"I’m going to learn swimming," I say one morning. What! Cries my mom. My husband and children look up from their respective mobile devices and in unison raise their eyebrows with a look that says, ‘you must be crazy’. I realise how the balloon must have felt when it was being deflated.
I broach this subject with my sister. Her comment: ‘Rani, people start learning swimming at the age of five and you have one/ two/ three/ four/ on the right side of five’. And then she goes into peels of laughter. How would a deflated balloon, second time deflated, look like!
The idea gets temporarily shelved, not because of the comments and reactions but because I happen to look at myself in the mirror and imagine myself in swimwear. I have bulges overflowing all over, especially my tummy. I visualise the looks of horror on the faces of the people at the swimming pool as a big piece of flesh waddles along. No, this is not for me. I have to lose oodles of fat before I can wear such a costume. But then, this is a vicious circle. To reduce I have to swim, and to swim wearing a swimsuit I have to reduce. Life is not fair.
Then there is this trip to Phuket in Thailand, with its lovely beaches and lovely islands. On the beaches I see people of various shapes and sizes and bulges wearing all kinds of swimsuits — two-piece, one-piece, just the bikini, and walking about nonchalantly. Are they bothered about how they are looking? All they want is to enjoy, which they do. Why not?
The next day I go to buy swimwear. Not an easy task, I realise. But finally I get one, full-length trousers and long T-shirt.
I come back to India and the first thing I do is to join a swimming course. I ask the person at the coaching centre whether people of my age usually come to learn swimming. He says there are many first-timers who are not very young, and then very hesitantly informs me that I would be the oldest, at my age of 56. I refuse to back out, and with a smile, literally plunges into this new art of swimming.
The next day I don the swimwear and look at myself. Not bad, I tell myself. Seemingly much better than some people I saw at Phuket.
I dip my leg into the water. Really cold. Why wouldn’t it be? It is December in Bangalore and the time is 7 a.m. Sheer madness, joining the course now. But I have to start when the going is good (when I have the confidence). The coaches are young men who look my son’s age. By the way I forgot to mention my son’s reaction: "Mom, are you trying to become Katrina Kaif’? I say maybe, or maybe Deepika Padukone. What words of encouragement (read sarcasm).
The first day, the young coach asks me to walk in the water along the breadth of the pool at the shallow end. Then he asks me to put my head into the water, holding my breath. Not bad for a first time experince. This I did about five times, and then the coach asked me to lift my legs off the floor and float. Oh my! Wasn’t that difficult!
That day went by, trying to keep myself afloat. It took two sessions for me to float. By then two youngsters who had also joined at the same time had started to float and do flutter kicks as well.
After realising I am able to float, the coach tells me to float and move from one end of the pool to the other. Let me tell you, in this pool and at this time, there are children and adults swimming.
Here comes the next scene. I am trying to reach the other end of the pool whilst floating, and a very young boy, around seven years, is coming fast in the direction of the length of the pool and just touches me. All I know is, I am inside the water, floundering and trying to come up and couldn’t. The coach jumps into the water and pulls me up. Can you believe that? I drown in about 4-feet deep water. The coach looks at me worriedly, and so do all my pool-mates. I take about two deep breaths and then tell the coach, I am ready. There are smiles all around and the coach gives me a thumbs up sign.
Twenty sessions are over and I have just started to do flutter kicks and move forward. By now, as per the norm I should be swimming the length of the pool.
In between I have had the frightening experience of going into the water two more times. Scary it was! But I have not given up. Still trying to stay afloat and swim. Yes, I’m also trying to move my hands as my legs do the fluttering. Easier said than done.
When would I start the free-style swimming, while all of this is happening in just 3 to 4 feet of water? I am yet to venture to the other end of the pool, which is more than 6 feet deep. I pray to god to give immense patience to the young coaches who are at their wit’s end not knowing how to handle a 56-year-old first-time swimmer.
This is one art I am trying to master, but she refuses to get mastered (I mean my swimming). I’m still keeping my spirits high, hoping that I would one day become a decent swimmer. And the long, arduous but lovely journey continues.
But let me tell you one thing: many of my friends, both men and women of the same age, have been inspired by my adventures and have decided to give it a try.
As has been rightly said, ‘age is only a number’. Go ahead, do what you want, learn what you want. There is so much to learn. After all, we have only one life. We have reached this age after crossing so many hurdles and challenges. Let us overcome this challenge of ‘being old’.
kay1kay2@yahoo.com
