The Monster Slayer

It was the beginning of the swimming season. Five days into it, and Jai and Rasan resumed their early morning swimming lessons when their exams finished. Jai did not want to go into the pool without Papa –his idol, his friend, his philosopher, his guide, bah! Rasan was to get into the big pool because she had already graduated from the ‘Training pool’ last year. We had even thrown an elaborate party in celebration of her “cap-change”. In case you don’t know, the beginners are required to wear red cap and once they graduate into the big pool, they can wear any colored cap. So, she had been into the big pool with a bang the previous season. But this season, she insisted, presumably for Jai’s sake, and I know for her own sake too (she found big pool too overwhelming this season I guess) that she would stay in the small pool for a day or two. I gestured her to move into the big pool because I was sure she would not be able to overcome her hesitation once she got too comfortable in the small pool. She grudgingly moved into the big pool and Jai, among other trainees was in the small pool. I had been keeping a hawk-mom’s (I am sure there are hawk-pops too) eye on both of them in their respective pools. These were the days before the submarine started invading the pool. After a while, Rasan started to do what the kids call “bubbling” and Jai was just busy splashing water but he was kind of morose with no Didi to share the little things with.

A little while later, I saw him come out of the pool. He was running towards me, sans his bath robe, shivering in the morning cool and running real fast. Before I could even start worrying, he was by my side. With his teeth chattering, he said, “Mama I am not going into the pool.” “Why, Bachhu?” I asked him. He said, “There is something in the pool.” “Something like what?” I thought he was making excuses to stop swimming already. “ Possibly a leaf, Mama” said he, vigorously nodding his head to convince me. In his Punjabi, it came out to be, “Shayad koi patta shatta hai,” And opened his eyes wider to convince me. I said, “Yes, Beta, with so much of wind today, the surrounding trees must have shed some leaves and one of them might have gotten into the pool.” He insisted, “Noooooo, the pool is dirty. There is something moving in it.” Now I know it is not, the managers of the pool change the water every now and then and I know there is a treatment plant working for these pools; and the season had just started. I tried to send him back. He refused to go. I planned to threat him with dire consequences, but gave up the idea before a tussle could ensue - with me coaxing him back into the water and he refusing to budge an inch and thus making a family show of extreme mushy-crushy love. I finally told him to go get his bathrobe from the peg and get into the washroom to change. I was angry with him. We both remained sullen and swollen faced. Finally Rasan finished her swim and came along. I did not talk to him all through the way because I had woken up at 5 am for God’s sake to take them to the pool, and all I was getting in return was a sulky kid complaining of funny things. During the day, however, we kissed and made up.

Next day, upon waking up, he categorically refused to get ready to go to the pool. I said, "Okay, at least come with us to the pool." Reluctant and suspicious that I would again ask him to get into the pool, he obliged upon the promise that he would not be forced to go the pool. I thought, we will cross the bridge when we come to it and laced the comment with Tere ta waddey waddey wi jaangey between my teeth. Off we went to the pool. I tried one last time. He put his little foot down, “No I am not going to the pool.” Rasan said, “Ok, I will go to the pool with you and see what’s the matter.” I didn’t like the idea because it gave Rasan a chance to avoid the big pool. But Majboori ka naam chota pool. Reaching upto her ears upon tiptoe, and very secretively he whispered, “Ok didi, I will also show you those sea monsters too.” She said, “Ok, I will see what’s bothering you.” I eavesdropped upon their conversation. And chuckled to myself, “Wow, SEA monsters in the swimming POOL! Only mera munda can invent them.” She got into the pool with him and remained with him and kept talking to him while he splashed. The coach came and found her swimming among the trainees and told her to shift the pool. She rarely gets into argument outside home. She did not try to disobey or explain. She moved out. Jai was again left alone but now he seemed to have come to terms with his monster buddies in the water. (He has never forgiven the coach since; and keeps calling him Khadoos with a double K) He now splashed water around, enjoyed himself and came out laughing. What sister-therapy Rasan gave him, I have no idea. But I am grateful she did.

Thank God for her. What would I do without my wonder girl, my super-heroine?


Cartoon courtesy-

http://www.quietmuse.net/images/wgirl.jpg

POOL SPOOLS

Swimming is not tough. Remember I told you? Well, it is all about kicking your legs and moving your arms and breating rhythmically. That’s it. Only I occasionally forget to breathe inside the water and end up doing a lot of Jal Neti. As a result, my nasal and throat passage these days works smoothly like a toll managed highway.

And the moment I kick my legs and move into the middle of the pool (the small pool ji), I forget to move my arms. If I manage to remember to do both the things, I forget to breathe. The moment I realize that I have to breathe, I manage to shoot up to the surface to breathe. The neighboring swimmers (all learners, majority of them kids below 10) suddenly get alarmed and scared thinking I am in some emergent need of aid. Well, I usually search for air in such a frantic way that they seem to be ready to call the lifeguard. They stop only when I manage to communicate some consolation with a head bobbing up and down in the water. That ensures them that I am alive. So much for humanity in the pool.

If I do manage to breathe, and start to move forward with the speed of a submarine inside a tub; I end up recalling some funny event of my life and start giggling inside the water. Obviously I cannot giggle and swim in one go.

Well, swimming IS easy, only if you supplement your regime with good diet and consumption of a lot of water. Diet, I manage at home, but the water I consume these days is the water that I (accidentally) drink inside the pool; while breathing or trying to breathe. Only when I come out of the pool with a protruding tummy do I realize that I have had more than my quota of water for the day.

Stop saying EEEIIIKKKSSS.

Fitting Into a Swim Suit

No, it is not a hard thing to do. I thought it was. M had been pestering me to learn swimming for physical fitness and as a survival skill. I had been trying to cajole him into letting me postpone it to next summer. He himself is a reasonably good swimmer and has an extremely fit body. That is to conclude that I was and still am the only bad apple in the family of shiny and fit apples.

So, one fine morning, he called up, gave me an ultimatum, ordered me to bunk work and go to the Speedo showroom to buy a swimming costume. Swimming costume and me? M, you cannot be serious after my successful attempts to skirt the issue. Swimming costume – to me, was a sexy, revealing outfit that you wear to swim and sometimes to flaunt a good body. I neither knew swimming nor did I have a good body to show off. Before buying a swim suit, I thought it was a good idea to buy a bathrobe to wear over it. Though I didn’t bunk work I did go to Planet Sports that day and asked them to show me the biggest swim suit they had in the form of something that would cover me from head to toe. The salesman saw me, smiled patronizingly and said, “Ma’am, the maximum covering types in swimsuits available with us are the ones that cover half your legs and half your arms.” Pooh, life is full of compromises. I thought, “Okay let it be.” I argued that I had seen those full bodyskins that make you look like a seal. “There was no way we would be getting it here in our store,” said the salesman.

“Yeah, all of them have gone to China for Olympics, right?” I still thought he had that full body suit and was hiding it somewhere in the store.

He led me to the section where these wonderful swim suits hung. My inner voices started to yell all at once, “Wow, wish I could wear this, wish I could wear that. Umm, no this won’t fit. Umm no, this is too small. Hai, this is nice.” and I picked up a plain black zip-up kneeskin (mine is closest to this one. Wonder why Speedo has not put my kneeskin on their website) , and the biggest size in this style and also one smaller than the biggest- just for the sake of my ego satisfaction. I moved towards the trial room. On the way, I called up M and gave him a detail on the selected swim suit. Was it hot that day, and was I sweating that day! It was a struggle to wear cotton clothes, and to try on a swim suit was an ordeal. I wanted to curse M loudly for having made me go through that tiresome and lousy job in the middle of the afternoon when I should be sitting home reading blogs. The godforsaken AC of that store was working, but the trial room was, well trial room and they wanted to try the patience of everyone, so the AC settings in that part of the world seemed to be set to a minimal. I will save you the details of the struggle; I fit into both of them. I mean I fit into both, tried one after the other. Just clarifying lest you should think I had to put both of them to fit in.

Now, that was a small ego-boost. Elated, I called up M.

Conversation from inside of the stuffy trial room into the phone:

“Wow, I fit into both.”

“Try one size smaller than the smallest that fit you. I m sure you would fit into that too.”

In Punjabi I said, ““ਠੀਕ ਠੀਕ ਲਾ ਲੌ” it roughly translates as “Now come on, let’s stay within limits.”

“Okay, leave it. I will go with you to the showroom and then you try it.” Oww he is such a darling.

I smsed him the details, style number etc and he promised he would also have a look at a Speedo showroom closeby.

Next day we returned together to the same PS showroom and he suggested me to take two sizes smaller inside the trial room and try them on . I was aghast, “No way. I am not doing it. I m not even going to try swimming. I look like a black whale. Moreover it’s no fun spending so much on a swim suit for a person like me who has not even stepped into a pool.”

“Go on; let me see how it fits.”

Now it was a relatively cooler day. Partly because now my self esteem was two sizes larger, given that at least two decent swim suits had fit me. Encouraged, I tried this smaller one, wow it fit me. I chuckled audibly to myself. M was standing outside; he wondered aloud what was so funny. I opened the door slightly, let him in and told him to see for himself. He saw it from this angle and that. Not that it was very hard to do, because there were hardly any angles to look at , for everything was conveniently rounded off. But he was happy that it fit me. I secretly suspected that he was happy that I found myself not impossibly fat anymore. I was even happier than him, though what I was seeing in the mirror was nothing even remotely close to a flattering image. We finalized the swim suit and off we went. I am glad M didn’t allow me to buy those bazaar chaap swim suits that come in bold prints with long slacks that cover your legs, almost looking like kameez-pajami–sans-dupatta inside the water.

On the way back, M declared, “Half the battle is won. You will learn swimming in no time."
What a faith!!! An incurably contagious faith that he wears on sleeves the way people wear their hearts!!! I started to sneeze immediately upon being badly infected with it in the car. As a result, now am trying all sorts of antics in the swimming pool that is only 3 and a half feet deep. I need to tell you all about so many other pool happenings. That is for the next time. Reason? - A badly frighten(ing)ed reader, my friend Hardly Phatichar says, “aap toh kishton mein likhti hain”. (You write in instalments.)