Floating under the surface
We count our age from the day we left our mother’s body, not from the day we started forming inside her. For formality’s sake, those 9 months are unaccounted for. Which is as much a metaphor for the ignorance we live in as a testament to our ability to move on. We were practically floating in there for three quarters and when the time came for the final push, we acted as if we were meant for this world and not that one. In other words, we moved on.
Until we decided to learn to swim, that is.
Playing in water is not the same as knowing how to deal with it. If you remember well, you experienced raw fear, if not trepidation, during your initial tryst with the liquid state. And then slowly, over many days, you realized that water is a friend. It doesn’t really want you to drown and die. Since your body is 70% filled with it and your lungs are pumping air, you feel this upthrust motion at play. That particular bit builds your confidence. You manoeuvre your hands, legs and neck in a way best suited to cut through water. Yes, you swallow again and again in order to master the art of leaving your windpipe alone.
And before you know it, you’ve learnt your way with the water. Stroke. You’re not only adept at swimming but also know how to float. Your diaphragm controls your rhythm when you’re not moving. Still. Just like you did ages ago when your mother sheltered your tinier version. You breathe a bit and submerge yourself, relaxing yourself one bubble at a time. You don’t hear anything except the extended hmmmm of a world you once abandoned. You can see the blue tiles of the swimming pool but the picture quality is poor. Apparently, your eyes aren’t meant for underwater exposure. You surface after a few seconds with a gush of breath. You are calm and yet fighting to exhale. An intriguing paradox, isn’t it? You were under the surface thinking you are running out of breath but the moment your head breaks the surface, you can barely take a deep breath. On the contrary, you want to release the CO2 trapped inside your lungs. So, what do you do? With the support of the pool’s edge, you dip in and out in quick successions releasing as much air as possible. In less than a minute, you are back to your best!
I wasn’t back to my best last night.
At the local gymkhana, I went for a swim after ages. Don’t remember the last time I did this but I was pretty good at it as a young boy. Things change with years, I suppose. Completing one lap (25m) turned into a shameful task, marked by irregular breathing, cramps in calves, swallowing chlorine-heavy H20, etc. By the end of the session, I was exhausted, aching and trembling. As impossible as it may sound in this weather. I reached the pool at 8 and saw 7 men there. Each one of them was fascinated by my tattoos. If only they were gawking at me for my swimming skills! On a serious note, it made me wonder how women in our country must be feeling all the time. Unwanted attention arrives without warning or solicitation.
After spending over an hour in the pool — even though nothing seemed to be working for me as I’ve clearly forgotten my rhythm and am abysmally low on stamina, I was in no mood to leave — I understood what I like about water the most. I don’t enjoy flapping limbs around or racing with others. I like being submerged more than anything else. Just staying steady in there for as long as possible. Experiencing nothing at all must be the greatest experience of all. Eyes closed, body neither sinking nor floating, hands stretched out as if to hug Jesus, mind empty and body cold. That feeling is something. I guess I managed 18 seconds or so. During school days, my brother and I used to compete to check who stayed in longer. That was then. As of now, I am looking forward to visit gymkhana again soon so as to locate my meditative self. If possible, stretching it to at least 30 seconds. Since this world isn’t helping me much with meditation, maybe that world might.
Before I surface and move the fuck on.
Related trivia: Humankind has probed 20 billion km outwards from the Earth but only 12 km into it. Makes you wonder why we don’t want to go back to where we came from.
