Chapter 17: Isha

# Chapter 17: Isha

## The Nationals

Bhubaneswar was the city of temples. Bhubaneswar was the city of a thousand temples — the thousand being the historical claim, the claim that the city's tourism department made and that the city's reality supported with the specific, visible evidence of temples on every third street, the temples being the sandstone and the laterite and the carved stone that the Kalinga dynasty had placed a thousand years ago and that the city had preserved with the varying degrees of attention that Indian cities gave to their heritage.

Bhubaneswar was also the city of the Kalinga Stadium — the stadium that hosted the National Junior Athletics Championship, the championship that was the pyramid's peak for the under-17 category, the peak from which the view included the entire country, the country being the thirty-six states and union territories that sent their best athletes to Bhubaneswar to race against the nation's best.

The nation's best. The phrase that now included me — the phrase that the state championship had earned, the 4:21 being the ticket, the ticket that converted the state champion into the national competitor, the competition being the level that Aaji had dreamed of and that the Panhala road had prepared for and that the notebook's first page had anticipated, the anticipation being: the destination is the nationals. The nationals are Bhubaneswar. Bhubaneswar is March.

March was here. March was the month — the month that the Odisha coast made humid, the humidity being different from Kolhapur's dry Sahyadri cold, the humidity being the Bhubaneswar experience, the experience that began at the railway station (Bhubaneswar Junction, the platform that released the humidity like a door releasing heat) and continued at the stadium (the Kalinga Stadium's track being the track that the humidity sat on, the sitting being the atmospheric condition that the running would navigate).

I arrived with Mane madam. The two of us — the state champion and the coach, the pair that Maharashtra's athletics association had funded, the funding being the travel allowance that the association provided to the state's representatives, the representatives being the athletes who had qualified at the state meet.

Janhavi did not come. Janhavi's eighth place at states had not qualified for nationals — the qualification requiring the top three, the top three being the cut-off that separated the state representatives from the state participants, the separation being the line that Janhavi's eighth had not crossed.

Janhavi's absence was the absence — the absence that I felt at the Bhubaneswar railway station, the feeling being the specific, located feeling of a person who had grown accustomed to another person's proximity and whose proximity was now withdrawn. The withdrawal was not permanent — the withdrawal was geographical and temporary, the geographical being the Kolhapur-to-Bhubaneswar distance that the qualification had created and the temporary being the week that the nationals required.

But the absence was present. The absence was in the warm-up — the warm-up that I ran alone, the alone being the condition that had been my condition before the training partnership and that was now, after the partnership, the condition that felt wrong, the wrong being the difference between the alone-by-default and the alone-after-beside, the after-beside making the alone larger.

The Kalinga Stadium was world-class. The track was the Regupol surface — the German-manufactured synthetic that the international federation had certified, the certification being the stamp that said: times run on this surface are real, the real being the legitimate, the legitimate being the record-eligible. The stands held fifteen thousand. The scoreboard was electronic. The timing was the Swiss system — the system that measured to the hundredth and that displayed to the hundredth and that the hundredth was the measurement that separated the champions from the contenders.

The under-17 girls' 1,500 metres was on day two. Day two being Saturday — the Saturday that the championship reserved for the distance events, the distance being the 800, the 1,500, and the 3,000, the three distances that ran in the afternoon session.

Thirty-six girls. Thirty-six girls from thirty-six states and territories — one per state, the best per state, the cream of the national pyramid. The girls were — the girls were different from the state-level girls. The girls were the specific, visible calibre of national-level athletes: the bodies lean, the postures alert, the warm-ups purposeful, the purposefulness being the quality that distinguished the national athlete from the state athlete, the quality that said this body has been trained for this specific purpose and the purpose is visible in the body's carriage.

I was seeded fourth. The seeding was based on the state times — my 4:21 being the fourth-fastest among the thirty-six, the fourth-fastest being the position that placed me behind:

First seed: Prarthana Reddy, Telangana. 4:16. The time that was five seconds faster than mine. The five seconds being the gap at the national level — the gap that was not the zonal gap (which was seconds that the training closed quickly) but the national gap (which was seconds that represented years of investment, state-level coaching infrastructure, nutritionists, physiotherapists, the specific, expensive, systematic support that Telangana's athletics programme provided and that Kolhapur's ₹28,000 programme did not).

Second seed: Tanisha Kalita, Assam. 4:18. Three seconds ahead.

Third seed: Divija Nair, Kerala. 4:19. Two seconds ahead.

Fourth seed: Isha Gaikwad, Maharashtra. 4:21.

The gap between first and fourth was five seconds. Five seconds that contained — I understood the mathematics — the difference between Telangana's athletics infrastructure and Kolhapur's laterite track. The five seconds that were not just athletic but economic — the economics of Indian sports being the economics that determined the resources that determined the training that determined the times.

Mane madam's assessment was clinical. Mane madam assessed the field with the specific, professional assessment that eleven years of coaching had developed — the assessment that read the warm-ups and the stride lengths and the spike brands and the coaching support and the assessment producing the briefing that Mane madam delivered in the hotel room the night before the race.

"Prarthana goes from the front. She's a front-runner — she leads from the gun and she dares you to follow. Her first lap will be sixty-four, sixty-five. If you follow at that pace, you'll die at 1,200. Let her go. Run your race."

Run your race. Baba's sentence. Mane madam's sentence. The sentence that the running life produced and that the running life repeated because the sentence was the truth and the truth bore repeating.

"Tanisha and Divija will shadow Prarthana. They'll sit on her shoulder. That's their strategy — shadow the leader and kick at the end. The shadowing costs less energy than the leading. The kicking requires the reserve that the shadowing preserves."

"My strategy?" I asked.

"Your strategy is yours. What does the notebook say?"

The notebook. The notebook that Mane madam knew I kept — the notebook that Mane madam had never asked to see but that Mane madam acknowledged as the artefact of the analytical runner, the analytical being the quality that Mane madam had identified in me and that Mane madam's coaching had not created but had nurtured.

The notebook said: even splits. 67-68 per lap. Total target: 4:18. Improvement: 3 seconds from 4:21. The 3 seconds being the race's alchemy — the alchemy of the national-level field, the field's pace lifting the individual's pace the way the zonal field had lifted the individual's pace, the lifting being the competition's gift.

"4:18," I said.

"4:18 is a podium time. 4:18 might be second or third. 4:18 might not catch Prarthana."

"4:18 is what the training supports."

"Then run 4:18. The race will tell you if there's more."

The race will tell you. The sentence that was the coach's sentence — the sentence that said: the plan is the plan and the plan is the starting point and the race is the thing that happens after the starting point and the thing that happens is not always the plan.

Saturday. 3:30 PM. The Kalinga Stadium. Thirty-six girls on the start line. The announcer's voice in Odia and English and Hindi — the trilingual announcement that the national championship required, the trilingual being the accommodation of the nation's linguistic diversity, the diversity that the stadium contained, the containing being thirty-six languages and thirty-six cultures and thirty-six training traditions compressed into one start line.

The gun fired.

Prarthana went. Prarthana went the way Mane madam had predicted — from the front, the front-running being the strategy, the strategy that Prarthana's 4:16 supported and that Prarthana's talent executed. Prarthana's first hundred metres were the hundred metres that said: I am here to lead and the leading is the declaration and the declaration is: follow if you can.

I did not follow. I ran my race — the race that the notebook had scripted, the script being: 67-68 per lap, even splits, the discipline that Mane madam had taught and that the training had reinforced and that the races had proven.

First lap: sixty-eight. On pace. Position: sixth. The sixth being the position that the even pace produced in a field where the front four went out at sixty-four and sixty-five, the front four being Prarthana and Tanisha and Divija and a girl from Haryana whose name I had noted but whose face I had not studied.

Prarthana's first lap: sixty-four. The pace that confirmed Mane madam's prediction — the prediction being the accurate prediction of a coach who had studied the competition with the specific, systematic thoroughness that eleven years had developed.

Second lap: sixty-seven. One second faster than the plan. The faster being the field's lifting — the field's pace creating the slipstream, the slipstream being not the aerodynamic slipstream (the 1,500's speed was too slow for the aerodynamic effect) but the psychological slipstream, the slipstream that the proximity of faster runners created, the proximity being the stimulus that produced the faster lap.

Position: fifth. One girl had faded — the girl from Haryana, whose front-running had cost the fourth position and whose fourth had become the eighth in the second lap's sorting.

Third lap: sixty-seven. Consistent. The consistency being the even split's evidence — the evidence that the discipline was holding, the holding being the body's compliance with the mind's instruction, the compliance being the product of the training that had made the compliance automatic.

Position: fourth. Another girl had faded. The field was sorting — the sorting that the third lap performed, the third lap being the distance's hinge, the hinge that separated the trained from the undertrained, the separation being visible in the stride lengths and the arm carriages and the specific, deteriorating postures that the fatigue produced.

Prarthana was ahead. Prarthana was twenty metres ahead — the twenty metres being the gap that the front-running had created, the gap that was large and that was also the gap that the front-runner paid for with the effort that the front-running required, the effort being the leading's tax, the tax being: the leader works harder because the leader breaks the wind and sets the pace.

Tanisha and Divija were between me and Prarthana — the between being second and third, the second and third being the shadowing positions that Mane madam had predicted.

The final three-quarter lap. 300 metres. The race's conclusion.

I moved. The moving was the decision — the decision that the third lap's end produced, the decision being: now. The now being the moment when the body's reserves are sufficient and the remaining distance is short and the combination of the sufficient and the short produces the acceleration.

I passed the girl in fourth — the girl from Tamil Nadu, the girl whose stride had shortened, the shortening being the fatigue's signature. The passing was clean — the passing that required no sprint, only the maintenance of the pace that the fading girl could no longer maintain.

Third. Behind Divija. Fifteen metres behind Divija. 250 metres to go.

I accelerated. The acceleration was — the acceleration was not the sprint (the sprint being the final-straight weapon) but the tempo increase, the tempo increasing from sixty-seven-per-lap equivalent to sixty-four-per-lap equivalent, the increase being the four-second-per-lap increase that the body produced when the mind instructed the acceleration.

Divija was — Divija was holding. Divija's stride was consistent, Divija's carriage was upright, Divija's pace was the pace of a girl who was not fading. Divija was trained. Divija was national-level. Divija was Kerala's best, and Kerala's best was trained with the specific, state-funded, systematically supported infrastructure that Kerala's athletics programme provided.

200 metres. Fifteen metres behind Divija. The gap not closing.

150 metres. Twelve metres. The gap closing — slowly, the slowly being the closing's speed at this level, the level where the closing was measured in metres per hundred metres rather than metres per lap.

100 metres. The straight. The final straight. The crowd — the fifteen thousand in the Kalinga Stadium, the fifteen thousand whose noise was the noise that the national championship produced, the noise being the specific, enormous, collective sound that the nation made when its athletes raced.

Ten metres behind Divija. The gap had closed from fifteen to ten in two hundred metres. The closing was happening — the closing that the acceleration had produced, the acceleration that was now reaching its maximum, the maximum being the body's limit at 100 metres to go.

I sprinted. The sprint was the weapon — the final-straight weapon that the even pace had preserved, the weapon that the discipline had built, the weapon that Aaji had taught (the hill builds the sprint — the hill's gradient is the resistance that the sprint's flat requires, the resistance training the muscles for the effort that the flat deploys).

The sprint closed the gap. Ten metres became five. Five became three. Three became —

The finish. Divija crossed. I crossed. The crossing was — the crossing was close, the close that the eye could not separate, the close that required the technology.

The result.

"Third place: Isha Gaikwad, Maharashtra. Time: 4:17."

4:17. Four seconds faster than 4:21. The four seconds being the race's alchemy — the alchemy that the national-level field produced, the field's calibre lifting the individual's performance the way each previous field had lifted.

4:17. The time that was one second faster than Mane madam's target of 4:18. The one second being the race's bonus — the bonus that the sprint had produced, the sprint that had nearly caught Divija, the nearly being the half-second that separated third from second, the half-second being the margin.

"Second place: Divija Nair, Kerala. Time: 4:16.5."

"First place: Prarthana Reddy, Telangana. Time: 4:14."

Prarthana had won. Prarthana had run 4:14 — the time that was three seconds ahead of the field, the three seconds being the gap that the front-running had created and that the front-runner had maintained and that the maintaining was the proof that Prarthana was the best, the best being the girl who ran the fastest and who ran the fastest from the front and who ran the fastest from the front alone.

But I was third. I was third at nationals. I was on the podium — the podium being the physical structure that the championship placed on the track's infield, the structure that had three levels (first, second, third) and that the three levels were occupied by the three girls who had run the fastest and that the fastest-three included me.

The bronze medal. The medal that the championship awarded — the medal that was not gold and not silver but bronze, the bronze being the third-place metal, the metal that said: third in India. Third in India. The sentence that I would write in the notebook tonight — the sentence alongside the time, the time being 4:17, the 4:17 being four seconds faster than the state record, the state record being the record that I had set and that I had now exceeded.

Third in India. Aaji's granddaughter. Third in India.

Mane madam was in the stands. Mane madam's face was — Mane madam's face was the face that I had never seen on Mane madam, the face being the specific, undisguised, uncontrolled emotion that coaches displayed when the coaching produced the result that the coaching was designed to produce. Mane madam was crying. Mane madam was crying the way coaches cried — with the tears that were not sadness but the release, the release of the tension that the coaching accumulated and that the result released.

₹28,000. A laterite track. Eleven grant applications. A Classmate notebook. A girl from Kolhapur. Third in India.

I stood on the podium. The national anthem played — the anthem that played for the first-place finisher, the anthem being "Jana Gana Mana," the anthem that the thirty-six states sang together, the together being the nation's assertion of the unity that the competition had expressed, the competition being the nation's children racing against the nation's children and the racing being the nation's expression of itself.

The bronze medal was placed around my neck. The medal's weight was — the medal's weight was the weight, the weight of the metal and the weight of the meaning and the weight being simultaneously light (the metal was light, the bronze being the lighter alloy) and heavy (the meaning was heavy, the meaning being: I did this, the this being the running and the training and the grief and the Panhala road and the 5 AM and the notebook and the programme and the ₹28,000 and the laterite and the Sahyadri cold and the jaggery in the air).

I called Janhavi from Mane madam's phone. The call was the call — the call that the training partner made to the training partner who was not present, the not-present being the geographical absence that the qualification had created.

"4:17," I said. "Third."

"Third at nationals." Janhavi's voice. The voice that contained — the voice contained the thing that voices contained when the speaker was happy for another person, the happiness being the specific, generous, unselfish happiness that one runner felt for another runner's achievement.

"Bronze."

"Bronze medal." The voice again. The repetition that was the processing — the processing that Janhavi performed the way Baba had performed the processing of the 4:49, the repetition being the mechanism that converted the information into the understanding.

"I'm bringing it back," I said. "To the track. On Monday. The team should see it."

"The team will see it. Mane madam will frame the certificate."

"She'll frame it next to the grant applications."

"She'll frame it next to the grant applications and the ₹28,000 budget printout."

The exchange. The exchange that was the shared humour — the humour of two girls who knew the programme's economics and who found the economics funny because the economics were absurd, the absurdity being: a ₹28,000 programme producing a national bronze medal, the bronze medal being the evidence that the economics were not the limit, the talent was the limit, and the talent had not been limited.

"Isha," Janhavi said. "Aaji would be proud."

Aaji would be proud. The sentence that I received in the Bhubaneswar hotel room — the hotel room that was the Odisha State Guest House, the guest house that the championship's organisers provided for the athletes, the guest house being the room with the ceiling fan and the thin mattress and the window that looked out at Bhubaneswar's temple skyline.

Aaji would be proud. The sentence that I could not respond to — the sentence that the voice received but that the voice could not answer because the answer was in the tears and the tears were in the eyes and the eyes were seeing the ceiling fan but the seeing was also the not-seeing, the not-seeing being the blurring that the tears produced.

"Thank you," I said. The two words that were the only words. The two words that contained the training partnership and the Panhala road and the shoes and the tempo and the running-beside and the "the running is what stays" and the grief that two girls shared and the sharing that made the grief lighter and the lighter being the gift that the training partner gave.

I hung up. I sat in the guest house room. I held the bronze medal — the bronze that was the weight and the weight was the meaning and the meaning was the sentence: third in India.

Third in India. The girl from Kolhapur. The girl from the laterite track. The girl whose grandmother ran the Panhala road at 5 AM. The girl whose notebook contained the data that the data could not contain.

Third in India. The running's evidence. The evidence that the running is what stays.