. He was barefoot. “ Hi Bobby!’’ someone called out. He waved and continued running.

Two days earlier, we were near the city’s Old Airport Road. It was a nice house; definitely designed by an architect, with attention to materials and detail. You sensed choice exercised, somebody translating an image in the head into a liveable habitat. It was cool within. There was Thomas Bobby Philip and his mother. His wife was away at office; daughter was at college. Bobby who works with Nokia, worked from home. The arrangement suited him well as it saved travel time.

Life began however not in Bengaluru but in the city we had come to visit him from – Mumbai. That’s where he was born and brought up. The family lived in Mulund; he studied till early college in Thane and Mumbai, then did his engineering from Pune. Work brought him to Bengaluru in August 2003. “ I was never into sports. During my school days I may have played cricket but never such that I could call myself a sportsman,’’ he said. Subsequent life too was conventional; he had his share of smoke and drink. Things changed in March 2009 when his daughter had to prepare for a sports meet in school. He accompanied her for her practice sessions at a garden near where they stayed. A loop around the garden was approximately 200m. “ At first, two rounds of it used to exhaust me,’’ Bobby said. After a week, his daughter stopped. Her effort had been in pursuit of the requirement at school. The father however, persisted, slowly building up mileage. His daily jogs at the garden and its vicinity progressed to running on the road. He ran for about 15 minutes or so covering a distance of roughly two kilometres. That was it. It was all running; no warm up, no stretching or exercises. As his interest grew, he looked around for a pair of good running shoes. The exploration introduced him to the city’s Nike Run Club (NRC) in April 2009. Bengaluru was the first Indian city to host NRC.  Exercises, stretching, best practices – they entered the frame. “ NRC taught me sustainable running. Training with them produced tangible results. The results were an incentive to run,’’ Bobby said.

Bobby at the 2015 TCS 10k in Bengaluru (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Bobby at the 2015 TCS 10k in Bengaluru (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

The time Bobby started out in running Bengaluru didn’t have as many running groups as it does today. There were Runners for Life (RFL), NRC, Runners High and BHUKMP. Running events were few. “ That was actually an advantage,’’ Bobby said, “ you were not rushed into doing many races.’’ Arguably, running in those days was less injurious, healthier and more sustainable. Today the retail urgency in running is a lot higher. Everybody is impatient. “ Injuries, as many and as frequently as reported today, were unheard of back then,’’ he said. Bobby’s biggest challenge wasn’t injury, it was something else. He lacked endurance. Bengaluru’s Kanteerava Stadium, where runners gather early morning to train, has a 400m-track. Bobby couldn’t do many loops on it. “ I was ashamed of it,’’ he said. NRC’s weekly training every Saturday and Sunday was also tiring him out. On the other hand, he had enrolled for the city’s 10k run then called Sunfeast (now TCS) 10k. Bobby’s question to everyone he met was: is it possible to complete a 10k run without stopping? At the 2009 Sunfeast 10k, his big achievement was exactly that – he completed running 10k without stopping in 58:58 (58 minutes, 58 seconds). That was the beginning. Following this run, he kept up the momentum. In 2009, Bobby ran two more races. Besides the Sunfeast 10k and another 10k, he ran his first half marathon – a race in Chennai – as preparation for the 2010 SCMM in Mumbai. In January 2010, he ran the half marathon at SCMM, completing it in 1:52 (1 hour, 52 minutes).  A year later in January 2011, he ran his first full marathon at SCMM, completing the distance in 3:49. The period 2010-2011 was committed to improving endurance. According to Bobby, in 2011, he was doing an average weekly mileage of 65km-75km. In 2010, it was still higher; some weeks he averaged 90km-92km.

K.C. Kothandapani is one of Bengaluru’s best known coaches in running. He was also Bobby’s running partner. “ Bobby is a determined runner. He is committed and once he gets the required inputs, trains by himself,’’ Kothandapani said. It was a kind of synergic, collaborative link between the two. Kothandapani, who used to be an athlete in his days with the Indian Air Force (IAF), had tonnes of experience in running. Bobby, who credits Kothandapani with being his mentor, egged him to do something with the vast experience in running he had. Thus was born PaceMakers, a new running group anchored by Kothandapani. PaceMakers became a success, helping many in Bengaluru take to running. Bobby trains with them when he has the time. When he doesn’t have the time, he trains by himself. “ I am self motivated,’’ he said.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

In 2012, Bobby transitioned to running barefoot. It started off as an experiment. His first run so was for two kilometres. The second one spanned six kilometres. Then something happened. He went back to wearing running shoes and found them “ heavy.’’ It was a tipping point. He took the plunge, decided to continue barefoot. The transition took time and it had its difficulties. But overall the gains he experienced outweighed the pains. “ The absence of shoes on the feet is a luxury compared to all the aches and pains,’’ Bobby said. However, he cautioned that the body’s experience with barefoot running varies from person to person. “ In my case, it has really improved my performance,’’ he said. Bobby’s first barefoot run was in April 2012, three years after he began running. In May 2012, he ran the city’s annual 10k race, barefoot. At the 2016 SCMM, Bobby who finished second in his age category in the full marathon was not only barefoot, he wasn’t wearing a T-shirt. He compares it to running free, as naturally as possible. “ Talking of barefoot running, if you look around, human beings are the only animals running in shoes. That’s something to think about,’’ he said.

In 2015, Bobby was all over social media having run the Boston Marathon barefoot. It worked well except perhaps for one factor he had to cope with – Boston is cold, its roads are cold (incidentally, the reverse has also occurred – his writings show he has had to cope with very hot roads). That year he did something unusual; soon after the Boston Marathon, he ran the Big Sur Marathon, also in the US. His normal approach is to do a few races, that too, well spaced out. Typically, his running calendar builds up around two events – the TCS World 10k in Bengaluru and the SCMM in Mumbai. In 2015, besides these and the races in the US, he also ran the Airtel Delhi Half Marathon where he finished with a personal best of 1:22:24.

If you want to put Bobby in perspective, try this reality: Bobby was born in 1966, which puts his age at close to 50 years, at the time of writing this article. Right now, he is one of the best distance runners in Bengaluru across age categories in the amateur segment. Having completed the 2016 SCMM full marathon in 3:06, his goal for the year and ahead is to do a sub 3-hour marathon. So what keeps Thomas Bobby Philip interested in running? From our conversation with Bobby, we present a few hints. First, in his experience, running has been an investment delivering results. As mentioned earlier, results work as incentive to improve. “ For example, 3:06 at SCMM was a motivation. It inspires me to attempt a sub 3 hour-marathon, which is my clear goal for the 2016-2017 period till the next SCMM,’’ he said.

Bobby running the half marathon at the 2015 Bengaluru Marathon (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Bobby running the half marathon at the 2015 Bengaluru Marathon (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

KC Kothandapani and Bobby ahead of their 2015 trip to run the Boston and Big Sur marathons (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

KC Kothandapani and Bobby ahead of their 2015 trip to run the Boston and Big Sur marathons (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Second, strange as it may seem, among the distances he runs, Bobby enjoys most the shorter ones – the 10k and the half marathon. “ I like the intensity in these distances. I like to finish off a race fast. I am not a fan of ultra distances,’’ he said. Third, Bobby appeared the type who likes the ambiance of a race. None of his personal best timings have been in training; they have all come under race conditions. The trend is underscored by the timings reported at races. In one of his articles providing an overview of his first five years in running, Bobby has listed the timings he registered for the 10k, half marathon and full marathon races he ran. In each, you see the timing reduce, sometimes sharply. His faith in continued improvement wouldn’t seem misplaced. “ Something takes over at races,’’ he said. Finally, there is perhaps the fact that he lives in Bengaluru. “ The weather here is amazing. Every morning is superb for running,’’ Bobby said.

Bobby’s preparation has a method to it. To start with, some of his articles on running reveal him as capable of sustained focus on objective. There is also a bit of a paradox at play – in as much as his training is dogged and systematic, Bobby’s improvements and milestones have come rather fast as though he found something meant for him, in running. The broad outline of his annual preparation appeared generic to Bengaluru’s training calendar, it was an outline we found when we met K.C. Kothandapani as well – the city uses the two polarized distances of the TCS 10k and the full marathon of the SCMM as reference points for progression through the training calendar. Bobby explained how it worked for him: for the TCS 10k, which comes earlier, the focus when training is on strength and intensity. As runner shifts to SCMM, the focus includes endurance. Specifically for the sub 3-hour mark he is aspiring for in 2016-2017, Bobby has punctuated these two reference points with a half marathon in the middle. “ You also have to be fit,’’ he said. He devotes time to strength training and some (not much) cross training, mainly cycling and swimming. Around 2014, he started work outs aimed at “ reducing belly size.’’ “ I do it all at home, I don’t go to the gym,’’ he said. At present, every week he visits the physiotherapist for a technical massage; he maintains a disciplined diet. The old drinking and smoking – they disappeared naturally with the growing presence of running in his life. In 2009, when he began running, he was around 75-76 kilos in weight. Now he is a stable 62 kilos. He is not into yoga or meditation. “ There is a lot that can still be done. There is room to improve,’’ he said when asked of advancing age and the continued pursuit of better performance. Did he expect any of this? “ I never in my wildest dreams thought that results will be so. This is what keeps me going. I feel running is my right sport. My technique is falling in place. Photos show that my running form is good. My body is running in rhythm. Form is crucial for sustainable running,’’ Bobby said.

Bobby at the 2016 SCMM (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Bobby at the 2016 SCMM (Photo: courtesy Thomas Bobby Philip)

Before Nokia, Bobby worked with a company called Intec, now known as CSG International. It was a different Bobby then – he was focused on career, he travelled on work and he was known for his work. “ Now I avoid all kind of travel. A lot for me revolves around running. My identity is more with my chosen sport,’’ Bobby said. So would he look at making a living out of running; make running his work? “ I doubt if running as source of livelihood can be as successful as a regular job,’’ he said.

Walking in Cubbon Park was a pleasant experience. The man in orange T-shirt kept going on and on doing his laps. Every time his trailing leg lifted off the ground, it gifted a barefoot to all on cushioned soles. In a quiet corner, we took off our shoes and walked a bit, feeling the road and the park’s bare earth below our feet. It did feel different, like long lost sensations stirring alive. We put our shoes back on returning rubber sole between foot and earth, exited the park and confronted a MG Road now needing care while crossing. As the day progressed, we travelled by vehicle, distanced even further from earth and the mechanics of human movement. We became part of Bengaluru’s traffic, the storm that invades every city’s roads.

EVENTS & TIMING

10kms

Sunfeast World 10k 2009 – 58m 58s

Sunfeast World 10k 2010 – 47m

TCS World 10k 2011 – 45m 01s

TCS World 10k 2012 – 43m 15s (barefoot)

TCS World 10k 2013 – 41m 06s (barefoot)

 TCS World 10k 2014 – 39m48s (barefoot)

TCS  World 10k 2015 – 38m 24s (barefoot)

Half Marathons

Standard Charted Mumbai Half Marathon 2010 – 1h 52m 12s

Airtel Hyderabad Half Marathon 2012 – 1h 39m 44s (barefoot)

Kaveri Trail Marathon 2012 – 1h 39m 41s (barefoot)

Dream Runners Half Marathon 2013 – 1h 38m 11s (barefoot)

Airtel Hyderabad Half Marathon 2013 – 1h 34m 59s (barefoot)

Ajmera Thump Life is Calling Bangalore HM – 1h 29m 54s (barefoot)

Dream Runners HM (DRHM) in Chennai 2014 – 1h 32m 20s (barefoot)

Bengaluru Half Marathon 2015 – 1h 25m 22s (barefoot)

Airtel Delhi Half Marathon 2015 – 1h 22m 12s (barefoot)

Full Marathons

Standard Charted Mumbai Marathon 2011 – 3h 48m 32s

Standard Charted Mumbai Marathon 2012 – 3h 42m 20s

Standard Charted Mumbai Marathon 2013 – 3h 29m 38s (barefoot)

Standard Charted Mumbai Marathon 2014 – 3h 19m 48s (barefoot)

Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2015 – 3h 15m 18s (barefoot)

Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2016 – 3h 06m 34s (barefoot)

5kms

Urban Stampede 2010 5 – 21m 10s

Urban Stampede 2011 – 21m 15s

Urban Stampede 2012 – 20m 10s (Barefoot)

Ultra Marathons

Bangalore Ultra 2010 37.5 Kms – 3h 21m 35s

Bangalore Ultra 2011 37.5 Kms – 3h 25m 46s

Bangalore Ultra 2012 50 Kms – 4h 52m 47s (barefoot)

Yearly Mileage

2010 – 3200 km

2011 – 2450 km

2012 – 2200 km

2013 – 2170 km

2014 – 2464km

2015 – 2469km

(The authors, Latha Venkatraman and Shyam G Menon, are independent journalists based in Mumbai. Please note: race timings are as provided by the interviewee.)

THREE PEAKS AND A PASS

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Mid-2015, I went looking for a certain café in Leh.

It wasn’t there anymore.

That café had provided a post script for an expedition.

Fresh from the trip, Punit and I were enjoying a cup of coffee there, when a group of young Indian climbers walked in. Seeing our sun burnt faces, they asked which mountain we had been on. “ Chamser Kangri,’’ I said enthusiastically. “ Oh, that one – that is an easy walk,’’ one of them said dismissively. The youngsters took their seats and huddled in talk, wrapped in a blanket of their youth. We looked at each other and sipped our coffee quietly. I licked my wounds.

Sometimes we find ourselves at a sweet spot, an intersection in universe crisscrossed by possibilities, which on given day works supportively for a person called you. The word for it is – luck. I had a lucky trip in 2011. Lucky not because I was in trouble and got saved or something like that but because, except for one unsavory incident three quarters into the whole trip, there was no trouble at all. The universe stood by me. I was right person passing through a right intersection at the right time. That year, when I decided to attempt Chamser Kangri, the correct approach wasn’t hard to guess. The then 43 year-old seaside dweller had best start with the less high Stok Kangri. I had climbed this 20,300ft high-peak in July 2009 and repeating it seemed a good way to acclimatize. It was a mountain often rubbished by Mumbai’s mountaineering circles for being a trekking peak, a non-technical ascent. I told nobody in Mumbai about my Stok Kangri plan. I climbed the peak with two Ladakhi friends for who the mountains are a way of life and debates of technical / non-technical ascents, a distant urban affliction. That was two years before.

Early August 2011, at Leh airport, the first thing I did was look toward Stok Kangri. Then I headed for guest house and work reporting La Ultra: The High, the ultra marathon held in Ladakh. This work gave me days in Leh, getting used to the altitude. As luck would have it, the ultra marathon story also took me across and back over the Khardung La pass, something useful when a Stok Kangri-climb is due. Ultra marathon work done, I joined a commercial trip to Stok Kangri. Of particular relevance to me was that the climb had been merged to a preceding multi-day trek starting near Leh, going up the Stok La pass and on to Stok Kangri Base Camp. This would help team members acclimatize. At my age and predominant existence as chair bound-journalist, acclimatization is everything. While that was a pleasant departure from my 2009 experience of hitting Base Camp straight with the climb thereafter, there was a shocking change in store.

Stok Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stok Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In July 2009, the base camp had three to four tents – a large parachute tent for canteen and probably three small ones, including mine, belonging to climbers. This time, it was a minor township of tents, big enough for us to designate a team member as ` Mayor of Stok Kangri.’ Unfortunately the town planning improvements he contemplated were frustrated by a steady stream of fresh arrivals compounding the township-look. Somewhere in the middle of that displaced urbanization, we left one midnight for the summit. Again unlike in 2009, there were many headlamps that night on the mountain and as dawn broke, climbers could be seen like segmented ant columns. Thanks to a spell of bad weather earlier, there was much unsettled snow near the summit and verglas (thin ice on rock) all along. In that condition it was tricky progress on the summit slopes. With the summit visible very close-by the team turned back to stay safe. I couldn’t agree more. On a commercial expedition, safety is paramount. Besides if you ask me, a summit that close, isn’t summit lost.

Back in Leh, I found that one of my Ladakhi friends from the 2009 Stok Kangri trip, who had agreed to accompany me to the 21,800ft high-Chamser Kangri, had backed out. He had personal work to attend to. The expedition seemed a non-starter because I don’t feel comfortable yet, hiking and climbing alone. There is always that thought of how to manage an emergency should anything go wrong. I prefer agreeable company. However ` agreeable’ is increasingly difficult to find. I sensed Chamser Kangri slipping away.

At bottom right corner - a lone kiang, Tso-mo-ri-ri in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

View from Base Camp: at bottom right – a lone kiang, Tso-mo-ri-ri in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Then out of the blue, a call came. Punit Mehta, who I knew was trekking to Ladakh from Himachal Pradesh, was in town. His next trip was with a group from Bengaluru led by Dinesh K.S. Both Punit and Dinesh have worked as instructors at the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), an organization I am familiar with. Dinesh’s expedition had a two pronged agenda – to partly go up the approach to Chamser Kangri and install a plaque in memory of a friend who died there on a previous expedition and then attempt the 20,600ft high-Mentok Kangri, a peak on the opposite side of the Tso-mo-ri-ri lake. It was soon obvious that a more efficient expedition would be one that continued up Chamser Kangri and attempted that peak instead of Mentok Kangri. Suddenly my plans appeared salvaged. The team was kind enough to count me in. I will always remember this meet-up with Punit and Dinesh as a miracle of sorts. In the countdown to leaving Leh for Tso-mo-ri-ri in south eastern Ladakh, Punit and I cycled to stay fit. It was my first taste of cycling at altitude and within days I knew, I had found a new interest.

On the Internet, you will find descriptions of Chamser and Lungser Kangri as easy peaks joined by a common ridge. My learning from the outdoors: don’t go by what someone else says; respect every mountain (that goes for Stok Kangri too). While most of the team headed straight to Base Camp, Punit and I elected to spend a night near Tso-mo-ri-ri and then hike along the lake’s edge before commencing the ascent to Base Camp. The night by the lake was pretty cold; my bivy sack (an all weather outer layer into which, you and sleeping bag can tuck in when camping without a tent) was covered in frost next morning.

Broody evening at intermediate camp (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Evening at intermediate camp (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Chamser Kangri is not an impressive-looking triangular peak. It resembles more a beached whale. The hike to Base Camp tracking the contours of Tso-mo-ri-ri’s shoreline and then climbing up, was tad tiring; during the day Ladakh’s high altitude sun can be an unforgiving orb of bright light and warm sunshine. Camp was tucked some ways up from the lake’s shore, a couple of tiers of relatively flat, open space intervened between the lake and camp. On that flat land, at various times of day, a kiang or two grazed or ran around. The animal is also called Tibetan wild ass and is the largest of the world’s wild asses. In India, you find it in Ladakh. Over the next couple of days, we made our way up the mountain. After the installation of the plaque, two expedition members who had come mainly for that ceremony, returned to Leh. Of the rest, as we gained height, two developed altitude related problems despite a strict regimen of ascending and descending the mountain that Dinesh had maintained for the team.

The last of the altitude related evacuations happened at intermediate camp. Most people left. Kul Bahadur and I stayed behind. The expedition seemed near cancelled. Neither that day nor the next seemed to indicate fine weather ahead. Dark clouds gathered. The evening sky was spectacular but ominously grey, a deep shade of grey laced with the red of the vanishing sun. Something told me that if you wanted to attempt the summit, it better be soon for the window of opportunity appeared shaky. But we didn’t want to move this way or that without some word on how the rest of the team was. Personally for me, it was turning out to be one of my best expeditions. The support staff and arrangements for the trip had been put together by Punit and Tsewang Phunchok. We had motivated support staff in the form of a cook – Kul Bahadur, helper – Ram Bahadur and a young guide called Stanzin Chosgial. In addition to this encouraging ambiance, the preceding Stok Kangri climb, the cycling that followed and Dinesh’s insistence that we not break the fundamental mountain rule of working high and sleeping low – all had me well acclimatized and tuned to climbing. Both Kul Bahadur and I would have been sad had Dinesh and Punit decided that the whole team should retreat. I was feeling good; Kul Bahadur was in no hurry to go anywhere else, his heart was right there. It was the perfect frame of mind to proceed. Then, Punit and Stanzin who had gone to escort out those who were leaving, returned to join us at high camp. They brought me an unforgettable note from Dinesh wishing me luck and reminding me to climb safely for “ the mountain will always be there.’’ That same day we moved to still higher camp at 19,000ft at the base of Chamser Kangri’s sprawling summit ridge. It was below freezing by evening.

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photos, above and below: Shyam G Menon)

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Around 3 AM, Stanzin and I set off for the summit. Our progress was in darkness, immediate world lit by the beam from our headlamps. It was the first time on Chamser Kangri for both of us. So we followed our instinct, exploring and correcting the route as required. As the first sliver of sunlight pierced the horizon we reached the summit ridge. Measured by my very average physical fitness and technical competence, it had been a stiff ascent up rock and snow in plastic climbing boots but no crampons. A little way up the ridge the snow transformed to hard, wind-swept type. I sat down to wear crampons. This was followed by a stretch where we decided to court the well snowed-in side of the mountain, instead of the ridge. It was an engaging, snow clad mountain face. We ascended using our axes for support. The detour helped us gain height quicker than how it would have been had we stuck to the ridge. But the enjoyment was diluted by the subsequent steady plod, back on the ridge. It kept going on and on. “ When will this ridge end?’’ Stanzin asked. Amazingly when it did end after a long time, he simply called it quits. I was stunned by his decision. So near the goal and he gives up the chase?

I looked around. Next door, Lungser Kangri resembled a giant softie; there was so much snow. Far below Tso-mo-ri-ri was a serene blue. The scene was ringed by endless snow-capped peaks. Albeit in the distance, very prominent was a snow white pyramid and close to it a large rocky massif, which I was told, was the remote peak, Gya. The 22,420ft high-peak at the tri-junction of Ladakh, Spiti and Tibet is the highest in Himachal Pradesh and until some years ago most attempts to climb it had ended up on its sub-summits, not the main peak. My mind returned to Chamser. There were two highpoints visible – ten minutes of further plodding would bring me to a cairn, usually signifying summit. On the other hand, I had been told that the real summit was not the obvious one. Closer to where we were, a high ridge took off like a Mohawk haircut for the peak; one side was a plunge. Its apex wasn’t marked by any cairn but it seemed as high, if not higher than where the cairn stood. A trick played by perspective? I don’t know. I looked toward Stanzin. He had already taken out his prayer flags and was busy putting them up. It was a humbling experience for me to see him so capable of turning his back on a summit when the majority of us won’t be happy without gaining the highest point. Although he had climbed before in the neighborhood it was his first time too up Chamser Kangri. I got as far as I reached because he was with me. I moved independently but the awareness that there was another to assist should something go wrong meant a lot. Yet, unlike me, Stanzin wasn’t chasing a milestone.

Leaving him to his work, I set out along the high ridge. Less than forty feet from its faintly corniced apex I stopped. I am a timid adventurer who likes to preserve himself for God willing, more adventures. The point where I stopped seemed the edge of safe existence by my technical skills. I had come to love Chamser Kangri and it didn’t make sense to stand on its absolute head, its ` summit.’ Plus there was Stanzin below, who was already happy. A Ladakhi with more rightful ownership of the mountain than I, he was a picture of contentment without needing to stand on Chamser Kangri’s head. What is a summit anyway? – I thought. Am I here to pass one of those board exams where 100 becomes first and 99.75, is second? Summit this is – I said, and turned back.

Stanzin's prayer flags with the highest point we reached on the trip in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon).

Stanzin’s prayer flags with the highest point we reached on the trip in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

We returned via a snow slope above the mountain’s glacier, a portion we mistook to be firm. It was the only stretch where we roped-up because our footsteps sent weird cracking sounds all across the brittle snow. It felt like slabs snapping underneath. The sun was also up, not a good time to linger around. Looking back, that stretch of brittle snow did cause a problem. Finding it unwise to continue along that portion, we were forced to abandon the seemingly comfortable line of descent we had originally seen and pick a more precipitous rock strewn-route down. As the rocks, which were glued to the mountain side by nightly ice dislodged in the rising heat of day, we had to avoid being one above the other. It was touch and go with more than once, a bunch of rocks sliding down with man surfing on top. Eventually, we reached the bottom and walked toward camp. Punit, who has unashamedly embraced hiking over climbing, had in the mean time done his own exploratory walks in the area. That strength – the ability to turn his back on a summit despite having been a climber, is something I respect Punit for. It doesn’t come easy if you have tasted climbing. With Punit, you discover a side of the Himalaya easily overlooked in the race to climb its prized heights – the immense sprawl of the range, home to many wonderful treks.

My original plan was – climb Stok Kangri, Chamser Kangri, Ladakhi and Shetidhar. The latter two were near Manali. After Punit left for Delhi, I continued my cycling, including one trip to Stok village, where I reached in time to see another group set off for Stok Kangri. I also fell in love with a particular cycle available at Summer Holidays, the shop where I rent cycles in Leh. It had been sold to them by a foreign tourist. I sought it out every day. Some cycles just match a cyclist’s anatomy and this was my long lost soul mate.

A week later, I was in Manali and soon thereafter at Iceland Hotel in Solang, where Khem Raj Thakur, had assembled a support group for the Ladakhi-Shetidhar leg. It was a young team of guides, cook and helper; once again a good team. But we had two problems. Just before reaching Beas Kund, a bitter quarrel erupted between me and one of my friends who had come along for the trip. It was to remain a lesson because high altitude is the last place where anyone should provoke or succumb to provocation. I succumbed to provocation. In turn the incident has made me resolve that doing something one can do independently however lowly in stature it maybe, is better than chasing an achievement with folks you can’t get along with. Second, while we had initially thought of attempting the two peaks because they are linked by a common ridge, we learnt late that camping on the ridge was discouraged as it is cold and windy. So we settled for just Shetidhar.

An early morning, we climbed the 17,500ft-high peak. It was a short, stiff climb, enjoyably essayed with ice axe, boots and crampons; no roping-up. The summit was corniced. We stayed off the cantilevering snow. Five and a half hours after we began the climb, we were back at high camp. Our assessment of the 17,600ft-high Ladakhi was not wrong – although connected by a common ridge, it was rather distant from Shetidhar and the climbing route wound around the peak. Climbing both Shetidhar and Ladakhi, back to back from high camp below, would have been exhausting and I was anyway beginning to tire from having been out for so long. It was now late September.

Shetidhar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Shetidhar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Here I must pause and say: I liked Shetidhar. The area where it stands is dominated by the immense rock wall and ice fortification of the 19,560ft high-Hanuman Tibba. Given its modest height Shetidhar does not receive the attention Stok Kangri gets. The latter is India’s busiest trekking peak and a money spinner for authorities because a lot of people come for the comparatively easy shot at 20,000ft it promises. Shetidhar on the other hand, packs into a small, sharp punch, a much better challenge – it has an evolved walk-in to high camp which you can make harder by carrying your full rucksack; its summit attempt is a swift affair but the snow slope is quite inclined and familiarity with climbing, therefore an asset. Compared to that Stok Kangri is a much longer haul on summit day with little else for challenge except climbing conditions and altitude. But like Everest, best known mountain and yet not the most difficult peak around, Stok Kangri’s height and accessibility attracts more people than Shetidhar. In Leh, veteran mountaineer Sonam Wangyal, who administers climbing permits in the area, had pointed out that nobody has any curiosity for Stok Kangri. It is plain request for permission to touch 20,000ft. Nothing illustrates the public’s obsession with height more than Stok Kangri’s neighbor, Golep Kangri, which is less than 20,000ft and unlike Stok Kangri, slightly technical at the top. Very few go there although both peaks share the same base camp. For most of us from the plains, our pursuit in the mountains too, is a distinction. It has only got worse in the age of high population and media. The two – population and media – has made the need for distinction, a contagion, highlighting saleable statistic at the expense of savoring an experience.

Few days after Shetidhar, we hired cycles in Manali for a final piece of action – cycling up the Rohtang Pass. It wasn’t our aim when we started out that morning but gradually we realized the pass was achievable. Unfortunately I had to stop six kilometers ahead of the pass because the road, which was being widened, was in terrible shape. There were bulldozers at work, too many waterlogged portions, plenty of mud and reckless traffic. I will try again another time.

The good fortune of the 2011 trip didn’t visit me again. While I have no control over luck, the more tangible reason was that I didn’t anymore have the money for extended trips. Mountains entail cost. I am no foreigner or Non Resident Indian with dollars in the bank; I am no rich Indian either. As my freelance journalism continued with matching shortage of resources to frequent the mountains, I have often looked at the 2011 trip – Three Peaks and a Pass, as I call it – as treasured memory. I have this sense amid resource crunch that it is as far as I will ever reach. Within that, the Chamser Kangri expedition was clear highpoint for the way in which things converged well for me. Two other instances from the outdoors have provided similar happiness – the time I ran from Munsyari to Kalamuni Pass and back and the occasion I was part of a cycle trip from Ranikhet to Lansdowne and beyond .

Leh, 2009 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Leh, 2009 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

On subsequent visits to Leh, I learnt that Stanzin Chosgial had joined the security forces. Leh is growing, changing. Mid-2015, I went looking for a particular café; it wasn’t there anymore. That café had provided a post script for the Chamser Kangri expedition. Fresh from the trip and happy for it, Punit and I were enjoying a cup of coffee there, when a group of young Indian climbers walked in. Seeing our sun burnt faces, they asked which mountain we had been on. “ Chamser Kangri,’’ I said enthusiastically. “ Oh, that one – that is an easy walk,’’ one of them said dismissively. The youngsters took their seats and huddled in talk, wrapped in a blanket of their youth. We looked at each other and sipped our coffee quietly. As you age, you realize that happiness is an escape from human habits. I had the joy of the universe coursing through my veins, till measurement by human cluster busted the illusion. A mountain was climbed but it wasn’t hard enough to make the cut in the cluster. I licked my wounds. I wondered what the young climber would think of Stanzin. He grew up with the mountains in his backyard and when he got to the top of one, didn’t feel anything remarkably different for it. Stanzin, I suspect, could sense universe. The youngster at the cafe breathed verticality, physical strain and climbing’s grades. Maybe, he sensed universe in an utterly difficult climb. Are you blessed if you have to bloody yourself to sense universe or can do the same much earlier, on gentler terrain? I don’t know. All I know is that I prefer universe to people. For some time after his quip I wished that young man had spared me my freedom to exist, self esteem intact, in my own fantasy as mountaineer. Then something about my age, ageing and the pleasure of seeing the mountains differently each passing year, spoke to me. I was pretty fine a while later.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. An abridged version of this article appeared in MW magazine. For more on the 2009 trip please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/twenty-thousand-feet/. For more on La Ultra: The High, please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2013/10/19/an-ultra-marathon-from-the-sidelines/. For more on the run from Munsyari to Kalamuni Pass, please click on this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/11/running-in-the-hills/; for more on the cycle trip in Kumaon please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/31/the-ghost-who-writes/)

SEEKING FOCUS

Soji Mathew (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Soji Mathew (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The first time I saw Soji Mathew run was at the 2016 Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM).

I was a spectator on the road connecting Churchgate and Marine Drive when the subject of this story flew past to finish fourth in the Indian elite category of the half marathon. A month after SCMM, we sat down to chat.

In school, Soji considered himself a fast bowler. His eyes lit up, talking about Courtney Walsh, Curtly Ambrose and Franklyn Rose. When children play they assume the names of their idols. Sometimes, it is their friends who choose a name. For anyone keen on bowling fast, the team to worship was, West Indies. He was called by the names of pacers from the West Indies. “ You know a fast bowler’s run-up? That and the general running around on a cricket field – that’s about all the running I did,’’ he said.

Born September 1981, Soji was an only child. His father worked many years with the Military Engineering Service (MES), eventually retiring from it. Home was Mavelikkara, a town in central Kerala. Altitude: approximately 40 feet above sea level. Seen on a map, Mavelikkara is not very far from Kerala’s Kuttanad region, famous for its paddy cultivation in fields lower than sea level. At 7.2 feet below sea level, Kuttanad is the lowest point in India. Life took a turn in eighth standard. During the state’s Onam festival, the youth organization at Mavelikkara’s Cherukole Marthoma Church held an annual running race of three to four kilometres. In Kerala’s rainy weather, the course was sometimes muddy, water laden. “ It was fun watching people run and arrive tired at the finishing line,’’ he said. Eventually, the move from spectator to participant occurred. Although Kerala has produced athletes, like the rest of Indian society, premium adhered clearly to a practical, ` well settled’ life. Cricket being national obsession is perhaps securely conformist. Anything off the beaten track, troubles. Eighth standard-student practising for a local run, elicited the usual questions: what do you get from this; what’s the point in this? That year he came first in the race at the church. “ I got a prize, a glass,’’ he recalled.

Parcels of reflected light, a procession of them, danced on his face as he spoke. It was the metro train passing by on its high perch, under the glare of the afternoon sun. The stainless steel coaches reflected sunlight. We were at a coffee shop on Bengaluru’s (Bangalore) MG Road, close to the metro line. He sipped his cappuccino. Onam falls in August-September. In October, a month after winning the race at the church, the boy participated in the selection process at school for entry into the district level sports meet. He ran a 3000m-trial and finished first. “ It surprised people because I beat the person who had been consistently selected for the discipline,’’ Soji said. Elation, if any, didn’t linger. School boy, wannabe fast bowler, he promptly forgot the whole affair. Life was cricket. Till one morning, dispatched by his mother to buy some meat in the market, he was cycling along when somebody stopped him and asked: weren’t you selected for the district meet? It is today. Go quickly! He was clad in shirt and lungi. Reaching the venue so, he was told to get ready. But he didn’t have a pair of running shorts. “ I borrowed somebody’s Bermudas – you know the big beach shorts. I wore that and ran. It was a 200m-track and we had to do 15 loops. I came first. That is the only time I wept for joy,’’ he said. It was the lone gold medal that year for his school in the event. His photo appeared in the local newspaper the next day. But he was denied entry to the state level meet as he was under-age.

Soji at the Bengeluru Marathon (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

Soji at the Bengaluru Marathon (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

From this stage onward, it was an equal divide between cricket and running. Every year he geared up for the local race at the church. Practice commenced in July, peak monsoon in Kerala. He would run through water. “ People found it odd, tad crazy,’’ Soji said. He ran in his dad’s army shorts, altered to his size. In ninth standard at school, he again won the church race and finished fourth in 3000m at state level in school. By the time he was in tenth standard, he had shifted to senior category and the 5000m, topping it at district level. He had no coach. He ran barefoot; he wasn’t from a wealthy family. But he trained with growing determination. He finished third in the 5000m at state level. Then a second turning point in life occurred, one that fine-tuned his focus.

In a cricket match, wherein he was bowler for crunch-over, he got smashed all over the field by the opposition. That ended the cricket-phase. His attention trimmed to focus on running. To do his eleventh and twelfth standards (those days it was called pre-degree), the runner shifted to Pamba College in the adjacent Pathanamthitta district. Having done well in running at school level, he got admission to college through the sports quota. “ As with many others, for me also college was a sudden flush of freedom. I became active in student politics, one of those assistants to union leaders, ’’ Soji said, mimicking the classic photograph Indians are so used to seeing; assistant leaning in from the side to be in leader’s photo. Amid new found freedom, in his first year at college, he was told that having been admitted via sports quota, he would have to participate in MG University’s upcoming cross country race. He bought a pair of PT shoes, his first running shoes. He participated in the event without any training and finished eighteenth. Luckily for him, those were days when colleges kept a look out for talented sportspersons. Despite the finish down in the pecking order, his running was noticed by officials from SB College, Changanassery. This was to prove the next turning point in his running career.

SB College offered him free education plus no mess fees, no hostel fees. “ That instilled a sense of responsibility in me. I had the urge to give something back for what they did,’’ Soji said. Mr Chidambaram – the college’s coach, was Soji’s first coach. He told the young runner: I will train you. But executing what you learn effectively is your onus. Soji shifted to SB College in his second year of pre-degree (today’s twelfth). That year he came first in MG University’s cross country race. He also placed second in the 10,000m at the university’s track and field meet. At the All India Inter University Athletics Championship in Amritsar, he finished fifth in the 10,000m. He continued at SB College to do his graduation (BA). In the first year, he topped the MG University cross country race, was seventh in cross country at the national universities meet, emerged first in 10,000m at MG University and fifth at national university level. In his second year of the degree course, he became the record holder in 5000m and 10,000m at state level in the under-22 age category, a category that no longer exists. That year he was however plagued by injury. Recovering from it, in his final year, he placed second at MG University in cross country and fifth at the national university level. He also won the 10,000m at MG University in 32:04 (according to Soji, a record that still stood as of February 2016) and finished first in 10,000m at the All India Inter University Athletics Championship held in Jamshedpur with a timing of 31:18.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Following this outcome, Soji was called for the national camp by the Athletics Federation of India (AFI). It was a five month-camp, held at the high altitude training facility of Sports Authority of India (SAI) at Shilaru in Himachal Pradesh. Each person is unique; generalizations must be avoided. Still, generally speaking, hill people have good endurance. Some of India’s best distance runners hail from the hills. As do, some of the world’s best; Kenyan and Ethiopian runners are associated with their country’s highlands. The best training spot for distance running is a mix of altitude and fine weather affording long training window. World over, high altitude sports training centres typically straddle mid elevations, neither too high, nor too low. Data on the Internet places Shilaru at 2420m (close to 8000 feet) above sea level; Mavelikkara at 13m (43 feet) above sea level. For Soji, used to Mavelikkara, Shilaru was his first taste of running at altitude. He struggled initially (he did a mix of running and walking), then, slowly found his groove. At the cafe, the Shilaru experience reminded him of an observation from his school and early college days.“ Back then, we used to say in Kerala that none of us from the plains and coastal areas of the state can beat the distance runners of Idukki and Wayanad districts. They were typically the state’s best. Idukki and Wayanad are hill districts with plenty of ups and downs,’’ Soji said.

As part of the national camp, he had to run a 10,000m race in Chennai, where he finished second. Loyola College extended him an invitation to represent them at the A L Mudaliar Athletics Meet, an important event in the city’s sports calendar. Joining Loyola for his post graduation, Soji represented them in the 5000m and the 10,000m at the A L Mudaliar Athletics Meet. He finished first in both. In his first year MA, he also applied for a job at Southern Railways. That didn’t come through to his satisfaction. But Western Railways stepped in. He moved to Mumbai as a Ticket Collector (TC) in 2004. Sportspersons in TC roles are typically put to work on suburban trains or given station duty as that provides them time to train as well. Mumbai has one of the world’s busiest suburban railway systems. Soji checked tickets on the city’s western line. In 2005, following a fifth place finish in 10,000m at the Federation Cup, he was selected once again to the national camp. From 2005 to 2011, he was at the national camp on the strength of his performance in 5000m and 10,000m.

Soji finishing a race in Kochi (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

Soji finishing a race in Pondicherry (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

If you are an athlete training for 5000m and 10,000m on a regular basis, you are deemed in line to attempt a half marathon. The weekly training mileage you put in is adequate. The year Soji shifted to Mumbai had marked the debut of the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM). It would grow to be India’s biggest marathon. In 2010, Soji ran his first half marathon at SCMM and finished second in the Indian elite category with a timing of 1:06:40. In 2011, he placed second in the Indian elite category again. In 2012, he won in the Indian elite category at SCMM, finishing first in the half marathon with a timing of 1:05:26. At the last SCMM in January 2016, he finished fourth. At the Vasai-Virar Mayor’s Marathon (VVMM), he was second in the half marathon in 2013 and 2014. Additionally, he has been third at the 2009 Airtel Delhi Half Marathon, first in the 2015 Bengaluru Half Marathon and first in the half marathon segment of the Wipro Chennai Marathon held in January 2016. His personal best in the half marathon was at the 2014 Delhi Airtel Half Marathon, which he ran in 1:04:58. Soji has run the full marathon twice. At the 2004 Travancore Marathon in Kerala, he placed sixth with a timing of 2:35 and at the 2010 Pune International, he placed third with a timing of 2:23.

Going ahead, Soji would like to focus more on the full marathon. For this he will need to increase his weekly mileage. He also believes he should gain strength (he is a thin, wiry individual) and train at altitude for a meaningful shift to the full. Now a Deputy Chief Ticket Inspector (DCTI) with the Railways, the basket of events this distance runner addresses for his employer is big. Besides the above mentioned podium finishes at various running events, he was also second in the 2009 World Railway Cross Country Championship held in Czech Republic. There is even a third place in steeple chase at the 2010 World Railway Track & Field Meet in Pune; that’s the only time he ran a race in steeple chase. All put together, his repertoire spans 5000m; 10,000m, cross country, half marathon and full marathon. Age naturally moves the athlete away from the shorter distances to the longer ones. Soji is currently well established in the half marathon. He knows that going ahead, he must move to the full marathon. That requires commitment to chosen discipline. He must focus. However, within the Railways, the inter division sports meets matter. They are prestigious events in which, athletes are expected to compete and bring laurels to their respective divisions. Courtesy this requirement, Soji has to tackle a basket of disciplines instead of focusing on a chosen few or even one. He wishes it were not so. In contrast, in the armed forces, from where many good distance runners emerge to dominate the marathons at Indian cities, you are allowed to focus and specialize.

Soji at a race in Kochi (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

Soji at a race in Chennai (Photo: courtesy Soji Mathew)

A seemingly quiet person lost to the world of running, Soji speaks with a stammer. We met after a series of phone calls over a few months, trying to figure out a mutually convenient instance. February worked for him – he was hanging on in Bengaluru (arguably the best Indian city for runners to train in courtesy its weather), busy season over, a month of relaxation to savour before training starts all over again sometime in March. I could sense that the runner in Soji wanted to continue in Bengaluru. He stayed in rented accommodation, away from the city centre and close to SAI’s training facility. It entailed cost – accommodation, athlete’s diet etc. Prize money won at races helped compensate some of the expenses. I asked if aside from the Railways, anybody else supported him. He said he received encouragement from the Kerala based-running group Soles of Cochin. They egg him to do better; suggest apt races, provide shoes. In world by specialization, we live in categories, judging ourselves by our performance within those severely competitive silos. When we met in front of the Deccan Herald office on MG Road, Soji had a question and he posed it sincerely, “ Why do you want to write about me? I am an average runner. There are many who are better than me.’’

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. Please note: all race timings and the names of events are as recalled by the interviewee.) 

ABOUT A BICYCLE

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

A story from many years ago about the first bicycle I rode in the mountains:

It was a simple bicycle.

No gears, painted silver and red, odd size.

A person of average height traveled the road bordering our camp like a stiff Victorian gentleman. His knees nearly knocked against the handle bar to avoid which, he had to keep himself straight and proper on the seat. A tall person would have to be at the rear edge of the seat or off it on the luggage rack. The bright paint served to distract from the cycle’s manufacturing quality; the frame was heavy steel, the joints bore crude welding marks. It wasn’t a solitary specimen in remoteness. There were similar others in Mori, a settlement on the banks of the Tons River in the Garhwal half of Uttarakhand.

Dayal, who worked in the camp kitchen and owned the cycle, took good care of it. But there was only so much he could do to domesticate an animal rather wild from birth. When the cycle arrived, most of the male instructors at camp and the one or two ladies who could cycle were elated. Here was an engaging way to stay occupied after work, particularly if you weren’t the type who could keep on playing volleyball till eternity. I don’t like games. Squaring off to compete and then determining a winner and loser from the contest, never appealed to me. I think the value of competing must be understood in context. I am unsure of competition’s value as an ethic, in our crowded, congested times. At Mori, I used to run to keep myself fit. It provided solo time. But given a slightly weak left leg, cycling seemed better option than running. It was human-powered and not much different from trekking, you moved along taking in the ambiance. There was the Tons River always in sight by the snaking road, beautiful people and village children, who no matter how many cycles they had seen could never resist chasing one. Thanks to all this, the bicycle excited.

The cycle though, had other ideas.

It punctuated every trip with a slip of its chain.

You began the excursion with fanfare; a group of village children for escort. They would gather around in anticipation and then trot alongside, a laughing, giggling bunch of boys and girls. As the cycle started moving and you settled into a small procession on the road, the chain would slip dispatching the legs into a couple of quick spins. “ Gaya, chain gaya,’’ the older of the children would shout as break-down replaced procession for novelty. The two kilometers from camp to Mori usually featured at least a couple of such injuries to one’s pride. To their credit, the children were quite sympathetic to cyclist’s plight. They didn’t mock; they sat down on the road observing the cyclist put the chain back in place. When the job was done, they got up, happy to resume the procession. In due course it was possible to figure out who had been cycling from the grease on their palms. Following one too many chain-slips, the bicycle was hauled to the doctors. We stood in a circle around it, scratched our chins and put our heads together.  Its ailment was diagnosed as a sag in the chain. Everyone concurred. Its chain did have a sagged appearance like what happens to a man’s tummy after too much time with beer and idleness. “ Clipping a chain link should solve the problem,’’ cycling’s medics decreed. Mori didn’t have a cycle shop. But there was a man who fixed everything. He was the local go-to for anything in need of repair. Our cycle was admitted to his care. The quack clipped and the bike’s sagging, jingling belly popped right back in. The bicycle came back looking athletic, sudden run-away muscularity to its stance thanks to new belly-tuck.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

What neither the quack nor Dayal – or for that matter any of us – knew, was that the cycle’s real issue was attitude. I am yet to hear of a psychologist for bicycles – a bike whisperer. We needed one for the bicycle was challenging our capabilities. The damned chain continued to slip, to the point that fewer people now courted the bicycle and those who did, returned unsure if the experience was best called cycling or greasing. We cycled slowly, delicately, Zen-like attention in each pound of pressure applied on the pedals. All focus was on avoiding a chain-slip. Rather unconsciously, a new world opened up. Where cycling had previously been an offshoot of daily exercise, thanks to the extra attention, it now became meditation. We became monks on wheels. Our mind withdrew from the world we were cycling through to total focus on neural pathway between brain and precisely exerted force underfoot.  The village children no longer ran alongside shouting. They walked solemnly like little priests for a new order of self realization and world peace. Wisdom on Wheels: The Cycling Monks of Mori – we may well have become that hadn’t a rebellion against pattern, as old as the universe, struck.

One day, the Zen Master in me lost his marbles. I got bored of being gentle and meditative. I metamorphosed into a head banging rock star. I wanted speed, I wanted the wind in my hair or more accurately the few strands of hair on my bald head, and I wanted to work up a sweat. The children were left behind as I zoomed off on the uphill road leading to Netwar. The bike lunged like a horse breaking into gallop. The trick was to cycle with full contact and uniform pressure on the pedal at all times. It was the jerk of a break-and-resume pattern that typically caused the chain to slip. Not far from camp was a steep uphill climb and although the simple cycle had no gears, I made it up without any erratic jerks to the pedaling. Out of sight of the children – they had given up their pursuit by now – and out of sight of the camp, I halted to allow my hard breathing to slow down. Ahead, a gang of soot stained workers were repairing the road. Road repair crews in the Indian Himalaya are a story by themselves. The bulk of these workers hail from elsewhere, typically the states of eastern India (not to be confused with north-east) and sometimes from Nepal. You find them working in small groups. The road repair crew on the road to Netwar stopped their work to check me out. My bulging eyes and hard breathing, no more resembled monastic peace. Aware of being studied, I pulled myself together and got back on the cycle. I went past the repair team, turned the corner and then, the bicycle gifted me a chain-slip. Problem corrected and cycle positioned on a clearly uphill road, I whispered a small prayer, then got  down to getting self on two wheels moving.

The chain held, it held for some time, it seemed to hold longer – that was when I suspected a tremor in the handle bar. Was it beginning to lower? I felt a slouch gain on me. As with most bikes, the cycle’s handle bar was gently curved, dipping at the centre and rising towards the ends. Slowly, ever so slowly but ever so surely as it always does when things go wrong, my shoulders dropped lower and lower in tune with a handle bar that had come lose. Undone from the central clamp, it was dropping down. My posture resembled that of a buffalo. Even with head raised, the crown of the head, horns and neck tracked a straight line to the animal’s spine. Aerodynamic – yes, but aerodynamic with dancing handle bar was surely no recipe for cycling. And the cycle’s handle bar was dancing; having slipped down, it kept swinging forward and backward, it was also sliding sideways. When it struck, the sideways slide made man on cycle lose sense of symmetry and with it, direction. You drifted into travel at angles. The only way out was to grip the handle bar dead center, where it joined the head tube, making sure there was equal lengths of steel to either side. Your palms served as central clamp. But that made you wobbly on potholed winding roads. The traction of uphill helped. Somehow, I made it to my destination, the first major bridge on the road, at best two kilometers from camp. There I took stock. I had no tools, nothing. The solution to check the slipping and sliding handle bar was to wedge something into the clamp holding it. I inspected twig after twig from the roadside till I found one good enough to jam into the clamp. It appeared to hold. I could spare my hands the onus of being clamp. Going downhill would also keep the chain problem sidelined. The world seemed good. However, I had gravely under-estimated the bike’s capacity for creativity.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Bonding with the cycle, the rattle from the road traveled up its rim and spokes like hot gossip. It darted up through the fork and onto the clamp designed to keep the handle bar in place. The twig started getting pounded. It threatened to dislodge. I pressed the twig in; the pressure broke it. Now I had no means to maneuver the twig in place. What remained of it inside the clamp was squashed and poised to get ejected as chewed up twig bits. I brought my hands as close to the bar’s center as I could in an attempt to keep it clamped in. That’s the beauty of a cycle. Everything about it is simple, when things go wrong you improvise. Nothing complicated, only very simplified complications, as the next problem showed.

I was going downhill, my hands on the center of the handle bar. It posed a simple question: do I quit using the brakes, which are located at the ends of the handle bar? As the bicycle and I gathered speed, I shifted hands to apply the brakes and the lose handle bar having ejected the squashed twigs, gifted me a slouched position. It happened suddenly as the tips of the handle bar dropped low with that central clamp loosening. Then I discovered another little devil in the bag of tricks opening up. The smart little cycle had a weak back brake and sharp front brake. If I wasn’t adequately tactful, the front brake would send me flying. Wonderful! By the time I reached the road gang I was a mess, anything but Zen and trying my level best to look composed. The workers looked at me curiously. Something about my apparent cool and calm must not have convinced. I don’t blame them; I was worried. I needed my composure badly because at camp, it wouldn’t be a road gang of rank strangers who I would never meet again in my life, to cope with, but a bunch of high school students I required to spend the next week with. They would be scrutinizing my descent. If I got off the cycle and pushed it, that would mean I had failed in something as simple as cycling. Thanks to relentless competition, today’s students speak just two words – winner, loser. Who wants a loser as teacher at camp? Perhaps I was forgetting myself. I too was once student in school thick with competition. We have forgotten – failure is the biggest teacher there is. Like a general returning victorious from battle, I had to reach camp on the horse’s back. Just short of the final downhill slope and before becoming visible from camp, I jammed two twigs in, kept one hand near the center of the handle bar and the other on the front brake-lever. It was getting dark, so nobody got a close view of the strange shifts to position I kept making to retain balance. We arrived in one piece. I quietly informed Dayal of the handle bar, parked the bicycle near the kitchen and withdrew to my tent.

Ravi’s struggle in contrast was more severe. But the outcome was top notch. He had mentioned of a unicycle long ago. The day he was expected at camp, I returned from a hike with students to see a blue unicycle on the ground near his tent – small single wheel about knee high in diameter with a straight fork attached to it. Now a fork isn’t born nasty looking. In this case, a slim seat was all that stood between the fork-end and that critical piece of the human anatomy resting on top. Not for me, I resolved, then and there. Historically, the unicycle was our bicycle’s cousin, many times removed. Long ago, when England was ruled by Queen Victoria, Dayal’s steed had a great-great-grandfather abroad called Penny-Farthing. It was one huge wheel in front with a small one behind; the cycle’s name derived from the way these sharply contrasting wheels resembled the penny and farthing of prevailing British currency. Since wheel size directly affected speed and distance covered, some truly large wheels were built. The rider, seated atop the front wheel, could be five feet above the ground.

Personally, I cannot fathom its design just as I cannot fathom the madness in balancing on one wheel. But that didn’t stop the blooming of penny-farthing fans. Sample these two – in 2007, long after the model had faded out, a gentleman was reported riding a penny-farthing around the world; another in California attracted attention from the local police because his five foot-high perch prevented him from stopping at traffic intersections.  Lights turn red, vehicles stop and there goes man on penny farthing right through it all! While the obvious question that should bother anyone staring at the penny-farthing would be how the hell you touch the ground, cycling history does admit to riders expressing discomfort over the rear wheel lifting off when braking sharply. That’s the only thing that bothered the devout. In retrospect it all appears to have been less about personal discomfort and more about a quest. For the outcome of rear wheel lifting off was the outrageously simple hypothesis – why not use just one wheel? See, I told you, cycling is all about simplicity. The unicycle was living proof of that – a seat atop a wicked looking-fork on a single wheel.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Ravi’s initial attempts were hardly cycling. Clutching the post of the volleyball net for support he would mount the unicycle and half a pedal later, be thrown off his seat at the tip of that straight fork.  Ten days of persistent practice must have gone by before he could cycle some distance. Then he shifted to the road. I was a bit jealous for the unicycle took away some of the villagers’ attention from bicycle and me. We realized that our fans were fickle. The children couldn’t take their eyes off the unicycle. Soon, Ravi’s brief one wheeled-forays into the world beyond camp grew into extended trips nudging the kilometer mark. Finally, he was ready to cycle all the way to Mori. I followed at a distance on the bicycle watching people stop and stare at unicycle passing by. In the following days, Ravi cycled much farther (he has since become accomplished at the unicycle; in Ranikhet where he lives, he is known as ` circus uncle’) but one incident stayed etched in memory. Ravi had just left Mori for camp and I was trailing behind when suddenly a youth hopped onto his bicycle, pedaled fast one way, whipped around, came back and attempted to whip around again – he went sprawling right there in the market place. His friends sitting at a nearby shop, laughed. “ What are you? You fall trying stunts on two wheels and that guy went by calmly on a single wheel!’’ somebody quipped.

I wonder what our bicycle thought of the unicycle. Animals can be jealous; they can put on a show. Never heard of cycles behaving so but with all that chain-slip, lose handle bar and funny brakes, I just can’t be sure any more. I was posted at Mori for close to two months. My days on the bicycle passed by with small enjoyable adventures. Before I left Mori, the universe however served up some sad news. As the camp was winding up, we heard that one of the members of the road gang died in a case of electrocution. An overhead electric line had snapped and fallen on the road.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

THOUGHTS FROM TWO SURVEY STONES

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

It was a hot day.

Tired, we sat on two survey stones by the road, watching the relentless traffic. Ahead was the regular 20 km-long choke section of our weekend route, where traffic would be at its worst. Cars and massive trucks would barrel down on us. It depressed; made us think of the contemporary predicament in cycling.

My friend worked at a bank. He liked to cycle. One of his recent posts on Facebook was that wonderful news from Germany about the first section of a proposed 100 km-highway meant exclusively for bicycles, opened. According to a related news report, the fully commissioned highway is hoped to take 50,000 cars off the road every day. What adds significance is that Germany is both one of the world’s biggest manufacturers of automobiles and home to the legendary autobahns of motoring. Supporters of the cycling highway say: such projects can’t happen without the state’s backing. There is rising awareness in cities abroad that more cars can be unwieldy. Neither my banker friend nor I can imagine the same happening in India. Here, we value power as measure of having arrived in life. Two wheels aren’t powerful enough. Absence of engine worsens it. When you are out running or cycling and behold an automobile on the road, your greatest worry is how that sense of power and its display by driver will unfold. You on two legs or two human-propelled wheels and person steering engine-powered platform with four wheels or more – these are distinct class categories in the hierarchy of power. For us, two legs and two human-propelled wheels are bottom of the pyramid.

Between more cars on the road and more cycles on the road, the latter doesn’t impress because it isn’t as big an industry or employment multiplier as automobiles. Critics have pointed out that the social costs of the automobile industry are in the negative in some countries. Equally real is planet of seven billion people (1.2 billion in India) with accompanying need for jobs. In the closing part of the twentieth century and the early part of the twenty first, several developing countries eyed car manufacturing projects as means to create employment. As pollution and climate change take hold with consequences for the auto industry, I wonder what governments are thinking now.  Notwithstanding last year’s scandal of a major German automobile company cheating on emission norms, governments will likely persist with the old paradigm. Vehicle numbers in India will increase with corresponding rise in pollution and congestion. The convincing alternative is embracing certain ideals just for the sensible ideals they are. Having fresh air to breathe and less congestion around is not something to balance with our survival. It IS survival. But when did ideals and alternatives guarantee quick return on capital? As the rat race tightens and the cost of doing business goes up, all that matters is return on capital. “ We are obsessed with return on capital,” my friend said. The tried and tested, old wine in new bottle – such approaches flourish. Room for experiment shrinks. Everything surrendered to return on capital is meaningful change also slowed down alongside. A 100 km-cycling highway may be a bad financial investment. On the other hand, it represents a clean, interesting future.

Every February as the union budget approaches, my mind goes back to a budget some years ago which hiked tariff on imported bicycles. It was meant to stop cheap imports. But it hurt anyone eyeing the imported premium varieties for enjoyable cycling, in an Indian manufacturing scene that hadn’t stirred out of its comfort zone of making utilitarian models. Since then, to the credit of the local bicycle industry, it has grown a presence in the premium segment. The evolution is slow; there is no urgency. My friend and I wondered: have we seen any advertisement, any social campaign by the Indian bicycle industry on promoting cycling and a cycling friendly-environment? We weren’t talking of posters advertising cycle trips at a bicycle store or a few bicycle stands with commuter bikes in a few cities. We weren’t talking of celebrities endorsing cycling or sponsored cycling events and races. We weren’t talking of those from the bicycle industry regularly participating in Delhi’s Auto Expo, billed as Asia’s biggest automobile show. They typically showcase very expensive bicycles that serve as statements for brand building.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Cycling, like running and unlike motoring, is environment friendly and keeps you healthy. We were talking of a generic campaign for cycling that is comparable to how India promoted the consumption of milk and eggs. The automobile industry never tires of pushing its case. Even today, despite the social costs of motoring being unbearable in some places, the industry aggressively markets itself. Has the bicycle industry been as vocal as the auto industry when it comes to protecting and promoting the idea of cycling? Do they ask for bicycle lanes; do they ask for motorists to respect bicycle lanes and be aware of cyclists on the road? That is quite different from guarding domestic turf through import tariffs in the union budget. Did the bicycle industry promote cycling or highlight its virtues nationwide when the country was following the news about Delhi’s odd-even scheme, the first serious intervention in India against air pollution? Aside from the routine photo of a senior government official or celebrity on a cycle, we couldn’t remember seeing or hearing anything substantial. Times of auto industry questioned don’t seem opportunity enough for bicycle manufacturers to assert their case? It appeared so. Interestingly, some months ago, the CEO of a bicycle company said in the course of a conversation that the Indian cycling experience has to be improved for growing the bicycle market, particularly the premium segment. After all, we invest in a bicycle to enjoy the experience of being out with it.

Fifteen minutes went by at those two survey stones.

We drank water and had some snacks.

Then, we resumed cycling.

If you sample the list of the world’s top box office hits, you will be amazed by how many movies therein are the stuff of fantasy. We love escaping a reality beyond our control. At the start of the 20 km-long choke section, I indulged my pet fantasy: magically erase all that traffic with a special effects-wand and imagine one long stretch of road with just joggers and cyclists on it. Wannabe wizard traded fantasy for reality, the moment the first big truck rumbled dangerously close by.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)       

A TEACHER FROM LONG AGO

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

One day many years ago, when I was in school, a tall, bearded man became our teacher.

He taught us English.

In a stiff educational ambiance wedded to syllabus and academic performance, he sometimes came to class with the book he was reading. Small things like that, triggered curiosity. Compared to other teachers, he was young. Quite approachable and a bit of a misfit in those days of strict discipline at school, he was a hit with us. From the way he dressed, to his informal, relaxed style of talking while taking classes, the way he reminded us to be quiet, as opposed to commanding us – everything was different. Occasionally his reluctance to be assertive meant a slightly chaotic class but we were delighted to have a ` cool’ teacher. He didn’t work long at the school. His tenure was brief. He moved on.

Post college, I tried unsuccessfully to be a copywriter. In the desperate aftermath of losing that first job, I was accepted as student for a course in journalism. It was a case of grabbing what came my way to stay afloat. Months later, I found myself a journalist. I met my old English teacher just once after leaving school and that was several years ago. I was home in Thiruvananthapuram on holiday and his house then was a kilometre or less, away. In the years following that stint as teacher, he had become a prominent journalist. I called on him because I wanted to say hello to someone I respected in school and in whose chosen profession, I found myself in. He had worked at The Indian Express, Mathrubhumi, News Time, The Statesman, The Independent and India Today. He was also associated in between with BBC Radio. But what would make him a household name in Kerala was ` Kannadi’ (mirror), a popular programme he produced and presented for Asianet, a leading television channel in the state. He eventually became Editor-in-Chief of Asianet News. I met him in the early phase of ` Kannadi,’ as a student he had taught at school during his pre-journalist days. We didn’t meet again. In the years that followed I also disconnected my cable TV because the whole business of news and breaking news had become unbearable. Amid that, while travelling on work or at other people’s houses, once in a while, I caught snatches of ` Kannadi’ on TV. Early morning of January 30, 2016, I received a text message informing that T.N. Gopakumar was no more.

I remember T.N. Gopakumar as my old teacher. The deep, rough voice from ` Kannadi’ and that unmistakable style of sentence-delivery, was there even then but cast as my school teacher, it is a Gopakumar in a non-media setting I came to remember. Someone who was intellectually leagues ahead of his students, probably wondering what he was doing in our class and yet, amused by it. I was lucky to have a couple of teachers, whose impact exceeded syllabus. Gopakumar is one of them but with a difference. In his case, the impact is tough to articulate because it was both an impression and an impression over a short period of time. The closest I can articulate the impression would be – he made you want to grow up, have a head full of ideas and a book to read. News reports said he was called `TNG’ in media circles. For his students, he was ` T.N. Gopakumar sir’ or ` Gopakumar sir.’

He will be missed; not just by television viewers and the media fraternity but by his old students as well.

(The author Shyam G Menon is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

THE ORDINARY LIFE

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

This is an old story, from a time when Badami was yet to have climbing routes of grade eight.

I noticed Badami when my rock climb failed.

A high rock face to climb trad-style, but few minutes into it my mind panicked. It fled into the `can’t-do’ zone, from there to the `why-do?’ and eventually the `won’t-do’ zone. I lost my confidence, packed up my rucksack and walked away to nurse my shattered ego. I had been climbing for close to a decade and yet I cannot do this? Perhaps this vertical business with challenges every second is not for me. It rankled, for up there, you are alone and have to work things out yourself. Having tasted climbing before, defeat hit me hard; exiled me into the realm of ordinariness. Who likes that?

Badami is one of the best places I have climbed in. When the light is right, it’s beautiful sandstone glows. From a climber’s perspective, I found the rock suited for my style and grade of climbing, which was beyond beginner level but still intermediate. The rock sported a variety of holds ranging all the way from painful pinches to thank God-jug holds. Above all, the rock had a gentle, sandpaper feel to aid friction. You found climbs to encourage the beginner; engage the enthusiast and obsess the expert. In a world where 9a was the toughest climbing grade yet, Badami had plenty of routes in the sixes and sevens. I was witness to an attempt by French climbers to open something in eight. The hardest I could manage on lead was a low six. Probably when in fighting form in the head and body, I could nudge that up to a mid six.

What I loved about Badami were two things – first, if you got tired doing long climbs, there was always plenty you could dig out from rock, to boulder; and second, this wasn’t a place that imposed a climbing style on you, here the rock allowed you expression. You just had to look around to find a line somewhere to call your own. Problem with me had always been the mind. It had a tendency to magnify failure, pick up that train of thought and flush the rest of the brain down the drain double quick. No matter how much I climbed – and I did quite a bit for the average Indian of my age – my mind remained the same. Its inability to perceive my strengths eventually crushed me. I tried disciplining it with positive thought, didn’t work; I tried distracting it with motivational reading; didn’t work. There were flashes of relief, but soon thereafter the slide to gloom and self deprecation would take over. I gave the condition a name – the crab. That’s how the head felt when the lows grabbed you with its pincers. And right then after the failed climb, I could feel the crab groping around upstairs for a strand of grey matter to torment.

Badami was dry, dusty. Climbing agenda gone, I began to see the town. Well over a thousand years ago, Vatapi as it was known then, had been the capital of the powerful Chalukya kingdom. In the Badami of today, you hardly suspected such a grand past. The ruins and temples on its edge had design, the town had none. It was a collage of powdery soil, congestion and the regular motifs of clustered human habitation. A demolition drive was on against illegal structures, the bulldozer furiously stirring up dust. Like elsewhere in this country of harsh realities, old glory dies hard and the name of the Chalukya kingdom’s greatest ruler, Pulakesi, showed up on a board or two. In the world below the boards with Pulakesi’s name, children asked for a school pen; not getting which, they sought a chocolate and failing that, a one rupee coin. There is even a climbing route called `school pen’ – so ubiquitous is the request! I began my exile from climbing with a visit to Banashree Restaurant. Upendra Kumar served me a plate of idli-vada. He was typically a very reserved person whose demeanor betrayed disinterest in matters other than his own immediate work. For some reason that day he enquired where I had been. Probably sensing a day not gone well, he recommended that I visit Badami’s archaeological sights and rattled off details as in a guided tour. He spoke in English; I could imagine him holding forth in one of those rock-cut caves, a group of foreign tourists tuned in gravely. In fact, he had worked as a guide before he became a waiter. At snack’s end, I paid the bill and offered him a tip. He declined it, saying, “ service is my duty sir.’’ He smiled, wiped his hands on a small towel, returned the towel to his shoulder and left. Red-faced with embarrassment, I suddenly realized you don’t have to climb or build empires, to be extraordinary. You just have to do a good job with whatever you are engaged in.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

The day before, Lakshman had carried his situation with similar dignity. Hailing from Belgaum, the post graduate in social work lectured at a college in Badami. He was once selected for a job at one of the companies of Godrej in Mumbai but caught typhoid and couldn’t make it. Not one to waste time over the setback, Lakshman had then registered to study law alongside his job as lecturer. He was wandering around the town’s sandstone rocks, text book in hand, when he saw the group of climbers attempting routes in a discreet gap between high rock walls known to crag hoppers as Badami Deluxe. “ So, this is a game for you?’’ he asked, attempting what many people strain to do – read logic into the act of man courting the vertical. Popular belief is that everything has to finally boil down to a set of comprehensible urges, like why you play football or cricket. You know that the target driving all the physical activity on the field is to score a goal, take a wicket or score runs. In sharp contrast, climbing typically loses its wealth of dimensions when forced into paradigms of competition, fixed time and forced result. The times climbing gripped me the most was when personal universe shrank to a dialogue between self and rock. These are moments of near emptiness in the head or acute focus on the immediate. It is actually hard trying to explain why people climb rock or for that matter, endure the hardships that come with ascending a mountain. As regular life remorselessly patronizes the rat race, such pursuits as chasing endorphin or courting emptiness in the head or feeling good through alternative perspectives of life – they gather momentum. Tragedy however is that we bring rat race to the alternatives too. We are our worst nightmare. In my experience, the first move in climbing is akin to taking a chance. Thereafter, what keeps you in the game is a combination of your wish to taste what you are aspiring for and the knowledge that your limits can be pushed. You fail many times. In right company, failure is positive fun (right company, as always, is hard to find). No amount of watching climbing will put you adequately in the zone to appreciate what’s going on up there on rock for the amount of experience climbing shares with the observer is very limited. This is a doer’s sport. When you convert it into an arena based-event, the ones in the audience connecting convincingly to the moves on stage are climbers.

It is easy for climbing to thus get dismissed as a pretty selfish pursuit something reinforced by its own eccentric rituals like callused skin, fascination for climbing moves and the use of chalk almost as metaphor for clarity. Crimping or the art of pulling on nearly non-existent rock features hurts the fingers due to the inordinate strain it imposes on delicate joints otherwise used to easy tasks. Climbers merely tape up the joints with plaster to enhance local support and continue chasing their obsession, the pain buried by the mind’s fixation on the route and the encouragement of others with tape on their fingers. That’s why on most occasions climbers make sense to only their community. It is a tribal bonding that management consultants and marketing types like to showcase (rather incorrectly) for team building. But none of that would ever get close to what you likely feel when you are one of the real climbers. An authentic climber, I suspect, may not even be aware of the tribe. He / she is aware of just the rock, blissfully exhausting a lifetime’s supply of mental focus and physical energy on investigating why person shouldn’t stick to challenging rock face like a lizard and move up. From the rock climber tackling a boulder to one on a high face to the alpinist attempting a several-day challenge on snow and ice, there is a certain self imposed isolation that characterizes climbing and climbers. Climbers give off this attitude that they don’t require the rest of the world for company. I see it as the experiential impact of the sport they pursue, which is marked by focused attention on what is at hand, rarely what is around. When I was into climbing, this bonding by climbing came naturally to me. In exile, I saw it differently. Exiled, I wasn’t what was immediately at hand; I was part of what lay around. Climbers relate through the act of climbing and the world of climbing so overwhelmingly that nothing else intrigues for stimulation. When you drop off that world, climbers have no value for you. It is like a blip seen no more on radar. Now, try explaining all this to an observer asking why you climb. So I just nodded and smiled at Lakshman’s query. If he was earnest in finding answers for his question, the next time I came to Badami, I would find him a climber. If he wasn’t earnest, well I saved climbing from one more potential critic.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

However, what struck me about Lakshman was something else. I have always been agitated by my inabilities; especially, if others could and I couldn’t. I never got my climbing peace engineered the proper way. For all the monastic tranquility I confer on climbing it is a thin line that separates the act of climbing from degeneration into a mentally self destructive engagement. Because it is a difficult art, failure is frequent. Courtesy the simple truth that you are either climbing or falling, there is no place for the ego to hide when failure strikes. Your friends may say it is okay if you failed, even you may counsel yourself so. But the inner self weaned on climbing’s harsh lexicon, knows YOU failed. That’s what happened to me that day in Badami. I let the pressure crack me up. Then someone else of my grade climbed the route smoothly. It burnt the failure in. I had always had problems leading on rock and that incident crushed me. I felt I didn’t deserve repeated failure after years given to the sport. Why was I still struggling, when every molecule in me wanted to climb? My failures told me in an unadulterated way – I was doing something wrong. I wanted help. I got none. The failures stayed. Looking back, I feel, climbing was for me a lot like being infatuated with a completely indifferent woman on the strength of maybe one incisive observation about you she made long ago. That one comment stays in your head for an eternity because it was honest and accurate. It is riveting enough to burn her into your mind but it is also true that there is a limit to how much burn a man can take. I get fed up after a while. I admired climbing for its unflinching honesty. I got exhausted of failing to attract its fabled flow. I stopped climbing.

Jacques Perrier seemed just the opposite of my frustrated self. To start with, this climber from France was almost sixty years old when I met him through my climbing club. The only time I saw him agitated was when he was bundled into a thickly packed mini-van headed for Badami. I was seated on the engine box next to the driver. Perrier, I am not even sure if he boarded that vehicle or took the next one. I do remember seeing him shocked on the road, beholding the van built on a narrow wheelbase with people stuffed inside and piled on the roof, his hands up in the air as the highly expressive French do when agitated. He may have hated that van passionately but he was passionately in love with rock. And it showed in each and every move he made at Badami, it was smooth, elegant and the way he gripped rock, I could write poetry on that if I had the talent. It was an act of love without the slightest strain showing on face or fingers. In a world where every tennis player worth the brand he endorsed, grunted his way to glory on court, Perrier was a silent artist weaving spell after spell on rock. He was at peace, happy to be doing what he was doing. Lakshman was the Perrier of another world, he appeared at peace with the universe, uncomplaining about his position on the ground while half a dozen crazies sweated, fought and extracted achievement from rock. He was content to be sitting there, books by his side. Before he left, he enquired if we needed help carrying our equipment down the steep gully we had come up. He may not climb but he certainly was a helpful human being. What more should any person be?

As I sipped tea at Banashree, the jackhammer’s rat-a-tat was relentless atop Ganesh Prasad, the small cellar-hotel where I used to have breakfast. The food at Ganesh Prasad was often explosively spicy but it was cheap and for those wanting to save money like me, the extra spice muted hunger. Dust and debris littered its entrance as the jumpy machine pounded concrete. Hit by compressed air flowing down a connecting tube, the jackhammer’s pile driver bangs the drill bit down onto the concrete surface. No sooner does it do that, a valve reverses the air flow retracting the pile driver and allowing the drill bit to relax. Then, the pile driver goes down again. In one minute, the jackhammer repeats this cycle fifteen hundred times. That’s some signature of demolition in a town, whose ancient rulers are remembered by their long surviving temples. Everything in life has two sides; where there is construction, there is destruction. Where there is empire, there are ruins. Where there is furious climbing, there is exile. By night, Ganesh Prasad had gaping holes up front and the hotel had temporarily shut down. Illegal the building may have been, but the cheap eatery had greeted the morning with South Indian devotional songs, recreating an ambiance from my childhood in Kerala when dawn arrived with songs from the nearby temple. Anand, our fruit juice vendor, had lost the facade of his shop to the bulldozer. Next morning as I stepped over the rubble for some lemon juice, he bore no sign of remorse. His family was large, seven brothers and sisters. They had three juice stalls in Badami. He would rather think of the promise for business in today than rue the damage inflicted. Life carries on. “ Some fresh lime?’’ Anand asked. “ Yes please,’’ I said.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

The ordinary was balm for my soul fried by failed climbs. And as it soothed, so the ordinary seemed as courageous and extraordinary as the spectacle of climber on rock. I was discovering a side of the universe I hadn’t noticed before. However I sincerely hope the extraordinary visited eleven year-old Salim who sat watching our last day of climbing at Badami, sullen-faced. He lived with his mother, younger sister and brother. Salim quit school after five years to work at a local hotel. He worked from 7 AM to 9 PM, earning twenty five rupees. His mother washed dishes at the same establishment. The father, given to drinking, worked in Goa and often left the family to fend for themselves. You could sense anger and disappointment in the little boy. Now with strict laws in place, he could not work as well. “ Employers fear trouble if a small boy works,’’ he said. Listening to him, I felt my disappointments in climbing were trivial. Salim needed a king’s blessing or at the very least a bulldozer, to set right his life. The only king around had become a name on the odd signboard, the only bulldozer in town was too ordinary for the miracle he sought.

All this was long ago. Badami has since got climbing routes in grade eight, including the high eights. Back in Mumbai, I slowly withdrew from climbing and climbing groups. I did climb in Badami after the episode mentioned in this article but never as involved in climbing as it was previously. For most matters concerned, my exile from climbing continues. I haven’t yet regained my affection for rock climbing.

(The author Shyam G Menon is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. For more on Badami please visit this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/02/21/beyond-ganesha-part-one/ and navigate on from there for further reading.)

LADAKH RUNNERS DO WELL AT SCMM

Jigmet Dolma and Tsetan Dolker (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jigmet Dolma and Tsetan Dolkar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Nawang Tsering ushered me into the room I had been in before.

An open window to the east gifted ample sunshine. On the bed was a magazine on running. What had changed was a corner of the room. It seemed to have metamorphosed into a shrine of sorts – a runners’ shrine. The last time I was here, trophies from the Goa River Marathon (GRM) were placed on a shelf in the corner. Now, above the shelf was a line of finisher’s medals from both GRM and the just concluded Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM). A couple of medals that couldn’t be accommodated in this corner were hung at the next corner; sunshine-window in the middle. So far, it had been a fine outing for the team of young runners from Ladakh spending winter running in the warmer regions of the country. The medals and trophies marked their journey.

At the 2016 SCMM, Jigmet Dolma and Tsetan Dolkar finished third and fourth respectively, in the open category of the full marathon for women. They were apart by just two seconds at the finish. Jigmet finished in 3:27:46; Tsetan in 3:27:48. Sonam Choskit was placed 14th in the same discipline and category with a timing of 4:10:06. In the half marathon segment of SCMM, Tsering Dolkar (1:44:30), Diskit Dolma (1:47:35) and Stanzin Chondol (1:53:29) were placed 11th, 13th and 16th respectively in the open category for woman participants. Nawang (1:24:37) finished 23rd in the open category of the half marathon for men. Three of these runners had been at SCMM before. Jigmet was ranked second in the open category in 2015. But that year her timing was 3:45:21. At the 2016 SCMM, she was eighteen minutes faster. Tsetan last ran the full marathon at SCMM, in 2014. She was placed 26th in the open category completing the run in 4:15 (timing provided by Tsetan). That would mean, in 2016, she knocked off 48 minutes in her timing. Sonam ran the full marathon in 2015 in 4:44 (timing provided by Sonam). A year later, she had cut the timing by 34 minutes. “ They have improved well,’’ Skalzang Lhundup, the team manager said.

The improvement is not just between last year and now. On December 13, 2015, the team had participated in GRM securing six podium finishes, the first time many of them were doing so outside of Ladakh. All six podium finishers from GRM have improved their time at SCMM. Tsetan’s gain stands out.  From GRM to SCMM, both events separated by just over a month, she cut her timing in the full marathon by 38 minutes. Still, in terms of timing, there is a long way to go for this young team. On the Internet, the Association of Road Racing Statisticians (ARRS) has a page on Ladakh’s Rigzen Angmo. According to it, in November 1995, when she won the Bangkok marathon, her timing was 2:51:14. Her personal best, reported in February 1996, is listed as 2:45:42. Both these timings are considerably faster than the open category winner of the women’s full marathon at the 2016 SCMM (for more on Rigzen Angmo please click on this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/09/28/the-spectator/).

The team (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The team (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

For the past few months, Savio D’Souza, veteran marathoner and well known coach in Mumbai, had been overseeing this young team’s training (incidentally, Savio finished first in the 60-65 age category of the 2016 SCMM’s half marathon for men with a timing of 1:36:42). He was in Leh in September 2015, around the time of the Ladakh Marathon, to meet the runners and impart training tips. Besides this team of youngsters, the Indian Army’s Ladakh Scouts regiment had a clutch of runners participating in SCMM’s full marathon. Skalzang could remember the names of the Ladakh Scouts personnel at SCMM. The event’s website provided the following rank and timing: Padma Namgail (3:03:34; 8th out of 1126 finishers in the open category for men), Stanzin Norboo (3:05:42; 11 / 1126), Rigzin Norbu (3:12:51; 27 / 1126), Tsering Gyatso (3:19:05; 39 / 1126), Tsering Stobgais (3:12:02; 24 / 1126), Tsering Tondup (3:12:50; 26 / 1126), Tashi Paldan (3:16:57; 36 / 1126) and Fayaz Ali (3:36:57; 71 / 1126).

On January 24, Nawang Tsering and Stanzin Chondol will return to Leh for their board exams. The rest of the team hoped to stay on in Mumbai and participate in the Thane marathon before returning to Leh by late February. It will still be winter in Ladakh when they reach. “ We can continue doing our strengthening exercises, maybe manage a short run in the evening in February,’’ Jigmet said. Anything closer to regular running – regular as perceived by those used to cold and snow – that would have to wait at least till mid-March. The youngsters hoped that in 2016-17, the team will add more events to the itinerary, to visit and run at. This team of Ladakhi youngsters was assembled and supported on its trip by Rimo Expeditions. The company organizes the annual Ladakh Marathon.

(The author Shyam G Menon is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. For more on the running team and the Ladakh Marathon please visit the following two links: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/12/28/sunshine-running/ & https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/08/07/ladakhs-running-team/.)