For most of my life, my relationship with my body had revolved around appearance alone. My body was only something to dress up, to make pretty; it just needed to work well enough to get me through the day. I never really considered what it could do beyond that, of all the things that I could physically achieve, because I always saw myself as a weak person: a frail, delicate, weak girl. That is, until I learned how to surf.
The first time someone suggested it, I was surprised that surfing was even possible in a city like Mumbai. The plan came with several conditions: we would have to wake up at 5am, drive nearly three hours out of the city and return home exhausted and bruised. I was also promised—very dramatically—that it would change my life. While I didn’t entirely believe that, it didn’t take much convincing to get me to sign up.
For a fire sign, I am strangely enticed by the water. I love pool parties, picnics by a pond and sitting by the sea to watch the waves come and go—if there’s a water body involved in the plan, count me in. This is exactly why it greatly upset me that I never learnt how to swim as a child. Because I grew up between houses and guardians, swimming lessons were never something anyone organised for me. An opportunity presented itself when I moved to Delhi for university. I enrolled myself at the YMCA, and after two months of classes, I did it. At 21 years old, I could finally stay afloat. I had learnt how to swim. But learning how to surf was a different game altogether. Swimming, at least, is a life skill. Surfing, from my perspective, was a sport that athletic and adventurous people participated in for fun. As the day got closer, the idea began to intimidate me. I had freshly learnt how to swim, and that too in a pool. I had never swum in the sea before, let alone tried to surf in it.
When we arrived at the beach that morning, the water stunned me. Anyone familiar with the grey-brown coastline of Chowpatty or Versova would understand my surprise: it was blue. Clear, beautiful, improbable blue. I had barely slept a wink, and by the time we carried our boards to the shore, my arms were already shaking. I am not a physically strong person. I have never been particularly athletic, and the only reason I managed something as taxing as swimming was simply that I loved being in the water. The sheer amount of strength required to surf was something I had never demanded from my body before. And yet, to everyone’s surprise (including my own), I was pretty good at it. The hour passed quickly, and I caught the most waves in my group. When I came out of the water, I lay flat on the sand, barely able to move, while people congratulated me. Beginner’s luck, they said. But then I went again. And again. And each time, I was good.
