Indian track & field athletes are no strangers to early exits from Olympic arenas, not counting the storied near misses of Milkha Singh, P.T. Usha and Anju George. Even those ‘almost-there’ stories are too few and far between. The question we got tired of asking was why a nation of a billion-plus cannot produce a track & field medal.

On the day of his qualification for the finals of the men’s javelin event, Neeraj Chopra too left the stadium early. But his was the stride and demeanour of a man who had unfinished business. He had made short work of the qualification, with a monstrous first throw of 86.65 metres (the qualifying mark being 83.50 metres), topping the qualification charts and becoming the first Indian to make the final of the men’s javelin event. As he left the stadium, you could see a certain bounce, a slight swagger in his walk, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance in it—this was self-belief.

On the day of the final, again, he effortlessly slipped into the zone. Watching him up close, in that trance of self-assured immersion, was quite an experience. Anticipation began to build the moment he completed his first throw—87.03 metres! But we had seen victory slip away many times in Tokyo, so we held our breath. Besides, there was in the fray a man called Johannes Vetter—the German had seven 90+ metre throws under his belt in 2021 alone, and a personal best of 97.76 metres (2020)!

At the end of the first set of throws from the 12 finalists, the scoreboard flashed IND on top. All this was very new for us, and the nervous energy was palpable. Neeraj was out there competing, and we felt something of a telepathic connection with him. His second throw looked incredibly good as the javelin sailed into a flat and furious arc. To us, for a nanosecond, it looked destined, on its way to a new Olympic record. At 87.58 metres, it landed shorter than we’d imagined, but he was still well clear of the field, with most others doing 85 metres or thereabouts.

As Johannes Vetter faltered—this was clearly not his day—our hopes began to mount. Was it going to happen again after 13 years—a repeat of that moment when Abhinav Bindra gave us a chance to sing the national anthem at the Olympics? The WhatsApp group we had set up for the India Today Group was buzzing. Colleagues wanted me to be live on air, but I’d have none of it. I wasn’t willing to move an inch till Neeraj had completed his sixth throw.

When his nearest rival—an athlete from the Czech Republic who had appeared briefly threatening with an 86+ metre effort—had completed his sixth attempt, it was time for celebration. It took a second to sink in. Neeraj still had a throw left, but there he was, pumping his fists. He was still on top of the leader board, and there was no one left to displace him. He was now an Olympic Champion.

Chopra with his gold medal on August 7; (Photo by: Martin Meissner/ AP)

When a Norwegian reporter asked him at the press conference organised by the IOC (International Olympic Committee) what made him take up the javelin—a sport without much of a tradition in India—Neeraj looked at me to ask if he could answer in Hindi. I translated his query for the IOC venue manager and was asked if I could serve as interpreter for the journalists who wanted to know his story. “Main bahut mota tha ji. Isliye, ek din gaon mein khelne chala gaya aur wahan pe sab sport tha. Javelin bhi tha. Mujhe javelin dekh ke achha laga aur maine utha liya. Main yeh nahin jaanta tha ki yahi javelin mujhe yahaan tak le aayega (I was very fat, sir. Because of that, one day in the village, I went to play some sports. There were javelins there also—I liked it, so I picked it up. I didn’t know that one day, javelins would bring me this far).”

Neeraj’s uniquely Indian story was by no means extraordinary at this point—a boy of raw talent, of which we have an abundance in the country, had the good fortune to find a sport he loved early in life, a sport that would catapult him into super-stardom some day. What lies between that first love and sporting achievement the world envies is not just raw talent or personal drive, ambition and grit but also institutional nurturing that has begun to fall into place in India. As Neeraj was narrating his tale, I couldn’t help wondering how many more like him there must be in India who just fall by the wayside. Between the Federation, the sports ministry and now JSW Sports, Neeraj found a nurturing environment that took him all the way. It was the structure created around him that transformed a promising youngster into a champion.

“In 2018, I went to Germany to train with Uwe Hohn,” continued Neeraj, a subject of much interest for the media for all the controversy around Hohn. Neeraj, very humbly, settled the debate: “Mera technique unse match nahin kar raha tha. Sab theek nahin ho raha tha, aur isliye maine Klaus (Bartonietz) ko chuna. Wohi mere coach hain ab. Woh meri body ke mutabik mera training arrange karte hain (My technique did not match Hohn’s training. It wasn’t going well, which is why I chose Klaus Bartonietz as my coach. He arranged my training to suit my body type).”

This was a telling point Chopra was making: it’s not always about the world’s best coach or the best known coach; it’s about finding a coach who understands the athlete, and is able to craft a training regimen that suits him. Applying presets often backfires. In Neeraj’s case too, apart from finessing the biomechanics of his throw and preparing his body for strength, speed and endurance, Klaus had to ensure he peaked at the right time.

Understandably, Neeraj was desperate for some good practice ahead of the Games, and despite Covid, his support team was able to send him to Sweden and make sure he was at his best coming into the Games. He hadn’t overdone things like the archers, nor made the mistake of blindly following a foreign coach, as Vinesh Phogat did at a great price.

Vinesh, yet another serious medal prospect, decided to train in Hungary with her personal coach, a decision that Wrestling Federation of India boss Brijbhushan Singh Sharan says cost her a medal. “Her coach wanted Vinesh to train with his wife (Marianna Sastin), and Vinesh did not understand what she was getting into. She did not train with anyone other than this 38-year-old wrestler from Hungary, which did Vinesh no good coming into Tokyo. Even at the Games, Vinesh refused to be with the Indian team and trained separately. We knew something was wrong. Sharan was furious. “One of our best missed out on a golden opportunity,” he ranted. “Aap mujhe bataiye, yeh foreign coach leke itna obsession kyun hai? Hungary mein kya tradition hai jo humare yahan nahin hai? Athletes samajhte nahin hain, aur unke aas-paas ke log unhein galat samjhate hain. Vinesh ne bahut galat kiya hai. (You tell me, what is this obsession with foreign coaches? What (wrestling) tradition does Hungary have that we don’t? Athletes do not understand this, and they get bad advice. Vinesh made a very bad decision).”

Neeraj, on the other hand, was all about scientific training. Despite a serious injury two years ago, he bounced back in time, based on a well-crafted recovery plan. He did not hesitate in changing his coach when things weren’t going right, and much as Uwe Hohn criticised the Indian set-up, Neeraj didn’t lose focus.

It was good to see Neeraj dedicate his medal to the late Milkha Singh and to the few other Indian track & field athletes who came close to winning Olympic medals. Where Milkha Singh, P.T. Usha, Gurbachan Randhawa and Anju George did not have much of a support infrastructure to back their talent, Neeraj is fortunate to have arrived at the world stage at a time when that kind of institutional support is falling into place in India.

Chopra, however, was not the lone beneficiary of this support. Some of our other medal prospects had it too. Think, for example, Deepika Kumari and Atanu Das, among the archers; or Saurabh Chaudhary and Manu Bhaker, among the shooters—who flubbed their chances because they lost their nerve when it mattered. That’s the other thing about Chopra that sets him apart—his self-belief and poise in an Olympic final where he was not even the best on paper.

Neeraj Chopra’s gold medal is worth much, much more than the personal glory—and rewards—it has already brought him. Reassuringly, he has set his sights farther—a resolve most tellingly expressed when he said he didn’t want a biopic just yet; there’s more to come in my story, he said, or words to that effect. The greater significance of Chopra’s gold medal in Tokyo, the very first track & field medal India has won in 100+ years of participating in the Olympic Games, is that he has opened a door for young aspiring Indians, has shown them that we can do it—he has given them not just a dream but also the confidence that they can achieve it too.