Payyoli Express

The child in me reminisces the glee, the rising spirit, the surge of energy whenever Padma Shri P.T. Usha came centrestage.  Nicknamed very appropriately, Payyoli Express. Surrounded by a humble grit and boundless energy radiating, P.T. Usha made me feel secure.  Unflinching on tracks, eyes straight ahead, the athletic, lean body seeming to be in action even when waiting for the signal in that unique position of hers, the moment she would just catapult herself on tracks, every definable feature I would capture and absorb. I felt, I was catapulted so that while sitting on the sofa watching the sport on TV, I would start forward. Then come to senses. Watching every sprinting step of hers catching up on those ahead, I never felt a sense of failure. I knew she would win. And win she did.

I remember, at relay races, she would always be at the last position, final leg, on the track. Her team members would start, albeit slower than the competitors. I would see the team members falling way behind others. But I had an unflinching faith in P.T Usha. If she is there, no matter what, India will win against all odds.  Just as the baton came in her hands, she sprinted and sprinted running faster than the wind, or so it seemed. I transfixed all my senses on her. Faster, higher, stronger, she ran. And I run too, with my feet tightly bound at the small space they were in. Can Newton or Einstein explain that how I could run? And then I saw her feet on the finishing line, a split-second ahead of her nearest rival. And what I did? I shouted aloud that my mother would come running out of the kitchen. And jumped and jumped, not my mother, but I.