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Run Mumbai Run
24 January, 2008
Jan 20, 2008 was marked with athlete’s
foot in Mumbai, so much so that
everyone who is no one and anyone who
is someone were out there. The Mumbai
Marathon, an annual itch that strikes
the denizens of this island-cum-gutter
city around Republic Day, manifested
itself this year on a proclaimed
bigger, better, and falser scale.
True, the Marathon is a noble cause
that ennobles lots of minor and major
causes, and I should not dissent from
the general consensus or go on a
diatribe about anyone’s efforts to
create “awareness.” But even I have
the itch – to dig my heels into the
various symptoms that willy-nilly give
the aam Mumbaikar the Jesse
Owens Syndrome.
How we got infected
It all happened in the great West. As
keepers of the Bharatiya Sabhyata
would call it, it was the invasion of
the corrupt Occident that caused this
accidental awakening. Some five years
ago, a private bank with roots all
over the world came up with a charter
to unite the people of Mumbai, like it
is done in many countries, and give
the motley flock of sheep a reason to
band together and make a difference.
And Mumbai, being the self-proclaimed
most cosmopolitan city in India,
lapped the idea up. Since 2004, we
have been running once a year to
promote conscience about the many ills
that ail our society today.
Part of the Greatest Race on Earth,
Mumbai Marathon is 4-legged event with
the fully monty, nay full marathon
being the 42.195 km stretch, the
half-baked, oops the half marathon
(21.097 km), the wet dream run (only 6
km, tsk), the senior citizens’ run
(with due respects, 4.3 km) and the
free-wheel chair (2.5 km). The prize
for guessing the monies - $240,000 in
all, with $31,000 for the winner of
the full stretch. Does it get bigger
than this? I suppose so, every year,
the number of nimble footed athletes
participating in the wild goose chase
goes up.
The Mumbai Marathon is the only event
in India that has been awarded the
silver label by the International
Association of Athletics Federation.
Hooray, for once we have a sport that
does not reek of no balls or silly
points.
Why in the name of Marathon
Mumbai Marathon, over its existence,
has gained popularity from all corners
of the country, with corporate houses
vying with each other to gain their
share of ad space. Not-for-profits
seek to profit from the high-profile
cross section of sponsors and
participants, the government
organizations wanting to sound
‘with-it’ in a desperate attempt to
white wash their indolent paan
spittle image.
This year too, the city’s municipal
corporation sent its sentries’ entries
to the event. The group had been
preparing for the event for some time
now. Which comes as surprising, how
they are willing to don a Nike ki
jootie, instead of their workman
shoes and get Mumbai cracking. Maybe
this will better their chances at that
promotion they have been ogling at for
some time now. Forget the city’s
crying open spaces, or the infamous
clean-up drive that went to the
garbage can (which the authority
failed to provide in the
hurriedly-put-together campaign for a
cleaner city). Our corporators would
rather run for half a day, half the
distance.
Or the erstwhile celebrity – sans
make-up, avec make shift. If the
shutter bugs have shut their shop on
your face, this is your chance. With
the entire batch of media cameras in
the city focused at the runners, your
chances of being clicked once again,
even if by mistake, go up a trillion
fold. What cause are you running for,
sir or ma’am, as the case may be? Oh,
I feel very strongly for the Save Your
Skin to donate it to someone when you
die.
How profoundly, epidermally touching.
The skin off my back on someone’s
happy face tomorrow! Would you not
love to see how the hair that grew on
it would pass off as an untamed jungle
of facial hair (pardon this bit of
ignorant jibing, but one cannot help
wonder at the possible outcomes of
such an idea as this.)
And then there are the fashionistas.
Shaina NC takes on Tare Zameen Par.
Aamir Khan, you did good. Dyslexia is
in. Children with dyslexia are cool to
have. If your child does not have it,
you run to the nearest hospital to
make sure that she or he has it (so
that you can tell the society ladies
and gents that you are one of them
parents on whose crest befallen
child’s affliction the husband of your
long lost friend Kiran Rao made a
fillum), all the while maintaining
that you only want to help your child
in case, spurred by the goodness
spawned by goodly intentioned subject
line.
Plus you have the
entire-family-draped-in-the-curtain-cloth
corporate employees. Remember Wagle
ki Duniya with Anjan Srivastav and
Bharti Achrekar? One episode where the
whole family’s tailored into one piece
of upholstery. Such runners will be
dressed in their company sponsored
tees and chaddies, running in a
flock – in a manner not very different
from their professional environment.
You are looking at a corporate, not
their employees as an individual. You
are being reinforced with the
corporate’s brand image. The company’s
free running advertisement that does
not demand much in return, but bends
over to pick their bosses files. What
pleasure!
Or the big wigs, like Anil Ambani,
Milind Soman, and the like. The Han
Solos of the event, who will be in the
news prior to the event, with their
training schedule played out for
everyone else to follow. During the
event, they add to the sincerity of
the effort.
And the winners are…
Amid all such participants are those
athletes who come from abroad. They
run for a cause of their own. And
mostly they are the ones who take the
prize away. Where are our PT Ushas and
Shiney Abrahams now?
Perhaps the real winners in the race
are the ones who are there for the fun
of it. Or to poke fun at those who
deserve to be made fun of. A man in a
Narendra Modi mask, another posing as
Sathya Sai Baba – such men and women
deserve a round of applause for their
courage and sense of humor to be able
to draw a laugh out of an event of
such gravity. Perhaps we should have a
marathon for making Indians laugh
more… at ourselves without feeling
offended.
Run back home
While Sunday was frenzy afoot, Monday
will be another day. Tired athletes
retire home, take off their sweaty
sneakers, drink Gatorade to replenish
their sapped selves, shower and go
back to sleep. They will wake up again
the next year, maybe with newer causes
to run for in a new set of sneakers.
Till then, Mumbai will be back to the
grind, the bursting, bustling local
trains, the bumpity-bump road rides,
the moist May heat, the July wetlands,
the sewer smells from the drains of
Mahim and Worli, the pretentious
society dos, the unpretentious vada
pav stalls, the new quixotic schemes
to transform Mumbai into Shanghai, the
Kala Ghodas and the Mumbai
Utsavs, the same tousle between
moralists and libertines, the insiders
and the outsiders.
In short, Kasha Aahe? Bara aahe.
And we part ways till we meet again,
accidentally, or next year when we rub
shoulders and sun tan together again.
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