"Less Talk, More Swim!"

I decided to swim till my 50th. Sometime between my 35th and 40th lap, I imagined Baba standing under the umbrella, sipping his beer, smoking & watching me. He would have said, “Well done! Finally!"

I swam 50 laps in the pool yesterday. My first.

When I was a young girl, I imagined myself to do many things as an adult. Swimming 50 laps was not on my list.

“Why was this out of my imagination anyway?”

After my first 50 laps, that’s the first thought that came to my mind. I had seen many people, young, old, fit, disabled and ailing swim continuous laps with a sense of purpose. How come I had never aspired to find purpose in a swim?

I realised, I had never made the effort! I had never tried or attempted to see how long could I swim. Or swim without a distraction.

Even my smart watch was surprised at my effort. It decided to give me two awards at one go! Longest Swimming Workout for 1275 metres and Swimming Workout Record for burning 819 calories.

Come to think of it, 1275 metres is barely 1.28 kms!! The longest I have walked is 5kms. That was more than 2 years back. I cannot ‘run’ to save my life! So I have given up my running ambitions. Forever. I have settled for walking. I also need the extra incentive of a stimulating environment. I look forward to walks where I can gather stories. If my environment doesn’t ‘stimulate’ me, I get bored of walking too!

By now you know, I am not deeply motivated to ‘workout’! I have nothing to show off. No flat abs. Only flabs. No muscle. Only tyres of accumulated fat. I am a mess when I exercise. After a ‘workout’, one look at me and A calls me his ‘laal tamatar’. It’s his affectionate name for me. I pretend to be annoyed. I love it! Really!

For me, 50 laps was greater than the 5 kms I walked. It’s not for the calories I burnt, but for the mental mindset that it took to complete the 50.

In all my 42 years, I had never attempted to swim 50 laps. Until yesterday. That I did it without a plan or an intention is what made the swim so special. I landed up in an empty pool and I realised swimming without distraction could be my route to focus.

I didn’t chase a number, a goal, a number. I just swam. Just swam. Thoughtlessly, at first. Later with some amount of self-talk.

That’s when Baba came back to me. I decided to swim till my 50th lap. Sometime between my 35th and 40th lap, I imagined him standing under the umbrella, sipping his beer, smoking and watching me.

He would have said, “Well done! Finally!”

Baba took me for my first swimming lesson. I was 8 or maybe 9. My brother was tiny. I remember him with floats around his arm. I got into my first swim suit, a yellow and blue one, and then climbed the steps to meet our first instructor. He seemed friendly. “Ready?” He asked. I nodded. He let me find my feet in the shallow end and then showed me how to move my legs. Then some essential bubbling and breathing. Next came the hands. I was a quick learner. At least that’s what he must have thought. He showed me his palm and said, “Now, I will put my hand on your stomach and you will use your hands and legs to swim. Ready?” He asked again. I must have nodded. The next minute I was on my stomach and we had started to move. Wow! My swimming could make my instructor move…I remember feeling the ripples of water on my back, under my arms, around my legs. Swimming was easy. It was ticklish too. I could feel my insides churn. I wondered if my coach felt it on his palm. We kept moving till we reached the other end of the pool. That’s when he removed his palm and said, “Now go to the bar.” In a second, I realised I was on my own. I wasn’t swimming until now! The water pulled me down. My stomach churned again. Did I have bricks inside? My head dipped under the surface of the water. I thrashed with all the strength I had. I gasped. He watched calmly. I reached the bar and turned around to look at him through the curtain of water covering my eyes.

“Catch your breath and we will go back to the shallow end again,” he said as he swam off to meet another young swimmer.

Shallow end?? We are in NOT in the shallow end??

I held on to the bar as tightly as I could. I lowered my legs against the wall. My toes didn’t touch anything. I took a deep breath and dunked under the surface. The floor was waayyyyyyy below my legs. I pulled myself up hurriedly, searching for the instructor desperately so he could take me to the safety of the shallow end.

That day we went back and forth in the pool several times, until I was exhausted with excitement.

When I got out of the pool, I ran up to Baba and said, “He took me to the deep side and let me go! I am not going back into the pool again.” I think I was shocked that he entrusted me to a stranger. “That’s what instructors do Mum! If you fear the deep side how will you ever learn how to swim?”

My swimming lessons continued. As it turns out, I really was a quick learner. I didn’t want to entrust my life in the ‘hands’ of anyone! By the time I learnt to swim to the deep alone, I realised swimming was no biggie. If I want, I can swim. But why swim when you can dip, sip and gossip?

Swimming became our excuse to go to the club. It was our extravagant Sunday morning splurge. Baba would drive us to the club, we would get into an empty pool. It would be the biggest joy of our lives. Bhai and I would splash and clown around in the water, play water games of fishing out cap bottles, make bubbles, let out secret farts or go underwater for mysterious treasure hunts. We talked the most in the swimming pool. I don’t think we even played together at home! Pool time was our bonding time. Who cared about counting laps? Only Baba did!

"Less Talk, More Swim!"He would sneak up and remind us. While we pretended to splash and frolic, Baba would go in for a game of billiards with his friends. He would take periodic breaks to step out to check in on us. With his beer mug in one hand, a cigarette in another he would sneak up silently like a cat. Spooked and shocked at being caught wet-handed, Bhai and I would grunt and groan to swim back to back laps to keep him happy. Two laps were enough for him. He would finish his cigarette and return to his game. In the meantime we could continue with our own before he came back again. On some days we were delighted to see Baba step into the pool with us. That was our cue to drop all talk and bob around him. We raced, showed off our water skills, swam most seriously to impress him and then tease Baba for being unable to complete a breadth!! Somehow, he never had the stamina to take two more strokes to reach the bar! What followed next was the real reason why we loved going swimming! After we claimed to finish 10 - 20 laps, we feigned exhaustion and uncontrollable hunger pangs. Either of us would sneak our head into the bar and ask politely, “2 Pepsi, 2 Kaju and 2 Chips, please.” This was our Sunday treat for our weekly round of swim.

There was a time when swimming became exotic. Sometime after I learnt the skill, I got my first (and only) bikini. A red & white pretty little thing, I remember my mother and aunt tell me that a wearing a bikini was special. I didn’t see how, except that I only saw foreigners wearing it. Did that make it exotic? Later on, I discovered women could take off their bikini tops to sun bathe. I never understood why would anyone want to do that. I didn’t see the Indian tan as exotic. I was repeatedly reminded that being able to swim was a super skill. I should carry my swim suit to all holidays. So swimming in hotels and resorts was a given. In fact going swimming to Dadu’s club in Calcutta was also made a big thing! Sometimes the whole family turned up to watch us kids play and swim in the water. It was all fun and games. Swimming was a skill that I had and I saw no reason to get any better at it. However, what made swimming remotely adventurous for me was the memory that I had of being at sea. I sat on the hot sand and watched R Uncle, T Aunty and R Kaku swim across the BIGGEST waves of Gopalpur at Sea. The three were the only ones who could swim far into the sea. I remember watching them with admiration, marvelling at their super strength, courage and stamina to swim against the waves and venture out into the biggest water body I had seen. Would I ever do that? Maybe for a fraction of a second I thought that one day I could, if I wanted to.

When I came to Delhi to study 24 years back, I remember my friends being surprised that I could swim and drive. These were skills for big city girls. None of my small town friends had these.

Where did you learn to swim?

At the club.

You learnt swimming in the club? Wow!

It wasn’t until much later that I realised that my skills were a privilege. Baba had insisted that I learnt the two vital skills before I left home. First swimming and then driving. Knowing to drive has given me the kind of freedom and agency that very few women have. 14 years back I drove my sister-in-law to her delivery. She wanted to take an auto to Delhi. “Are you mad? Give me your car keys, I am driving you to your delivery,” I had said. I drive a SUV today and even though I don’t see it as anything remarkable, I know many folks who look at me surprised that I can drive big wheels on the road. “I really like that you drive. Women should know how to drive,” my mother in law said to me one day as we drove to an art gallery. She never learnt to drive, and I knew where that was coming from. That day she reminded me that owning the freedom to move is a privilege for a woman.

Earlier this month, I found myself dangerously navigating through a busy pool at the club. While I was focussed on getting at least 25 laps, I was insanely distracted by the adventures of a middle-aged woman and her family. She was learning to swim. At least she wanted to. She insisted her husband would be her coach. He son (not more than 10 years) demanded her attention & respect as coach instead. Outside the pool sat the senior Guruji / head coach who doled out serious swimming instructions to the woman. I could see him mansplaining swimming to her. In between his water games, her son made fun of her fears and her lack of oxygen. “Mumma, you have to breathe out. Why aren’t you taking in enough air?” he was impatient. Her husband amused her as seriously he could. “I don’t want you around me! I want my husband to teach me swimming. I should have come with him only. With you around us, you are not letting me learn,” she complained to father and son. Later, the husband was happy when he found a friend. He swam off to the deep end and stayed for a long chat leaving her son with his mother. “Look at Papa! He forgot I am here! Go tell him, Mumma is waiting to swim,” the woman instructed her son. I watched the scenes between my laps. They were enough to keep me entertained, intrigued and inquisitive. The woman and I exchanged a long look. I smiled at her. I knew what she was thinking.

I wish I could tell her that I knew.

That day, once again, I felt the privilege of being a woman who knows how to swim. One who doesn’t have to take help to learn a new skill late in life, or feel awkward about her bulging body underneath the water, or being embarrassed for not having the stamina to wade through water. Or stay afloat.

I prefer swimming to holding a plank, counting burpees or Surya Namaskars. My watch does the counting for me. After a while when exhaustion kicks in, when I am breathless or in a zone of brain fog, all I want is the torture to end. Soon. Now. Before I give up.

That’s not the case with swimming. As long as I breathe in a rhythm, I can carry on. I have learnt to catch my breath. Between every new lap, I close my eyes and take 10 deep breaths. I am working on reducing the rest to 15-20 seconds. As a child, I used to admire a 60+ retired gentleman who swam his laps silently. He would swim long after the pool was emptied of noisy children. He would swim calmly, making perfect strokes in a rhythm. Most of us left a corner of the pool for him. If ever he bumped into anyone, he would politely wait for the person to pass and carry on with his own business. His lack of distraction was a topic of curiosity for me. How can you not be distracted by the happenings around a pool? Watching him swim was like seeing a painter paint with passion. He swam 50 laps every time he went into water.

I never wanted to be him. Today, I suddenly want to.

When I got out of the pool, I felt my legs tingle. I could feel my blood rushing down to my toes. That pulsating rush of activated blood vessels was an amazing new experience. I took pictures of the statistics and sent them to everyone at home.

“Baba would have been super happy today!! He never saw me do 50 laps 🤪,” I wrote.

“Still is 😊,” reminded A. My heart somersaulted with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

After the hormones has settled down, I expected my muscles and bones to creak and groan. I expected to be famished. Sleepy. Exhausted. Cranky.

I didn’t! I was alive. I still am, as I am writing this.

Water makes you weightless. Once you dip inside, it wipes out all sounds. All except the voice in your head. For the first time, you can hear it clearly and talk to it. Inside water, you are left with your breath and the rhythm of your own breathing. Your hands, your legs, your body feel different. They look different too. Your aches, your pains and your worries dissolve as long as you are in water. This water can drown you, let you submerge momentarily or help you stay afloat. All that matters is how you feel inside the water. You have to allow your body to be in the moment.

Would I attempt my next 50 laps? I have a feeling I will do it soon. I will come back to write more about my swimming tales if I last this season. I want to complete 50 laps in 60 minutes. As someone who never swims with an intention, I look forward to having one now.

I can only say Thank You Baba!

Now I know what you meant by, “"Less Talk, More Swim!"”.

I am doing just that.

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This is a story / essay that combines a response to two prompts in 365 Days 365 Stories.

Prompt ONE | “Tell us of a time when an old advice made sense.”

Prompt TWO | “Tell us the story of learning a skill that has gone on to shape your life.”

I didn’t have stories for these prompts until yesterday.

If you like the prompts, I would love it if you write your own stories. Do tag me, I’d love to experience life through your glasses.

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P.S: If you’d like to following my ‘walking’ or ‘swimming tales’, let’s connect on Instagram. I share my everyday small stories in Instagram Stories. Some of them will eventually land up here on Substack.