My first swimming lesson
I was in eighth grade, and my grandfather taught me to swim. The summer holidays had just begun, and my grandfather told my parents that he would get me to swim. There was no swimming pool in our village, and a large well on farmland two kilometres away, belonging to our house owner, was my learning site. She readily permitted us to use the well as my training ground.
The preparations started the very first day after my examinations. I accompanied my grandfather to meet Mohammed Khan, a timber merchant in our town. He asked Khan for the dry stems of the drumstick tree(Moringa oleifera). Looking at my height and weight, Khan estimated the number of pieces I needed. He delivered four logs measuring thirty inches in length and three inches in diameter in two days. My grandfather bought a quarter-inch rope, tied the pieces in a bundle, and added a rope extension to suit my waist. He asked me to walk around with the assembly to ensure that the pile was tight on my waist.
My grandfather assembled a few of his older students and created a swimming group. The three beginners in the group had the bundles behind us, while the seniors did not have any.
Our neighbours watched the procession as we marched for the swimming adventure with our drumstick bundles on our backs. We wore regular shorts and shirts as we did not have swimming attire but carried towels which served as our headcovers in the scorching Sun. My grandfather was providing the rearguard support.
After thirty minutes, we reached the site, and my grandfather took a walk around the well to survey the surroundings. It is an old circular native well with a patch of grass around. I am sure that the well came into existence by hand digging, and semi-finished granite pieces provided the lining for the upper portion. A few concrete steps tucked into the wall formed a staircase used for any cleaning requirements. I could see a small platform where a pump set was resting, connected to pipes to pull the water and empty it into a concrete tank on the surface.
We kept our towels and shorts under a shady tree nearby. My grandfather did the final check. He asked a couple of seniors to jump into the well and give him clearance. After satisfying himself, he asked the seniors to tie the bundles on the beginners securely.
As we were getting ready, I looked into the well. My horror knew no bounds. While the water looked clean, I was unsure of the depth; the diameter could be twenty metres. While the well looked very charming outside, I was terrified — all my enthusiasm to learn to swim vanished after looking at the water. Strange thoughts filled my mind. What would happen to me if the bundle gave away? Would I come up if I jumped into the water? What would happen if I was unable to breathe? Would I see my sister and mother again? Several possible scenarios appeared in front of me, one after the other. A GENTLE HAND NUDGED BEHIND while I closed my eyes with images flashing in my mind. I lost my balance, and I was in the air for the following few seconds before hitting the water’s surface. I thought that my life had ended as I went down. I did not know what was happening. Darkness surrounded me, and I was in a strange space. While struggling for my breath, I came up to the water’s surface because of the drumstick bundle. I started chopping the water with my hands while the legs were dangling. There was no edge to hold as I was in the middle of the well. I was shouting and crying with helplessness looking all around for help. I wanted to grab someone nearby, but I could spot only the learners. Though I was in the water, I was sweating, and I could feel my lips trembling. I closed my eyes with my breath bursting in and out of me. I cursed my grandfather and the seniors in the group loudly, pleading for rescue from the water. I continued dangling in the water, chopping my legs and hands. One of the seniors saw my predicament and led me to the steps in the well. I trembled with fear and slowly walked up to the surface.
My grandfather looked very calm while I sat down. I thought that the agony had ended. After a few minutes, one of the seniors lifted me and dropped me into the water again. As I touched the water, I felt better. My body adjusted to the water, and I could surface quickly though chopping of hands and legs continued. My senior caught hold of me again, led me to the surface and dropped me into the water again. After a few iterations, I jumped into the water without help and quickly realised that water was waiting for me and I could survive. I learnt that swimming could be fun.
It took a while for me to learn and master hand and leg movements.
I never looked back.
“The water is your friend…..you don’t have to fight with water, just share the same spirit as the water, and it will help you move.” — Alexander Popov.
