Unconventional Swimming Lessons

Unconventional Swimming Lessons

Despite living close to large fresh water bodies (river, canal, tanks, and yes even sea), I did not learn swimming for many years. My village friends and some classmates used to spend hours in the wide canal waters, at times with a fly rod. Once my classmate got almost smacked in the eye while diving from a tree branch into the large tank near our street corner. Mother could have used her good offices to arrange swimming lessons for me from any of her village friends. Perhaps she was too busy with other things and I never learned the water sport in my native village. Thus though clean water was close by I could not avail the fun of aquatic sports.  Rarely I did any serious swimming in my school days except a few half-hearted strokes or paddling with my tiny hands. This is what they mean by the age-old adage: “The temple is near but the Lord is far away.” 

In the graduate school we had to endure very hot summers; still makes me dehydrate just by thinking even now! And there was a functioning Olympic size pool with clean green tinted (bleach) waters. One day at the breakfast table my friends and I were idly talking about while munching on toast and fruit. Two other friends were in their swimming trunks for the morning lap. Casually I asked my Tamil friend (M.S.) to teach me swimming. “No problem, first get yourself a nice swimming shorts (trunk).” I waited anxiously the whole day to get out of the lab sooner and rushed to the strip mall in the evening. For about ten or fifteen rupees I bought a simple grey trunk; but it was too late for my first lesson that evening.

Next morning after brushing I dashed directly to my friend’s hostel room on the ground floor. We quickly grabbed the breakfast and proceeded towards the pool. He was telling me stories about how he used to swim in Tamil Nadu in a large well with rope tied around his waist. Sweet innocent high school outdoor activities in clean water surroundings – days of the bygone era. After a quick shower we went down to the pool. It is a big pool with diving boards going all the way up to thirty feet high. 

My teacher friend was very brave and physically fit. He took me directly to the deep end near the high diving board. There he proceeded with stern instructions: “Look dear, if you want to learn really you’ve to follow my advice. You can stay like all those idle guys in the shallow waters for several seasons without ever learning anything about water. They stand there like the cranes, just walking on the floor in the shallow water.”

“No, I want to learn fast. I want to enjoy swimming and deep water diving.”

“Ok, I’ll teach you in two days. You just have to follow my rules. And fully trust me.”

That’s it. He really taught me everything in two or three days. There were no ropes, floating devices, goggles, and not even earplugs. No long pole to rescue me from drowning. My instructor continued thus: “First you get rid of water phobia. I ask you to jump into the sixteen feet deep water. You just jump. And then follow your (body) instincts to stay afloat, just enough to keep your nose above water. Be utterly calm and continue steady gentle breathing.”

That was it - a small adventurous beginning. I was standing next to the diving board in wet swimming costume. And without any thought, I just jumped straight into the pool. With a bit of paddling and pushing with hands (Newton’s Third Law) I could keep my head above the water and gently I crawled towards the cement hand railing on the edge. My instructor was happy to see me afloat breathing normally. We continued talking with further helpful instructions, he standing over the edge and me vertically floating in the pool.  

  

After two weeks my teacher had let me swim on my own without any supervision. I did not pay for his lessons in any way. But I used to accompany him to the Sunday group meetings (picnic) with packed lunches from the mess. Eventually we all graduated and dispersed from the city. Later he tracked me down in Tamil Nadu on one afternoon and we went for a nice high tea outside the college campus. 

That summer when I visited my native place in Andhra I had a marvelous vacation time (a blast!) in the village. We were living very close to the big agricultural feeder canal and every morning I would take a dip in the water. I did several laps covering the width and tried my screw rotations (freestyle and backstroke combination) on the slightly muddy waters. All the fear of water was gone forever. 

As I look back fondly at those youthful days I’ve only few complaints: I did not fully learn the diving technique. With more patience and perseverance I could have developed a smooth diving, the angle of attack, and perhaps one or two flips in midair. Also I should have perfected the forward (breast) stroke keeping the head a little lower into the water with the upper body more parallel (horizontal) to the floor. But then there were other distractions like looking at other swimmers, the canteen dosas, and enjoying the Amaltas flower bunches on the way. I also learned other subjects like adult education from my hostel mate. That summer fully engrossed in the water sport was a memorable phase in my life. I made new friends and the swimming season ended with a “swimmer’s ear”. We almost watched with a sigh of despair at the closing of swimming pool for the season; it was getting terribly cold and we couldn’t continue any further with dirty mossy water. I got introduced to authors like Herman Hesse and Joyce through my humanities hostel mates. My lab friends got envious at my carefree attitude to life (studies). I think they got jealous because I learnt swimming so quickly, so easily, so effortlessly. 

Despite spending two or three hours in the pool I still managed with my lab work pretty well – way ahead of my group. I think every youngster should master bicycle and swimming. They teach bodily balance and floating ability. Every summer when I read about the recurring drowning of young college students I really feel sorry for such water accidents, tragedies that are really preventable.  To be Continued. Copyright 2022 by the author. Pool Photo adapted from the Internet (Copyright holder unknown)   

A Memorable Bhishma-ekadasi

A Memorable Bhishma-ekadasi

This February 23rd has been an auspicious day for all Vaishnava devotees. It celebrates Bhishma-ekadasi. Many Hindu traditionalists will observe the occasion with a simple ablution near a well, river, canal, or sea and a trip to nearby Vishnu temple. 

Like the present day virus dislocation in routine life (it is more accentuated here in the USA), there was a similar discordant period when I was in school. Due to endless agitations and bandh disruptions, our university was shut down to limit the property damage and personal injuries; all the messes, shops, and markets were closed too. The entire transportation came to a standstill. It was truly a dismal bleak season – tough and hard times for everyone, for employees, students, and farmers. Despite all the gloom, there were a few isolated memorable incidents.

Somehow I reached my native town, after availing every possible mode of transportation. The erratic trip included a rickshaw, RTC bus, crowded taxi, and a three-mile tiring walk home. All the way home, it was a stop-and-go with very little access to food or water. It was a forced unscheduled vacation at home. There was not much to do except bike riding, trips to local temple, and odd errands. Very little shopping was possible, as all the shops had either closed or run out of goods. People had very little cash due to the frequent bank closings.

Yet those were very interesting days, as I recall now. I got to read several rare philosophical books, all borrowed from the Ramakrishna Mission. I could have studied the class books but it was difficult to concentrate on scientific matters during “a student strike hiatus”. (I can understand what the students are going through right now, with zoom and remote studies) One day I was chatting with friends in a Khaddar shop on the front porch. My friends suggested a trip to Antarvedi, a small hamlet near Bay of Bengal. It is at the confluence of the river and sea, at the mouth of Godavari River, along one of its branches. Being young we were more interested in the large gathering at the Narasimha temple (Antarvedi Thirtham/Fair). Seeing big crowds, dipping in the sea, and mixing with people and shopping at the fair– those were the things we all expected and anticipated eagerly. I readily agreed to join the crowd. It turned out to be a very pleasant learning experience as I’ve come to realize much later.

Life is, as someone has observed “a movement in relationship”.  Every moment need to be cherished and one has to feel the crisis in each second. Only that is life. It is for that celebration (of inner spirit), all our festivals were born. But the Hindu festivals are unique; they are a part of a greater story – story of the ancient man, (his) story of our ancestors, who lived along the Ganges.

We all started from our coastal town, Kshirapuri, around seven in the evening. It was a simple exhilarating bicycle trip. I did not own a bike, so I got a double (a ride) with an energetic friend. Getting a ride on those old bikes meant sitting on the metal carriage behind. It was not bad, but the hard metal frame started pinching me after two miles. We rode along the bank of big irrigation canal enjoying moonlight. (What a pity? Now, in 2020 hardly a small boat (forget the motor launch) can move in that canal without being pushed. Water has dramatically disappeared from the rivers and canals due to mismanagement and population growth. Not every thing in the last three decades has been progress in India.) I took five rupees from my father for the entire trip. It took care of lodging for the night, temple visit, return bus fare, a few idlis, and bananas for Lord Vishnu. The inside of a ripe banana is always pure and ready for consumption immediately. Thus, bananas and coconuts are the favorite fruits at Indian temples. There was no need for any map, GPS, or directions. We all knew intuitively how to reach Antarvedi. The true test and power of religion is this: There may be some hiccups on the way, but the individual will always reach the sought, with joy. All we had to follow for our trip is the water on our right side. The wide canal would directly take us to the mouth of Godavari. We reached Narasapuram (the name itself proclaims that it is a town of Lord Narasimha) around 9 p.m., and we still had to ride on the Godavari bank for another forty minutes before we could catch a launch (motor boat). 

On the way we regaled ourselves with the prevalent movie stories and political problems. My friends’ topics revolved around their own difficulties with agriculture, crops, and running a small shop. I could only appreciate bits and parts of their conversation as I had moved to bigger cities in pursuit of higher education. Their unalloyed simplicity and overflowing friendly behavior impressed me always; it really overwhelmed me. Even today, I get the same warm reception in small villages and towns of Andhra. Riding through the muddy bank, under the canopy of coconut trees on either side, we reached the end of the road. Now we were in front of frothy jumping Godavari meeting its long sought companion, the eastern sea. Finally with a bit of jostling, weight lifting, we, with four bikes and one motorcycle were nestled into a small boat. From the boat into a motor launch, it all happened on the water. I never witnessed a river so joyful; it was the most beautiful scene in that glistening moonlit night. (This is what they wanted to convey in the movie, Mayabazar with the song, “lahiri lahiri” లాహిరి లాహిరి.)

Soon we reached the little village and we all took shelter at a small house. Whether it was just a cow shed or front porch, I cannot recall. But we wanted a little rest, brief sleep to recover from the journey’s fatigue. At the crack of dawn, we all got up to take a dip in the sea. Our bikes were of little use on the sandy road, so we all walked with the big festival crowd. What a glorious sunrise in the Bay of Bengal! Earth was still recovering from the enthralled sleep with moon and only the sun’s gentle kiss on the right cheek could coax her shake off lethargy. Entire trip could be encapsulated into that one colorful sunrise scene. The whole beach rim was full of big and small crowds, children teasing the waves with little palms, and elders bathing with clothes. Who can really control the whims and currents of ocean or even Godavari? In the distance I caught a glimpse of a bottle, a cloth, and savaram (wig). When we reached the Narasimha temple with wet salty dripping clothes, the lines were very long. There was no way we could enter the inner sanctum and be out of the crowd that evening. So, we had to leave our offerings on the temple parapet. From a distance we prayed to Lakshmi-Narasimha. Yes, it is always Lakshmi-Narasimha or Sri Narasimha. Always, we remember the couple together (Vishnu and Lakshmi). As Prahlada declared, “Vishnu is everywhere, there need be no doubt”. So, our offerings genuinely reached Vishnu. In Bhagavatam, it is said that Narasimha was in great rage after killing Prahlada’s father, Hiranya Kasipu, like a super boiling water, beyond 100° C. The Lord cooled only upon Prahlada’s entreating and only then Lakshmi approached Him (See the old B/W movie, Chenchu Lakshmi, చెంచు లక్ష్మి) Copyright 2021 by the author (to be Contd.)