Swimming Surprises

It's summertime and swimming is the highlight of our day.  The best way to celebrate 'no school', in my opinion (and probably my son's too).

My own swimming is usually a low key but happy affair of relaxing and watching the water move by, with shafts of sunbeams piercing it.  A place of no thought and effortless gliding.

With my son around, it takes on a completely different hue.  The Bangalore club pool is packed in the summer with other children (being coached), their parents sitting alongside, regular swimmers and, thrice a week, an aqua-aerobics class attended solely by grandmothers.

In the midst of this, we come, splashing in- the grandmothers turn to give beaming smiles to my son and chat with me about their lives.  I exchange smiles with the parents (they are quieter on the whole than the grandmothers), get to know the children by sight and by name.

The swimming coach comes over to share a few moments of conversation and swimming tips with my son.  I am one of the few, possibly the only parent, to enter the pool solely in order to teach my son.  And he is learning, in his own determined, chaotic way - refusing teachers and floats, bobbing up and down in the water until he is able to move a little at a time, by himself.  Hands and feet move in an unstructured but determined fashion while he breathes out bubbles and endures the chlorine of the water (glasses are too tight, he says, and so are swimming caps).  A happy, bubbly, truly free style swim.

After this, we sit out with his toy trains and eat our snack (which has gradually increased in size over the last few weeks, the number of trains has also swelled).  We watch the swimmers and my son strolls over to say a word or two to his neighbours.  Sometimes, they talk to me as well.

And what wondrous things result from these conversations!  Grandmothers' tips on places to buy swimsuits, a European lady telling me that my son would certainly learn swimming - based on her swimming experiences with Polish coaches, and most recently a very precious gift of an old winding train set from England, placed carefully in a hand painted biscuit tin, given by one of the swimmers to my son - it is the set he used as a child.

My son beamed on receiving this and said he would have fun with it forever and ever.  I hope he does- and I hope he has fun with his swimming forever and ever too, just as I do, with mine.

Holidaying At Home

My son's first summer vacation - and we are spending it at home!  It's blazing hot in most parts of the country and so we decided just to sit back and do all the fun things that we had planned but never got down to.  No summer camps, no retreats and no road trips.  Just waking up when the sun pours in, eating summer fruit and home made bread and cheese and heading out to greet the day.

Swimming every morning is a must - and we go to Bangalore club, meet all the old regulars, say hallo to the swimming coaches and splash about for an hour, thoroughly refreshed at the end of it.

Then it's time for our snack, and we open our tiffin box with great gusto.  I sit back and relax and my son splashes in swimming pool puddles, urges the swimmers to jump in (and make more puddles!) and walks around looking for fallen baby coconuts.

Occasionally we shop, trying to avoid the big malls (my son trying to steer me to toy shops).

We get back home in time to water the garden (with more splashing) and eat a light, cool lunch.  Then it's time to crash and wake up for an evening walk to a neighbouring pond.  We keep some time aside to hear music, paint or build trucks and cook a special dinner after which we read our favourite books.

In the midst of all this, we try and meet all the friends we couldn't during school time- this is truly enjoyable and enriching.  As the world shrinks, it seems our lives do too unless we make an effort to stay in touch with people.  So we have spent our time inviting and cooking for family and friends, making mango tarts for my husband's lab, meeting people in Bangalore club and elsewhere for a meal or just a chat, and visiting a few homes.

We have returned with freshly churned white butter for our breakfast, hollow papaya straws (to blow soapy bubbles), fresh green papaya (to convert into meat tenderiser for biryani), freshly picked Coorg oranges and lemons for marmalade, a bottle of splendid champagne and most of all- happy memories that will stay with us forever.

Election Action

State elections are round the corner and the usual busy-ness is going on at every nook and corner.  People are complaining that ATMs have run out of large notes, presumably they are being used elsewhere.  The Election Commission is cracking down on goings on, at least in the capital city of Bangalore.  Alcohol is absolutely frowned upon, and for the first time Kingfisher beer has vanished from the shelves in liquor shops.

But bribes take new forms- apparently last week a tempo (no way to explain the concept of Indian tempos- they are like small vans piled high with people or goods) was caught carrying vast amounts of biryani and laptops for mass consumption- providing plenty of bytes, as a friend said.

In the midst of this mayhem, we decided to make use of our 'one night free stay' coupon at the Sheraton hotel, mainly for our son who has summer vacation right now.  With a busy four year old in tow, we decided to make full use of this opportunity and invited some friends over for dinner and planned to finish our pending shopping at the neighbouring mall the next morning.  We carried with us a bottle of wine for our friends, and laptops to keep my husband and son suitably occupied.

We had a wonderful stay and packed our bags the next afternoon, with an additional bottle of champagne (which our friends had gifted us) and a new laptop that my husband had bought.  Driving down sedately in our little yellow car on a sleepy Sunday afternoon, we were quite surprised to be flagged down by the police.

They were on election duty and wanted to search our car so we opened our bags and out popped the champagne!  It looked very suspicious but the policeman couldn't figure out what it was, it did not seem to be anything on his list.  He called the other two officers and each one did a search in turn.  The first policeman, tired of asking my husband for a receipt (hearing over and over again "It was a gift, we have no receipt," turned to me.  "Madam..." he began but I was running out of patience, trying to keep my son from leaping out of the car and running off.  "Please keep whatever you want, we have to move," I muttered irritatedly and the policeman finally gave up on us and began a conversation with my son about swimming.

Of course our swimming bag was opened and out came the armbands.  These kept the police quite occupied; they were trying to figure out if anything was stored inside.  This was fortunate because they missed the half opened bottle of wine that reclined behind the swimsuits and all our numerous laptops.  On the whole, the officers were quite cordial especially when my husband showed them his identity card.  Many things change but people here still seem to have a kind of respect for teachers.  They advised us earnestly not to go around with unreceipted liquor, said we could be hauled off to the police station the next time.

Finally, we were on the road again, discussing how if we had been in the U.S., things would never have functioned in this manner.  There would have been sirens and loudspeakers and we would all have had to exit the car with our hands above our heads, or some such thing.

In general, my brushes with the law in India have been fairly gentle, with many officers being stern but kind hearted, almost avuncular in nature.  I know that I have been fortunate.  Certainly not so in the U.S.  - I remember my last encounter, six years ago at the airport in Boston.

As we went bleary eyed through Immigration, the officer asked my husband how long we were planning to stay.  "I am going to New Hampshire for a meeting for a week, my wife will remain in Boston, and then we will leave," my husband said.

Somehow this was too many words, it seemed.  The officer was not happy.  "Is that an answer?" he snapped.

Under these circumstances, reactions vary.  I prefer to put on my dumbest expression (the kind I use when Americans start talking to me in slow mo).  My husband remains unperturbed and unwavering. What is better?  One never knows.

"Yes," my husband (naturally) said.

"That's like saying,'The sky is blue but we'll paint it purple today," said the officer.

He let my husband go but kept my passport and waved me aside to a corner.  There I was herded along with a bunch of Russian men to the basement where everyone addressed me as 'Vladimir' without making eye contact!  It was fairly surreal.  I waited until finally somebody decided that I could enter the country and handed my passport back to me.

That was before the last U.S. election and all its repercussions, and looking back now, I think perhaps I got away rather lightly.

So, here's to dizzying blue skies and champagne, to drown election action woes!