As Rajiv Gandhi, who was campaigning to get back into power at the centre, got out off a white Ambassador to deliver a speech during a campaign rally in Sriperumbudur, he was assassinated by suicide bomber Thenmozhi Rajaratnam. It was around 10.20 pm on May 21, 1991, when Thenmozhi pressed the button.
There was no social media or even a robust system of delivering news, so it took time to spread. A few hours later, it had reached Tiruchirappalli and its peripheral areas. Fighting broke out and hoodlums on the streets resorted to trashing public property.
In a completely unrelated incident, S Lillychandra’s water broke roughly four hours after the assassination. She was heavily pregnant with her first child and had to rush to a hospital to ensure the well-being of both the unborn child as well as herself.
Y Soundararajan, Lilly’s husband, had pleaded with an autorickshaw driver to take them to the government hospital in Tiruchy. It was 5 kms away but it seemed like an eternity to Soundararajan, who had heard from the driver that Rajiv had been killed in the outskirts of Madras — it had not yet become Chennai. Soundarajan, flustered because of a dearth of midwives in the locality, urged the driver not to stop for anyone, despite there being no guarantee of safety. As they were driving past one of many obstacles, Soundararajan spotted a local ganglord, who knew the family. Looking at the plight of his friend’s wife, the ganglord had a few words of advice for the driver. “You are to deliver them safely to the hospital and once you do that you are to call me back saying ‘I have done my duty’.”
They took their time but managed to reach the hospital in the wee hours of 22nd morning. Lilly was quickly wheeled into one of the pregnancy wards. Luckily, the chaotic atmosphere outside had no effect on the baby whatsoever.
As Soundararajan was holding his kid, a few minutes after the baby was delivered at 6 am, he decided to change the child’s name even though it had already been ratified by the family. “We had decided on Arokia Raju but given a leader by the name of Rajiv had passed away a few hours earlier, I thought it was apt to slightly tweak the name,” he tells Express 25 years and 53 days later.
Arokia Raju became Arokia Rajiv. The birth of a future Olympian in the most surreal of circumstances.
It’s impossible to tell Rajiv’s story without talking about his father. Because, in many ways, he yearned for the life Rajiv has. Born into a family whose only means of earning bread was a full day’s work in the farming fields of Vazhudaiyur (an hour or so from Tiruchy) — don’t bother with google, it hasn’t heard of the place — Soundararajan knew life had dealt him a poor hand.
His father, M Yacob, had not seen the insides of a school and Soundararajan was determined to have a proper education. A lack of basic facilities put an end to those hopes. “I only managed to study till class X,” he recalls with regret. Food was a problem for the family and he began tilling fields from the age of 10.
Whenever he wasn’t helping out the family on the field, he would be out playing. “Running, jumping, throwing... I would be doing the entire lot,” the 55-year-old says. He used to be pretty good too. “There is a sense of pride that comes with excelling in sports. And I won most of the events the school held but I couldn’t pursue any of it as the family situation demanded my presence elsewhere.”
Having had enough of farming, he went to a nearby employment exchange in 1980. He went there till 1996. Every week. Every month. Every year. He always got the same reply. “We have no jobs for you. Please come back later.” Sensing that would be the reply every time he went there, he soon started taking driving lessons before becoming a bus driver. But he made a vow. “My kids will not be like me. They should have what I never had.”
Others in his place may have given up but Soundararajan had with him one friend, self-deprecating but brutal honesty. “I got married in 1988 when I was driving buses and lorries around the village. Now you tell me, which father in his right mind would have given me a well educated girl. I only got Lilly but I never cribbed. And she never cribbed that she only got me. Naan vettiyaah suthikittu irundhaen andha kalathula (I aimlessly used to roam the streets without any proper job).”
After Rajiv was born, Soundararajan had a desire to make his son a sportstar. “I had that passion. I wanted him to go to the nationals, to places I hadn’t been. So I would hit him every now and then if he wasn’t doing what I asked him to. I probably shouldn’t say this but that’s the kind of veri (fire) I had. My children should not become like me.”
Hence, it’s no real surprise that all three children have made their parents proud. The 25-year-old Rajiv is with the Indian Army. The 23-year-old Daniel Ranjith, who is also with the army, could yet represent India in triple jump. Both his sons completed school and went on to study BA History (they haven’t completed their courses).
The third, Elizebeth Rani, is 21 but she has already finished her Bachelors in English. She is now in the process of becoming a PT teacher. This is over and above her proficiency at the state level in volleyball.
Devout Roman Catholics, they do not do anything without seeking the blessings of Velankanni matha, their kula deivam (family deity). “Arokia has come this far in life because of our God,” says Lilly. “I don’t eat before praying with my rosary,” interjects Soundararajan. They anticipate the next question. “Not just us, even our three kids are like that,” both of them say in unison.
“If you see Arokia before a race he will always touch his rosary, utter a few prayers and then only get ready,” the 50-year-old Lilly points out. God is a central part of their lives. That’s how Rajiv got his name. “In my family, the first name of the first born son should always start with A-R-O-K-I..,” Soundararajan says. “It’s according to our kula deivam so that’s the way it is.”
Like any religious South Indian family, their first trip post the Olympics will be to a place of worship. “Once Rajiv is back from Brazil, we will all be going to Velankanni. We have a pending wish in the name of Rajiv and he will tonsure his head.”
T Ramachandran, a sort of demi-god for all aspiring athletes in the villages and towns surrounding Tiruchy, first saw him in ninth standard. He knew then that Rajiv had the potential to become an icon from Lalgudi, one of the main towns in that particular belt. “His explosive power convinced me he could reach the top,” Ramachandran, whose primary day job involves coaching potential athletes, says.
“But he did not generate the leaps (Rajiv began his career as a long jumper) I wanted him to. So we decided that a move to 400 metres would be the best for us all. The training patterns changed. His new schedule involved running for close to 5 kms everyday. If I could keep his explosive pace intact and build endurance, I knew he could one day achieve the sort of time that could enable him to qualify for the Olympics.”
But Ramachandran did not possess a magic wand. Mental exercises were very much a part of Arokia’s initial struggles. “The fact is that 400m is a race that kills humans mentally,” Ramachandran opines. “Your body tends to shut down after 300m. It’s up to the racer to build up the mental strength to break the last 100m into blocks of 10m or 20m. I taught him some exercises to increase lung capacity, drilled into him the value of confidence. That belief is important when you approach the final bend and into the home straight.”
The populace of Angarai, Lalgudi and Vazhudaiyur have assembled in St Joseph’s College, Tiruchy. Some students of Lalgudi High School, the place where Soundararajan and Rajiv did their schooling, have also made the journey into the city. They have all been informed of a development and have been gathering at the institution for hours. The ones who do not make it have decided to line the streets of Lalgudi. A few whispers say this could be the greatest festival that they have hosted in a long time.
Finally, Arokia arrives. A bronze medal around his neck, he has been travelling for sometime. First in a flight from Incheon to Chennai. From there a train to Tiruchy, where is he is mobbed at the junction. Soon an open car is commissioned from nowhere to take Arokia to St Joseph’s, his alma mater. There he spends a couple of hours answering questions before the car takes him over Kaveri and Kollidam and through Valadi and Thalakkudi. The streets are overcrowded with people of all walks of life and why not? They have come out to see one of their greatest sons. Everyone expects the caravan to stop outside Arokia’s house. But he instructs the driver to carry on a little further before it comes to a halt outside a small shop run by Shamsuddin. Arokia thanks the Muslim, a man not known by many, before proceeding to his house.
There are many like Shamsuddin, invisible friends who have lent their shoulders to people who wanted them. “I had to go and see him. I felt it was right. Whenever I needed money, I would go to Bhai and he would always oblige. He never turned me away. This is my way of thanking him,” Rajiv would tell his father the next morning.
Soundararajan doesn’t have any regrets in life. He has long waved goodbye to Vazhudaiyur. His wife and he are now in Angarai, overlooking a couple of plots of land. Rajiv owns one such plot of land, thanks to the record breaking run that earned him a bronze at Incheon. He got `20 lakh from the government, all that money went into that land where he wants to build a house one day.
His tone is that of a contented man and he hopes his kids will further enhance their standing in society. “I am a worthless man right now. I am not even worth five paise. I have struggled all my life to leave behind a meaningful existence for the three of them. It’s now up to them to uphold the family honour.”
His thoughts come back to his oldest kid. “I am not worried about what his performance will be at the Olympics. The most beautiful part about sport is winning and losing. None of us can change that. But as a father, you always believe your son is capable of producing some sort of magic.”