REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK -- Deepa Bharath

I’m no hydrophobe. On the contrary, I’ve always loved thewater.

As a toddler, I allegedly stood under the tap all the time, mostly

during blistering hot Indian summers back home in Madras, India, when you

could fry eggs even in the shade of the fruit-laden mango tree that

towered in front of our house.

My mother once said she had to change my clothes at lease 10 times a

day because every time she got me into dry clothes and turned the other

way, she’d return a few minutes later to find me standing under a tap or

sitting in a bucket of water.

The flood gates opened and the memories came rushing back two weeks

ago when I saw little kids jumping in the pool at my neighborhood park,

splashing around -- just having fun.

I, on the other hand, was a little nervous that day as I donned my

bathing suit and walked tentatively on the asphalt bordering the pool.

I was about to get my first swimming lesson ever.

It was weird, almost surreal, as I sat on the bleachers with

3-year-olds waiting for their Tiny Tots’ instructor to come to get them.

Here I was, 29 years old. I didn’t even know how to get in the pool.

“Place both your hands on one side and slide in,” said my instructor,

Neva.

The water was only 3 feet deep where I clumsily “slid” in. My first

exercise was to get used to being in the water.

“Let’s see you do 10 bobs,” Neva instructed with a kind smile.

“Head all the way in the water,” she added quickly as she saw me

avoiding exactly that.

Two weeks later, I know how to get in and out of the pool. To my

delight, I’ve realized I’m a “natural floater.” Of course, when I kick, I

go sideways instead of going in a straight line, but I’m getting there.

More importantly, I’ve been having a lot of fun doing this. During the

day at work, I wait eagerly to go to the park for the lesson and when I’m

asleep, I dream about floating and swimming and frolicking in the water.

Why didn’t I jump in a pool 25 years ago?

Well, running water or any water is a precious commodity where I come

from. In hot, humid Madras, there are three seasons -- hot, hotter and

hottest. The scarce water in lakes and rivers totally dried up in the

summer time.

The cracked beds would then be converted to cricket fields where

bare-bodied kids would play with makeshift bats, balls and gear.

I grew up watching thousands and millions of disadvantaged people who

lined streets with bright orange, blue and green plastic buckets and pots

waiting hours at a time for the water truck. Running water in their mud

and brick homes was out of the question.

When the truck arrived, the lines would break up and it would be a

free-for-all as women pulled each other’s hair and jostled one another to

eliminate the competition.

Call it cruel and unthinkable, but there were people who would not

hesitate to hurt or even kill someone for those two buckets of water.

In such tough conditions, swimming pools could be seen only in

five-star hotels, exclusive clubs and sports complexes reserved for the

wealthy and influential. One had to pay hundreds of thousands of rupees

to even get a membership to those clubs. It was mostly off-limits to the

so-called middle class.

But I’m happy I mustered the courage and motivation to do it now. And

I’m thankful I got an opportunity that eludes millions in my country.

And as it turned out, I was the youngest in the group of adult

beginners at the park.

“You should be proud of yourself,” said Chuck, one of my group mates.

“It took me 70 years to get here.”

* Deepa Bharath covers public safety and courts. She may be reached at

(949) 574-4226 or by e-mail at o7 deepa.bharath@latimes.comf7 .