Stephen Kelman - Man on Fire

Shubham’s small fingers were resting on his mother’s shoulder, with fingernails in place and wrinkled knuckles, and a deep sadness burrowed in my heart that my wife should not believe my ability to make all good things come true for us. I took the child from her and held him tight. He had the weight of a feather only and I told him that I was the stone wall that stood before all winds that came to carry him away.

‘Not to worry,’ I assured my wife. ‘No harm will occur. I breathe the air of mountains now and my protection is assured. I will do this to honour you and the child. A Guinness World Record will put us on the map. It will secure our future in bright sunshine. It is the path the almighty has picked for me and I must walk it with high head.’

My wife was convinced by my decisive manner and by my pledge to purchase new country-made A/C unit for our home when success was in the bag (you may see the proof of this on the wall in my bedroom, still running smoothly to this day some ten years later. I owe its long life to use sparingly only when heat is at its fiercest height — this is better all round, for pockets and for bodily function).

I declared my intentions to the Guinness people soon after. I chose for my next attempt stomach sit-ups because a Guinness record already existed in this area, therefore my effort was certain to be ratified. Also I was already in the habit of performing one thousand sit-ups per day as part of my usual fitness regime so I knew it would prove no problem for me to overtake the previous number. Actually, it was a match made in heaven. Nothing could go wrong.

The event took place in the main hall of the Navi Mumbai Sports Association, which is my local training facility being only a short drive from my home in Airoli. I come to practise gymnastics in surrounding gardens and I am still holding my regular karate classes here having built up my enterprise from scratch. I have many students who have stuck with me through thick and thin, of all ages and abilities but with same common goal of excellence and improvement through dedicated training. The place was full to capacity with my loyal students, co-workers and other well-wishers who had been alerted to the event by the word of mouth Rajesh Battacharjee had flung far and wide. Despite my giving up my job with his company to take on full-time journalist role he remained a true supporter, informing his important friends in the Corporation of Navi Mumbai that I possessed untapped skills which merited wider appreciation. Several new faces were mingled among the crowd and it was lovely to feel such generous backing from the big brass of my city as well as the common man to whom all my successes are dedicated.

My wife also was there from the start, having chosen the A/C unit she preferred and also bearing no unwieldy concerns for my safety since I hit on the idea of sit-ups. She had witnessed me performing them in countless number and was satisfied that no dangers lay ahead. This attempt was a simple matter, no special considerations or additional helpers required. Just me and my stomach against the clock. Training had gone smoothly with last timed rehearsal producing number of 1,389 which was only six shy of the existing record. Only slight tenderness in upper abdominal region throughout later stages of training period but this did not cause alarm.

This time Vijay Five captured the footage as Amrit Battacharjee, brother of Ramesh, was by now completely blind. I met Vijay Five when I began working for the Times of India , which is the biggest circulation English-language newspaper in the world. He is a fellow reporter there covering political beat. He quickly became the fifth Vijay to join my karate class after I recommended the martial arts to him as best source of health and fitness and inner calm.

The story of my introduction to the journalism profession is a great example of God’s bounty falling into the arms when they are outstretched and ready to receive. Really it was a wonderful thing to happen unexpectedly and I will briefly tell you how it came about. You will remember that I was required to give Limca a newspaper cutting before they would recognise my first record: the fellow from local newspaper who helped me opened the door to the journalism profession for me. He asked me to write what I wanted to be printed and seeing my write-up he offered me to contribute for his paper. That prompted me to take up the cause to help others with my involvement in the social activities as a journalist. Soon after I was offered the job from Times of India . I became a full-time journalist due to the apathetic approach of media which dumped many sportspersons like me. I took the cudgel to promote sporting talents through my write-ups. This mission is still ongoing to the present day.

Back to the attempt. After my usual period of meditation I was ready to begin in spirit of great optimism. My oldest student Gopal Dutta was again my counter. He wore his best linen bandhgala for the occasion, and no evidence of the tumour which would soon begin to pester him.

Before I took my position I cast an eye to the watching masses. Around sixty souls arranged on the pitched seating, already wilting under the heat which could not escape the room (I had instructed Valmik, the custodian, to leave the windows closed to aid the efficient performance of my muscles). All come to witness the next stage in my trajectory to extreme sports pioneer. I spied my wife in the front row holding Shubham, and her smile convinced me that all marital strife was behind us. I felt the expectations of the spectators and found them to be reasonable: I would not let them leave that place bearing disappointment. Instead I would send them back to their lives carrying treasured memories of a unique event in the history of our humble community.

I lay down in the starting position, flat on my back, and awaited with a clear mind the commencement of my allotted hour. Then at Gopal Dutta’s command I began the attempt.

Everything passed off without a hitch-up for first portion of the attempt as I romped to 1,000 sit-ups in just thirty minutes. I attacked each movement with high energy level: body up, body down, body up, body down, body up, body down like the rolling of a great locomotive down the track. I settled into a satisfying rhythm, listening to Gopal Dutta’s voice counting out my repetitions, breathing in each time my nose touched my knees and breathing out each time my head hit the floor again. Time passed very quickly. On every occasion that my head hit the concrete I knew I was one step closer to achieving my cherished goal of a Guinness World Record.

Then I felt losing strength at neck area after crossing 1,000 line. Something unplanned for had happened but at this moment I could not identify and I did not hold back from completing the attempt. I pushed forward but with slowdown in speed, owning to frequent bang of back of head on the concrete hard floor which was now causing some concern.

‘One minute!’ Gopal Dutta announced, and at this the crowd began to applaud my every repetitions. Their clapping gave the boost I needed to see out the final seconds. At the very moment that pain began to grow too big and fill my vision with blackness, Gopal Dutta called time and the audience raised the roof.

‘One thousand four hundred and forty-eight!’ Gopal Dutta declared, and I lay down in complete exhaustion. It was a very emotional response. I gave silent thanks to the almighty for allowing me this moment. Then my wife and son rushed to join me and I looked up at them through eyes swimming with tears of joy.

‘I did it!’ I said. ‘I am a Guinness man now!’ I pulled myself to a seated position so that I could accept their embraces. It was then that my wife’s eyes widened in alarm and all colour fell from her face. She dropped the child into Gopal Dutta’s arm like a hot stone.