Fans Can’t See the Start : A Day at the Races, New Delhi Style, Is Usually an Adventure

The Delhi Race Club has been called a national security threat and admits to being the world’s only track where spectators cannot see the start or the first quarter-mile of racing.

Nevertheless, the faithful flock to the track to risk their rupees at the almost daily meets during the nine-month season. Their major concern seems to be the possibility of fixed races.

Located since 1935 in the center of the Indian capital, uncomfortably close to the home of the prime minister and therefore a potential security risk, the track remains a vestige of the British Raj but with a distinctly Indian flavor.

At a recent meet, a herd of sacred cows grazed indifferently alongside an elephant on the grassy inner oval while along the finish line, squatters cooked and chatted next to hovels of cardboard and wood.

The crumbling grandstand looks onto the elite Gymkhana Club, where well-heeled members play cricket in resplendent whites and knickerbockered gentlemen practice golf.

“You can see that there is an element of elegance and grandeur to the course,” said club secretary Col. Keshav Anand in a perfect Oxford accent. “But the place is slightly out of context.”

The days are numbered, however, for the ramshackle racecourse. News reports earlier this year said the government views the track as a security risk because of its proximity to Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi’s heavily guarded home at No. 1 Racecourse Road.

Newspapers said officials fear potential assassins could lurk within, or escape into, the crowds at the club. The Ministry of Development denied such motives were behind its plans to redevelop the site and relocate the track.

“It would be easy for mischief-makers to escape into the crowds of people, so we can see why the army might have fears about security,” said Anand.

The government already has captured a slice of the property.

In 1942, the Indian Air Force built a base on a section of track, blocking from view one corner of the 1,750-yard oval (about 1 mile) and giving the club the dubious claim of having the only track where spectators cannot see the horses until they have run the first quarter-mile. That doesn’t deter the gamblers.

Beneath a vibrant, billowing canopy, licensed bookkeepers on high cane chairs frenetically alter the odds on each horse to solicit bets from some 1,500 rupee-waving punters. Ruby-colored spittle from chewed betel nuts stains the dust and Indian music wails in the background.

The government receives about $400,000 in taxes from the track, a 10 percent slice of an average annual turnover of some $4 million. Horse racing is India’s only legalized form of gambling.

As with most gambling institutions, the track is not immune to corruption. Many punters said devious activities were almost institutionalized at the oval.

At a recent meet, an attempt to fix a race was so blatant that a riot appeared about to erupt.

One minute before the start, odds on the favorite horse suddenly changed. Previously, a 100-rupee bet would have returned 160 rupees to win. But bookies began offering a 300-rupee return, with 150 for a place -- an indication that they were advised in advance that the favorite would not win.

A bell rang and the suspicious crowd moved towards the rail. There was no commentary -- the sound system was broken -- and the race discreetly began out of view behind the air force grounds.

The atmosphere quickly turned livid as the steeds raced into view and streaked past the stands. The jockey riding the crowd favorite was seen whipping his horse’s rump, but, at the same time, flagrantly pulling back on the reins to assure he stayed in second place.

“This sort of thing happens all the time,” snorted one disgruntled punter. “The public know when a race is pulled and it is not bloody fair.”

Scores of irate gamblers surged across to the steward’s platform demanding action. As baton-wielding police stood by, stewards placated the crowd by disqualifying the jockey for one year.

Track regulars said the stewards have learned to act quickly. One such race-fixing imbroglio three years ago sparked a riot in which mobs damaged buildings and tried to attack the offending jockey.

Five more races followed, all to the crowd’s satisfaction. The afternoon was set aside for “off-course racing,” in which people clustered around loudspeakers to listen to radio reports and wager on meets being held in distant parts of India.

“Wherever the British were dominant, you will find a race track,” explained Yawal Jatinda, an employee of U.S.-based IBM. “The great courses are in Bombay, Bangalore and Calcutta. Although Delhi is nothing in comparison, I come here most days as it can be quite thrilling.”