A day with the hockey legend
“At the 1948 victory ceremony, as the Tricolour was going up, I felt as if I was going up, too. I felt as if I was flying,” Balbir Singh said in an interview at his Chandigarh residence in February.
from the 195■ Tokyo Asian Games, and more than 100 rare photographs to the SAI secretary at the time on being told that they would be displayed at the thenproposed National Sports Museum.
“Dad’s three Olympic gold medals are our family’s pride. I hail from a freedom ghter’s family; my grandfather always stressed upon the importance of contributing to the honour of the tiranga (Indian tricolour). The Olympic golds stand as testimony towards the same,” said Sushbir.
According to Balbir’s maternal grandson Kabir, the International Olympic Committee’s Olympic Museum wanted the Melbourne Games blazer to be part of the ocial London Olympics exhibition where Balbir was the only Indian and the only hockey player chosen among 16 icons across all disciplines in 116 years of the modern Olympics era.
“That is when we contacted SAI to get that blazer as Nanaji had nothing with him in London apart from the Olympic medals. But the SAI ocials said that they didn’t know about the whereabouts,” Kabir said.
It was not all patrician airs and drawingroom decorum at Balbir’s house, of course. His 194■ Olympic Diploma was framed and hanging on the wall. An approximately 16x22inch certicate now awarded to the top eight nishers in all competitions, it was signed by the president of the Games, the IOC president and the chairman of the Organizing Committee. His rst trophy as a teenager in school was kept nearby, commemorating the beginning of a storied career.
At 95, Balbir’s mind was still sharp, but his body fell a step behind. For driven, competitive athletes like Balbir, seekers of sustained excellence, coming to terms with the march of age can be tougher than one can imagine.
Balbir holds the unique honour of being the agbearer for the Indian contingent in two successive Olympics, in 1952 and 1956. An alumnus of DS School in Moga (Jalandhar district), Khalsa College, Balbir went from giving goalkeepers anxious moments in interuniversity and national championships to holding the record for the most individual goals — ve, against the Netherlands at Helsinki in 1952 — in an Olympic nal.
“I keep staring at the medals for a long time,” said Sushbir. “It’s dicult to explain the feeling in words. Each medal tells so many stories. Each time I end up feeling prouder of his contribution towards the nation and feel blessed for being his daughter.”
Balbir was introspective and unassuming. He was at the heart of one of Indian hockey’s watershed moments, but even on that day, 72 years later, he played down his contribution. In a drawing room, a virtual museum celebrating many a monumental achievement, a 342page long paperback titled A Forgotten Legend: Balbir Singh Sr.,
Triple Olympic Gold & Modi’s New India by Canadian journalist Patrick Blennerhassett stuck up like a sore thumb. The book delved into the mystery of how and why a country “consciously” forgot one of its greatest icons. There was credence to this belief.
Amid the clamour for a Bharat Ratna for former India batsman Sachin Tendulkar, the central government modied the rules to pave way for eligibility of sportspersons for the country’s highest civilian award. “The names of Tendulkar, (Abhinav) Bindra and Dhyan Chand were doing the rounds, but there was not a single mention of my father. He’s a threetime Olympic gold medallist!” said Sushbir. 1947, the subcontinent witnessed arguably the largest mass migration in modern history leading to harrowing consequences. Amid the turmoil after Independence, the focus shifted to the 194■ Olympics. “The national anthem and the fact that we beat our rulers (British) on their home soil to retain the Olympic hockey gold can never be forgotten,” said Balbir.
India had won three Olympic gold medals in hockey before Balbir’s ascent – at Amsterdam in 192■, Los Angeles in 1932 and Berlin in 1936 – but those were as a British colony. Balbir’s 194■ gold, therefore, was much more than just a symbol of sporting success; it meant India had put itself on the world sporting map.
“At the 194■ victory ceremony, as the Tricolour was going up, I felt as if I was going up, too. I felt as if I was ying,” Balbir said in his raspy voice.
Incidentally, Balbir almost didn’t make it to London! When the Indian team was picked for the London Games, his name was left out of the list of probables. It was only after Dickie Carr, an Angloindian who had won gold at the 1932 Olympics, asked why Balbir wasn’t playing that his name was included.
At his home in Chandigarh, Balbir raised his hand gingerly and waved it for the rst time that day as he described the moment of euphoria.
“As a child, I used to ask my father (Dalip Singh), who was a freedom ghter, what the ag means. That day, when our ag was hoisted (at Wembley Stadium), I realised what independence means. It was the proudest moment for me,” he added.
His voice was almost muted, garbled but warm. There was a pause. He lingered a little longer, perhaps punctuated by memories, perhaps by exasperation at the current state of Indian hockey. “I still remember that before the match started, Wembley Stadium was reverberating with the noise of the English fans,” he said, pausing again to catch his breath. “But after halftime, some English fans started rooting for India, saying ‘make it half a dozen,’” Balbir recalled, his hands trembling and voice shaking.
When the hockey legend was battling for life at the Post Graduate Institute of Medical Education and Research in Chandigarh in early 2019, an old photograph sent to Sushbir reected the Olympic champion’s selfless love for the country. It was from October 1962, when India was at war with
China. Sharing the anecdote, Sushbir said, “A man called me up and said he had a picture of my father that he would like us to have. He was deputed to then chief minister Partap Singh Kairon’s oce in 1962 when my father went to meet the CM. When he met him, he oered his three Olympic gold medals for the China war fund. This left everyone in the oce, including the CM, surprised. Kairon refused to accept the medals. But my father said the medals were the best he could oer, and on his insistence, the CM accepted them.
“However, Kairon did not send the medals to the PM’S relief fund and kept it in the oce instead. After a couple of months, he returned the medals to my father and told him, ‘These (medals) are the country’s pride and can’t be exchanged for money.’” picture of his late wife up on his bedroom wall; a photograph of India’s 1975 World Cup win found a place as well along with a hockey stick. “It (the stick) has given me everything,” said Balbir with a smile.
“His energy and memory are an amazing source for all of us. It is such an honour to be known as his grandson. If he stays t, I’m taking Nanaji to Tokyo this time,” Kabir said.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have that chance. Balbir Singh had been in a semicomatose state since since May 1■ and had developed a blood clot in his brain after rst being admitted to Fortis Hospital, Mohali, for bronchial pneumonia with high fever. He died in Chandigarh on May 25 after battling multiple health issues. He was 95.
In that interaction with him in February, Balbir didn’t let his age and frailty get in the way of a warm welcome — nor a farewell.
As I left, he said to me with an endearing smile, “Thank you for coming. Come again soon.”