My first experience with water fitness was thanks to my mother. I was an only child, and she had high hopes of me. She saw in me capabilities that no one else did. I responded to her attempts to improve me with non-cooperation, in the spirit of Gandhi, whom I would later come to admire. I empathise with him because we both fought forces much stronger than us. She tried to make me learn to play Rabindra Sangeet on the Hawaiian guitar, leaving me with a lifelong enmity towards both Rabindranath and the Hawaiian guitar.
She felt I had the makings of a tennis champion, and every Saturday, my parents and I would go to the South Club in Deshapriya Park, next to Priya Cinema, where I would spend 45 minutes with a tennis instructor, pretending to play tennis. Standing still in the middle of the court would have been blatant misbehaviour. Instead, I pretended to try, but never quite managed. I would lunge. I would mishit. I would run in the wrong direction. Sometimes, just to give the instructor a sense of false hope, I would get one inside the line. In this way, I evolved the techniques of Gandhi. Instead of full non-cooperation, I pretended to cooperate. After three months, my mother gave up, and switched me to swimming. A few days later, I walked over to the club, to inquire after my old instructor. I was told that he was now suffering from acute depression, and had taken a sabbatical.
Meanwhile at the Anderson Club, near Dhakuria Lake, my struggles continued. This is the first time I was exposed to water fitness, and I resisted it. Week after week, I floated face down in the pool, gripping the edge of it, thrashing my legs up and down. The swim coach kept suggesting that I should let go of the edge, and maybe venture a few feet inward, but I insisted that I was not ready, and needed to practise more. I thrashed on, heavily and rhythmically. My mother would sit at the edge of the pool, watching. I was blessed with many aunties. In the first few weeks, some of them would accompany her, but they were getting drenched by the water from my thrashing legs, so they stopped. Over time, I became a training tool for the others. “Watch out for that guy,” the coach would yell to the other novices. “Have you seen the size of those legs? One blow and you’ll be unconscious.” This time it took six months, because the snacks at the club were quite good, but eventually my mother realised that I was unlikely to learn how to swim. We cancelled our membership to the Anderson Club. It was a small victory for oppressed peoples everywhere.
Now, as I approach the twilight of my life, water is once more playing a big role in my fitness. I dilute my drinks more than I used to. It’s healthier and economical, because I drink less. For the first time, I have truly embraced water fitness. But our misuse of the environment is hampering me. The water supply in Delhi is declining. I hear other parts of the country are facing similar problems. The message is clear. Water fitness is a luxury we can no longer afford. In order to save the planet, you need to have your drinks neat. On your birthday, as a special treat, you could add a cube of ice.
In Shovon Chowdhury’s most recent novel, Murder With Bengali Characteristics , radioactivity in water leads to a decline in the supply of fish
