The Swimming Life
In water, I am a fish, a swan, a tadpole, a mermaid, a limbless me.
I’ve been swimming since I was a child. Growing up in the 1950s, in a semi-rural part of West Bengal in India, my father worked in a British company; among the many benefits and bonuses was membership in the company club where we had access to, among other things, a swimming pool.
I was fascinated by the water in the pool and envied the swimmers, young and old, men, women, and children, who moved effortlessly though the blue-green waters. I wanted desperately to be one of them. Small detail. I couldn’t swim and was petrified of the water; afraid I would drown. My father’s assurances didn’t comfort me. It’s not that I didn’t go into the pool. I did, with a tube around me, hanging on to it for dear life. But I wanted to swim.
One day, I was sitting at the edge of the pool, with my legs dangling into the water. My father, in the water, came up and said: come to me. I went into his arms. He threw me into the water. I sank, with water going into my nostrils. I am dying, I thought. It’s just as I feared it would be. But then, I was on the surface, just like that. My father whooped me up into his arms, laughing, and said: see, I told you. There was no turning back.
For nine months a year, I swam in the pool, loving every minute of it. From then on, as I grew up and moved out of the area, I swam in various pools, lakes, and ponds, indoors and outdoors, in many countries.
At university in the U.S. the campus had a giant pool. I’d never seen such a big pool. Hesitatingly, I started swimming and then nothing could stop me except a busy schedule where classes and work came first. Moving to Washington, DC in the late 1970s, I started swimming in a community pool near my home. I got to meet a lot of people around my neighbourhood.
My dear friend Agnes, of Dutch origin, also loves to swim. Once in Kenya, we were talked into an overnight safari. We reached our destination after a very long and dusty ride in a battered old bus, and the guides told us we must leave immediately to see the animals. Not us. While the others trooped off, Agnes and I sat by the pool sipping cold drinks. Agnes pulled on her swimsuit and went into the rather inviting pool. I hadn’t carried my swimsuit. Agnes carries hers everywhere. I mean everywhere. It’s clear I’m not as a serious swimmer as her. While she was in the pool and I sat by the side with my legs in the water, slowly the animals came by — the giraffes, zebras, and gazelles. Just like that. Agnes offered me her swimsuit and I accepted. She jumped out of the water, I put on her swimsuit and went in. It was lovely being in the water. Till this day, we laugh about that experience.
A few months ago, I renewed my membership in a health club in Delhi which has a swimming pool on the fifth floor, open to the sky. I swam regularly till 2018, when I fell and broke my leg. Post the fall and break, I swam in other pools where steps led into the pool as opposed to the ladder, which descends into the pool. With two surgeries, several rods and pins in my leg and a graft, it was hard to get in and out of the water on the ladder. Now, with exercise and a stronger core, I can get in and out of the ladder pool.
I swim three or four times a week in the pool, surrounded by children, teenagers, middle-aged, and senior citizens like me. I love the spontaneity of the children as they scream in their high-pitched voices (which do hurt my ears), throwing water at each other and competing as to who can reach the floor of the pool the longest, hold their breath the most and other tricks. Their parents are sometimes in the pool with them and at other times, outside the pool, trying to discipline them and urging them to swim laps, not understanding that mostly adults do laps. Children just want to have fun.
There is an autistic person in the pool. I don’t know his age. He has the most fun, scooping up the water in his palm and staring and talking to it. Now and then he lets out whoops of delight. He splashes a lot of water, which annoys the serious swimmers. He is accompanied by an older man. I don’t know if he is the father or grandfather.
The area around the pool, in its most extreme edges, is encased in a wrought iron railing on which pigeons perch themselves. Watching the swimmers with their beady eyes, they swoop down to the ladder at the shallow end of the pool and drink water. They never come by themselves. Always in twos and threes. Safety in numbers, I think. On the railing is a sign: please do not lean against the railing. The pigeons cannot read. Clearly.
Then there are those that come into the pool without showering. The lifeguard, who also doubles up as the swimming coach, token collector and general disciplinarian, when he sees them, says: shower first. There are signs at various points in the pool: no jumping. As we know, kids (and pigeons) can’t read, so there is a fair amount of jumping into the pool. And dependants (who depend on full members) must be out of the pool by 7 pm. When they don’t go out, the lifeguard walks around reminding them it’s time to come out. One day, the dependant’s mother said, but children jump into the pool and that’s not allowed. How come my daughter must get out of the pool? The lifeguard rolls his eyes, and we exchange a smile.
I prefer to swim at sunset. The views are the best. Lying on my back I get to see the sun setting, gradually, with its orange yellow light filtering into the clouds and tinting them with a pinkness. Watching clouds is serious time pass while swimming. When I was younger, I’d make up stories about the shapes of the clouds and entire conversations between them. Till today, they fascinate me.
Here it is August 2023, and I am in the Six Senses resort in Rajasthan. There is a beautiful pool in which I try and swim every evening. It's evenly deep all the way through from one end to the other. It has steps you can use to enter and leave the pool, which is good for me. There is a section of the pool, which is covered, and the ceiling has lights that impersonate stars. It's rather lovely. The children and adults love it. It's quite magical. Around the pool are several sitting areas that I have a snack in before I retire for the day. In and out of the pool there are flowering trees to be admired, the frangipani and the Indian laburnum. And the sky, with birds, clouds and perfect calm. I was also here last year and swam every day.
I now dream of swimming vacations. My friends Ragini and Prashant were Delhi based for years, just like me. A decade ago, they bought land in Goa with a couple of other friends and built a home. And of course, they put in a pool. First it was a paddle pool. Now, three years later, they have a real pool. While their house was being constructed, supervised by Ragini, she spent months in a property they’d rented, in a complex with other homes. Of course, it came with a pool. She’d call and say, come and visit, there’s a pool, with inviting photos. So, I did jump on a plane and visit her. Several times. I would wake up in the morning, brush my teeth and slip into my swimsuit, have a cup of tea and slide into the pool. And then, breakfast by the pool. And night, when the sun went down and the stars come out, we’d sit by the pool with drinks and dinner.
It’s the life I wanted. And still want.
