At 114, the world’s oldest marathon runner Fauja Singh was stopped rather abruptly in his tracks. In spirit, he looked young enough to defy time and run more yards than his body would permit. But then, those were no ordinary feet. Neither was the man.
Till he lived, he remained an embodiment of longevity and the quiet powers of the mind.
According to reports, an unidentified vehicle struck him down while crossing the highway near his ancestral village of Bias Pind in Jalandhar. Punjab Police arrested 30-year-old Amritpal Singh Dhillon, an NRI recently returned from Canada. He confessed that while returning from Mukerian after selling his phone, his Fortuner SUV struck an elderly man near Bias Pind.
He claimed he didn’t realise it was Fauja Singh until he saw the news. The SUV, originally registered to Varinder Singh of Kapurthala, had been sold to Dhillon two years earlier. Panicked, Dhillon fled the scene, bypassed Jalandhar, and drove through villages to reach Kartarpur. A court hearing is expected soon.
Born in 1911, Fauja Singh lived through empires, wars, migration, and memory. But what shook him most was personal tragedy. He lost his wife, Gian Kaur, and soon after, his son Kuldeep—who died when the roof of a dhaba he was building collapsed.
Villagers in Beas recall the heartbreak. His youngest son, Harvinder, remembers him sitting for hours at the cremation ground. He had lost the will to live.
His eldest son Sukhjinder, living in England, brought him to London. A quiet healing began. Fauja started walking. “I had nothing to do at home. My son told me to take a bus to the local gurdwara, but I decided to walk instead,” he would say later.
In a local park, he met marathon coach Harmander Singh. That meeting marked a new beginning. Most octogenarians lean on canes, but Fauja Singh leaned into miles as he rebooted his life. He chose running shoes when people his age needed other hands to walk.
At 89, Fauja ran his first marathon. He completed 26 miles in less than seven hours. A legend was born.
His rise was astonishing. Adidas signed him as a brand ambassador. Billboards in London bore his image. In 2012, he proudly carried the Olympic torch. British Airways printed “World traveller, centurion marathoner” on his boarding pass.
In 2011, he ran the Toronto Waterfront Marathon in 8 hours and 11 minutes—becoming the first 100-year-old to finish a full marathon. Though Guinness World Records declined to certify it due to the absence of a birth certificate, his steps needed no validation. As his biographer Khushwant Singh said, “The legend didn’t need paperwork. His steps spoke louder.”
He reportedly retired from full marathons in 2013 at 102.
Had William Shakespeare lived in his time, he would have said: “Age cannot wither him, nor custom stale his infinite variety.”
Fauja Singh ran undaunted. He continued running shorter 10K events. He reportedly led an anti-drug walkathon in Punjab, an act of activism that matched his lifelong mission to uplift.
Khushwant Singh, who chronicled his life in Turbaned Tornado, recalled interviewing him on foot in East London. “He said, ‘I can either walk or sleep.’ So walk we did.”
Despite global fame, Fauja remained grounded. “On the way back, he would quietly put all the money into the gurdwara’s gullak,” Khushwant said of admirers who gave him cash. He declined cheques, even from Nestlé, directing them instead to charity.
Politicians courted him, but he stayed unimpressed. During a 2011 meeting with Punjab’s then-Chief Minister Amarinder Singh, he remarked with a smile, “Bibi Bhattal speech badi takri dendi hai.” (“Bhattal gives very powerful speeches.”)
Fauja stood tall in every sense—his turban proud, shoes embroidered with “Fauja” and “Singh,” and a gleaming electric-blue suit. Once, he wore a tie that simply read: “Marathoner.”
He became a cultural icon. His turban and white beard symbolised Sikh resilience and pride. Without ever delivering a speech, he redefined representation.
He didn’t run for medals. He ran for causes—disaster relief, cancer research, orphaned children. When asked why, he said: “To feel closer to the One above.”
His routine was spartan: vegetarian food, dal-roti, fruit, no processed meals. Daily meditation. In his final years, after returning to Beas to live with his youngest son’s family, he never stopped moving. “He never sat still. From room to courtyard to street, he was always on the move,” said daughter-in-law Bhanjit Kaur.
A media house reported that his days began with a desi pinni, chapati and sabzi, and a kilo of mangoes—a daily treat even at 114.
At 3 pm sharp, tea was followed by long village walks. Fauja once said, “Jis din reh gaya, ussi din baith jaunga.” (“The day I skip my walk is the day I give up.”)
On that July morning, he was heading to a small roadside eatery named after his son Kuldeep when fate intervened cruelly. The man who had spent decades outrunning time was stopped forever.
Gurdwaras echoed with ardaas in Punjab. Villages have fallen silent. In Bias Pind, where Fauja’s footsteps once marked every lane, his absence feels vast.
The grief crossed oceans. From Canada to Kenya, the UK to Australia, the global Sikh diaspora mourned. Social media lit up with tributes: “Grandfather of Endurance,” “Living Legend, Now Eternal”—from generations who never met him but carried his spirit.
“Fauja Singh Ji was extraordinary because of his unique persona and the manner in which he inspired the youth of India on a very important topic of fitness. He was an exceptional athlete with incredible determination. Pained by his passing away. My thoughts are with his family and countless admirers around the world,” Prime Minister Narendra Modi said in his message.
The long-delayed Bollywood biopic Fauja, based on Khushwant Singh’s book, may now finally take flight—retelling this extraordinary journey of grief, grit, and grace.
During a marathon in Hong Kong, he was once asked what he thought about while running. “Waheguru. Every step is a prayer,” he said.
His footsteps echo louder than ever. Not for speed. But for the spirit of a man who never stopped. His passing stirred a quiet call to keep moving: to live with purpose and grace.
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