Dipa vaults on to the biggest stage

— -- When she stands at the top of the runway, what is she thinking? What does she see?

The vaulting table for one, about 25m from where she is, separated by the runway, a platform meant for propulsion. Around her, there are stands and spectators but they begin to blur, the noise in the hall receding. At one o'clock in her line of vision is the judges' table, from where she will see the signal to begin. About 20 feet away from them, her coach.

We first saw her standing at the top of that runway wearing a white shiny, sparkly leotard with graphical blue flames. The scoreboard showed the number 7, the points value for the vault that she is about to attempt. "The hardest vault seen in this final," said the commentator. "She's going for the handspring double front." The gymnast then flexes her neck, raises her arms to acknowledge the judges, her chin jutting out, the palest line of a frown on her face.

Then off she goes. "At that time" she says about the full sprint,"you're thinking of nothing. All that's in your head is technique. The elements that I've been told about in practice, every time, every practice. Sir saying again and again, 'Beta (child), keep it in mind'."

They're there, the words, resonating in her consciousness as she races through - "Tight, tight, straight, straight, compact, swing, push." She hits the board, swings her legs into the air and, tongue sticking out, reaches out to the vaulting table. Shooting towards it, only to be pushed back, with as much force and power that her forward momentum can generate; the vault becomes a bowstring and sends her into the air as high as she can go.

Then she whirs furiously, an electric saw blade in human form. The commentator's voice is rising, "Up and over, one, two..." Gravity reels her in, landing in an almost ungainly but centered squat. "Ohwee, she's made it! She made it..."

The commentators are exultant. "How about that!?" "I haven't seen that in 20 years since Produnova! "This is fabulous vaulting, courageous. It paid off."

It has taken all of six seconds. She is beaming, pumps her fist, rushes off stage, hugs her coach, high fives someone in a Canadian shirt. We are gaping.

Who is Produnova? Never mind that, who is this girl? Where did she come from?

We are still learning.

Of all female athletes at an Olympics, it is the women gymnasts who linger in memory. Sylph-like, otherworldly creatures who fly, twist, bend, contort but always emerge smiling on land, arms aloft. Our television sets elongate them, yet Dipa reminds us how small yet physically substantial they must actually be. Their low centres of gravity allow for balance in the most imbalanced of positions from where they grapple between the lightness of air and the pull of the earth.

In her bare feet Dipa stands at 4ft11inches (she'd rather call it 151cm) and weighs what women's boxing would call its pinweight class - 46kg. It is a micro presence that has made a macro impression on the India's gymnastics landscape. Dipa Karmakar's size five shoes have left a very large footprint.