65 kilometers is a long distance. Even the Masai tribes from the Rift Valley in Africa, who took the long distance event in athletics by storm in the late last century, would agree. Even the best of wandering-- but walking! -- tribes of the yore would nod. Even the hard taskmaster Junren--notorious for his turtle blood soup and grueling training schedule--would have taken the boy in his now disbanded army which descended from the high mountains of China and stunned the world by running away with a bagful of medals and world records.
Budhia Singh is special because he's only four! That's about the age when over-indulgent modern-day parents skip a beat watching their child take a dash downstairs.
Only fear for life or sheer frenzy (like ailing pilgrims, but they too only walk) backed by wells of will can make a child run this long. Try both or anything else you can imagine to make any boy run even half that distance. You will realise you won't meet another Budhia on the Planet Earth. He's so very special.
Budhia would even lift his arms - somehow - and wave back at the cheering crowds.
He must have been in a state of trance. 'He would die!' shrieked and whispered many tender souls who saw him on television. And he still waved. Those watching him in flesh and blood must also have been transfixed. Else why didn't they stop him till he eventually came to a sudden stop with mouthfuls of vomit?
Most likely, nobody believed Budhia could stop. His extraordinary stretch of limbs had somehow stretched their limits of belief. He looked fine that evening, though obviously tired, and a little bored with the prying television cameras and questions that he couldn't understand. He still gave them the byte they wanted but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Budhia Singh is a normal child. With abnormal will, stamina and, most importantly, circumstances. He was sold for 800 rupees by his widow mother. That wouldn't have bought a month's milk for her malnourished children. She must have been desperate.
Budhia spent his first three years of life in the slums of Gautam Nagar in Bhubaneswar, gulping down lumps of rice on luckier days. His father was a beggar. He died when Budhia was not one. He was running when he was not two.
Who knows where and why did he start running?
He could have been one among many who run behind moving trains for leftover food. He might have been running in sheer desperation. He might have been running away from everything... from heat, filth, humidity, mosquitoes, hunger, poverty, disease, or simply, for more food. His mother must have told him at some point of time that she was about to give him to some stranger. He might have wanted to leave...might have hated it.
Beyond what is known of Budhia, there's a lot that nobody would ever know.
It is possible he discovered some day that running faster and longer was an advantage. So he kept running from nowhere to anywhere. He would run tens of kilometers certain days.
In one of these wanderings Budhia strayed into a stadium and was found bullying and abusing some kid. The coach in-charge Biranchi Das punished him by asking him to run till he returned. Biranchi forgot, came back five hours later, and was stunned to find the boy still running.
Why did Budhia keep running for so long that day? He could have run away had he wanted. May be, he wanted to prove a point. He might have stayed back because he wanted to. May be, he was smiling secretly running his nth lap thinking 'this is what I came here for - to run'.
He might have felt good when this tall, stout "sir" talked to him. Biranchi was at least curious. Chances are he was the first person from this side of the world trying to speak to Budhia and understand what he was mumbling. Biranchi just didn't talk. He acted. He met Budhia's mother, figured everything out, and brought him to his judo center.
How many of us stop to talk to a slum kid hurling abuses at someone?
Budhia might have died an anonymous death running on the dead-end lanes.
One year and couple of months later, it is possible Budhia feels better with his Biranchi sir despite his guerilla training. "He only loves running, eating and sleeping," says Biranchi, who is presently being hounded by human right activists, courts, doctors and the divided state government. Apart from the loud lip service what else has Budhia got from the faceless state and other institutions? His mother wants him to stay with his coach. He himself wants to stay with his sir. He has just joined a school.
May be, Budhia wonders these days where would they send him next.
Budhia is an extraordinary kid. He should not become a victim of our ordinary standards and erratic conscience. He deserves extraordinary care. The famished state of Orissa is not especially known for that. Hundreds succumb to heat, humidity and hunger every year there...
Budhia doesn't have a single reason to believe the state, the human right activists and the apathetic institutions. He had been running from Puri to Bhubaneswar before. He had to still run till he collapsed to make them see the enormity of his endeavour. To get 'official' recognition that he can run.
Both he and his coach are in a hurry. They need to be scaled down, slowed down. Biranchi doesn't deserve to be talked to; he needs to be talked over. He would listen. His methods may be wrong, his intentions are fine. And he knows their ambitions are entwined.
Budhia's last dizzying 65-kilometer run has opened new horizons, he won't have to bully his way to any stadium now, and he would run alongside the best.
When Budhia takes his first flight to London later this month, may be he would like to sit next to his sir than any die-hard Human Rights Activist. All those trying to bail him out might be nothing more than distant, troublemaking noises for him.
He should be left alone with his sir. As long as he feels comfortable on his lap. When he doesn't, don't worry, he knows how to run. He will move on.
Spare him a prayer, don't pity him!
first published:May 07, 2006, 09:44 ISTlast updated:May 07, 2006, 09:44 IST
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A tiny, thin, bony boy is running on a 36.8 degree Celsius and 94 per cent humid day on the busy Puri-Bhubaneswar highway. His lolling head sways; his trembling feet grope for the concrete ground beneath; his sweat-washed face has exhaustion written all over it.
65 kilometers is a long distance. Even the Masai tribes from the Rift Valley in Africa, who took the long distance event in athletics by storm in the late last century, would agree. Even the best of wandering-- but walking! -- tribes of the yore would nod. Even the hard taskmaster Junren--notorious for his turtle blood soup and grueling training schedule--would have taken the boy in his now disbanded army which descended from the high mountains of China and stunned the world by running away with a bagful of medals and world records.
Budhia Singh is special because he's only four! That's about the age when over-indulgent modern-day parents skip a beat watching their child take a dash downstairs.
Only fear for life or sheer frenzy (like ailing pilgrims, but they too only walk) backed by wells of will can make a child run this long. Try both or anything else you can imagine to make any boy run even half that distance. You will realise you won't meet another Budhia on the Planet Earth. He's so very special.
Budhia would even lift his arms - somehow - and wave back at the cheering crowds.
He must have been in a state of trance. 'He would die!' shrieked and whispered many tender souls who saw him on television. And he still waved. Those watching him in flesh and blood must also have been transfixed. Else why didn't they stop him till he eventually came to a sudden stop with mouthfuls of vomit?
Most likely, nobody believed Budhia could stop. His extraordinary stretch of limbs had somehow stretched their limits of belief. He looked fine that evening, though obviously tired, and a little bored with the prying television cameras and questions that he couldn't understand. He still gave them the byte they wanted but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Budhia Singh is a normal child. With abnormal will, stamina and, most importantly, circumstances. He was sold for 800 rupees by his widow mother. That wouldn't have bought a month's milk for her malnourished children. She must have been desperate.
Budhia spent his first three years of life in the slums of Gautam Nagar in Bhubaneswar, gulping down lumps of rice on luckier days. His father was a beggar. He died when Budhia was not one. He was running when he was not two.
Who knows where and why did he start running?
He could have been one among many who run behind moving trains for leftover food. He might have been running in sheer desperation. He might have been running away from everything... from heat, filth, humidity, mosquitoes, hunger, poverty, disease, or simply, for more food. His mother must have told him at some point of time that she was about to give him to some stranger. He might have wanted to leave...might have hated it.
Beyond what is known of Budhia, there's a lot that nobody would ever know.
It is possible he discovered some day that running faster and longer was an advantage. So he kept running from nowhere to anywhere. He would run tens of kilometers certain days.
In one of these wanderings Budhia strayed into a stadium and was found bullying and abusing some kid. The coach in-charge Biranchi Das punished him by asking him to run till he returned. Biranchi forgot, came back five hours later, and was stunned to find the boy still running.
Why did Budhia keep running for so long that day? He could have run away had he wanted. May be, he wanted to prove a point. He might have stayed back because he wanted to. May be, he was smiling secretly running his nth lap thinking 'this is what I came here for - to run'.
He might have felt good when this tall, stout "sir" talked to him. Biranchi was at least curious. Chances are he was the first person from this side of the world trying to speak to Budhia and understand what he was mumbling. Biranchi just didn't talk. He acted. He met Budhia's mother, figured everything out, and brought him to his judo center.
How many of us stop to talk to a slum kid hurling abuses at someone?
Budhia might have died an anonymous death running on the dead-end lanes.
One year and couple of months later, it is possible Budhia feels better with his Biranchi sir despite his guerilla training. "He only loves running, eating and sleeping," says Biranchi, who is presently being hounded by human right activists, courts, doctors and the divided state government. Apart from the loud lip service what else has Budhia got from the faceless state and other institutions? His mother wants him to stay with his coach. He himself wants to stay with his sir. He has just joined a school.
May be, Budhia wonders these days where would they send him next.
Budhia is an extraordinary kid. He should not become a victim of our ordinary standards and erratic conscience. He deserves extraordinary care. The famished state of Orissa is not especially known for that. Hundreds succumb to heat, humidity and hunger every year there...
Budhia doesn't have a single reason to believe the state, the human right activists and the apathetic institutions. He had been running from Puri to Bhubaneswar before. He had to still run till he collapsed to make them see the enormity of his endeavour. To get 'official' recognition that he can run.
Both he and his coach are in a hurry. They need to be scaled down, slowed down. Biranchi doesn't deserve to be talked to; he needs to be talked over. He would listen. His methods may be wrong, his intentions are fine. And he knows their ambitions are entwined.
Budhia's last dizzying 65-kilometer run has opened new horizons, he won't have to bully his way to any stadium now, and he would run alongside the best.
When Budhia takes his first flight to London later this month, may be he would like to sit next to his sir than any die-hard Human Rights Activist. All those trying to bail him out might be nothing more than distant, troublemaking noises for him.
He should be left alone with his sir. As long as he feels comfortable on his lap. When he doesn't, don't worry, he knows how to run. He will move on.
Spare him a prayer, don't pity him!
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