Swimming Rather than Flailing About

When I had to choose my one course to keep my status as a Research Assistant,I happened to see in the list classes on swimming. I was told that swimming proficiency was a must, a lifesaving skill, for under-graduates but graduate students could 'audit' them, meaning that no credit would be given for them and the achievement level would not count towards the Grade Point Average [GPA]. So Ramu and I signed up for beginners' level. I was thrilled to be able to learn the skill scientifically at last, and even if I was the last in the class [what chance did I, a semi-sedentary 35-year old, have against the sprightly 18 year old freshmen?], I did learn the basic strokes, the life-saving techniques and some endurance. Ramu, unfortunately, was allergic to the indoor chlorinated pool and dropped out after a few weeks – he learnt some floating and the 'frog stroke'.

It was a treat to see Seymour's face when he had to be sign my semester report card! Annoyance and the horrified exclamation,'You cannot get a C so long as you are an RA; only As and Bs are permitted!' . Then, perplexity, 'But why swimming?'I explained that ever since I missed the chance of having my father teach me to swim at the age of seven, I had been longing to learn the skill and had in fact tried often but ended up only at the float and flail levels. He relaxed and dismissively said, ' O.K., it does not count towards your GPA – you can get a D or an F in it for all I care'.

An All-round Sportswoman?
Not me! In Urbana,I tried my hand at bowling, and while some ninepins fell down occasionally, most of the time they just rattled and stodgily balanced back. I proposed to Ramu that we, or at least I, try skating, but he rudely, if rightly, retorted, 'You better learn to walk steady first!' This was in view of my already noticeable tendency to stumble over the slightest unevenness in the roads. Later I graduated to slithering in the melting snow or the ice-covered pavements. Every year without fail! In any case, we were quite busy with work, studies, household work, etc. leaving us only a small window of time to relax. We did manage to see some shows or hear some music that came to town – memorably, the Swan Lake ballet and Harry Belafonte.

But such treats were rare and most evenings we came back ready to relax, but instead had to contend with cooking a simple meal. This was at first a big chore, but soon we found it manageable, and my innate love of cooking took over. It was only on the weekends, tho' that one had really time to do anything more than the simplest dhall-sabji-chaval-salad combination that often lasted for two to three days. Our breakfasts were invariably some form of eggs, toast and orange juice, and while I prepared that, Ramu packed our routine cheese and pickle sandwiches and an apple each in brown bags. I downed this with cold milk or choclate milk from the ubiquitous vending machines found in each university building, while he similarly went for coffee. I soon got into the very American habit of eating lunch at my work desk, or at a meeting [the brown bag lunch]. In summer, sometimes, one could sit on the lawns and nibble at it while reading a book.

Weekends were busy too, with the house cleaning, the grocery shopping and perhaps the monthly trip to the department stores for clothes and household needs – mostly with friends who had cars as the U-C bus service was almost non-existent then. In fact, it was due to waiting for one on the first wintry day with a litle bit of snow flakes to boot that I decided we had to move closer to campus the next academic year!