...the Tricolour outnumbers even the host countries flags. Almost all the news media from India have thronged the stadium. The starters' shot seconds away from ringing through the air, already heavy with sounds of various hues. The polished tracks glisten bright. I can feel each of my muscles twitch and almost hear the breath of my fellow athletes. I have had more difficulty fending questions like "How does it feel to be the first Indian male to be hailed as an olympics medal hope in athletics", "How has your family endured the pressure..." and many such more. It kind of prepared me for the finals of the 400 metres relay on the biggest stage ever. Fan mails, prime time coverage, endorsements...I had tasted a slice of these even before I set foot onto the arena everyone expected me to set on fire. Even if I managed a top 6 finish, I could expect much more to come my way, let alone the 'prestige-money' which would flow into my bank accounts. 4...3...2...1...BANG! That was enough to wake me out of the most vivid siesta dreams I have had in recent times. Blame it on the sumptiously think Dal Makhani and Achari Murgh Tikka my wife made for lunch OR on the never-ending desire for atleast a singlepiece of metal an average Indian longs for as each edition of the event that passes by.
It is beyond logic why a country with over a billion heart-beats cannot produce a few with passion enough to pump enough adrenaline that will bring us a clutch of medals. Let alone a top 5 or top 10 slot in the final hustings, but enough to salvage some prestige that has long been charred beyond recognition. In a country where terminologies such as 'horse-trading' and 'marathon-yatras' are heard beyond the realms of sport, a wind in the right direction could yet turn our 'burp belching bellies' into the right curves to help us cut through olympic pools and double barrel flips.
Till then I guess its just the siesta's which will bring the average Indian the only succour...
