Dad was having his evening tea, after returning home from work. As he set the cup down, he told Mum that he had stopped by to meet the swimming instructor, at the local pool. Mr.W seemed to be very friendly and had several students learning from him. Dad wanted both his kids to start swimming lessons as soon as possible and he was going to start the experiment with bro.

Neither bro nor I seemed too pleased to hear this. Bro felt that he was too young to start learning and I felt I was too old. Two summers before, I had joined a boisterous swimming club where the instructors just stood in the water, gossiping with each other and barking orders to fresh, new learners to jump in the water and try to stay afloat. “Just kick and splash your legs a bit! You will soon get the hang of it!” they told us as we stood in a single line, shivering and waiting for our turn to jump into the water. I remember the first jump. I had opened my mouth in surprise, as I cut into the water. Down, down I went and I opened my eyes and saw a bright t-shirt. I kicked with all my might and grabbed onto the t-shirt, to come to the surface. It belonged to the instructor! “Keep kicking and do not put your head into the water!” he shouted as he pushed me away and I began sinking once again. It was a terrible way of learning something.

After many tantrums in vain, bro was taken to the evening batch, to meet ‘Sir’. ‘Sir’ liked bro immediately and the feeling was reciprocated soon enough when bro figured out that he could swim, after all! Soon, bro was moving onto learning the next stroke – the ‘backstroke’.

Two weeks afterward, I enrolled for the morning batch. The pool was an open one, amidst green surroundings and the hills behind. Some people would go for a run up the hill and return to take a daily swim. The changing room was dark and damp, with lots of slithering creatures. I emerged out, waiting for the order to ‘jump into’ the pool. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised when Sir asked me to use the ladder to get into the pool.

Sir looked like a disciplinarian, kind of stern, with a deep, booming voice and intimidating whiskers. He would shout out instructions from behind his desk and occasionally saunter over to see the progress of his students. A few sessions were spent in learning breathing and strengthening the leg kicks. I took longer than bro but soon I had moved on to the backstroke and it would be fun to float on the water, gazing up at the sky. 

Soon I was in a position to complete several laps and hang on to the poolside to watch newer members learn. There were a few ladies who could really swim well and had participated in interstate competitions. I liked watching their perfect dives and clean strokes, especially when they swam the crawl. Others, not so skillful, had trouble in learning even the basic stroke and seemed to spend several months of sessions in the shallow end of the pool. I started enjoying swimming so much that I swam all year around, except in January when the pool would be closed for winter. Swimming also meant a few other sacrifices like skin rashes and hair problems, but it was worth it.

I liked the evening batch more, because it was an ‘open-to-all’ one. Young kids usually came for this batch. ‘Sir’ would behave very differently with them, giving them instructions in a loud, commanding voice and punishing them for misbehaving. It would be fun to watch a random skinny brat skulk out of the changing room and towards the pool. Instead of diving into the water he would crouch on his toes and slip in, like a water rat and start swimming quietly, one eye warily on ‘Sir’, hoping to stay away from mischief and ‘Sir’. Teenage girls would crowd to one side of the pool, hanging onto the bar and chatting about interesting topics. On seeing that, ‘Sir’ would shout out their names, asking them to stop gossiping and start swimming instead. With chagrined faces, they would break up and return to the rounds.

The pool caretaker was designated the task of pushing reluctant people into the water, for their first dives. Luckily I never really got a chance to learn diving but ‘Sir’ made all his students try it one time or the other, with the caretaker creeping up behind the unsuspecting person with the pool net in hand, ready to give a rough push if needed. I always enjoyed the feeling of sinking in the water, trying to catch the sun rays in the shimmering blue all around me, but each time I had to jump, it would seem like the first time I was trying it.

‘Sir’ was a great teacher and had quite a fan club. Apart from swimming lessons, he would often throw in gems about tackling general problems without getting preachy or righteous about anything. There are different types in students and teachers and a good teacher is one who can reach all students with the same ease. I think ‘Sir’ fit in that definition.

Years later, bro and I still enjoy swimming. I am able to participate in water activities without the fear of drowning straight away in case of a mishap (atleast I would give some struggle!). We owe our confidence to ‘Sir’ and to Mom and Dad who made us learn, even if it meant against our wishes.