Not Such A Splash ...

Yup, I’d definitely, ahem… ‘filled out’.
“ Hey Nayan, thank God for lycra, huh?” yelled Tara from over her cubicle. You bet woman. You bet. What are those tyres doing on your stomach, Nayan? I asked myself. That’s it. Baby hippo has GOT to go; we’ve got to get that svelte , curvy, hottie from last summer, right back.
“Tara, dyou plan on getting out of the dressing room and into the pool anytime this year?? You’ve been in there for an hour”
“Goddam suit!! WHAT’S IT GOING TO TAKE, HUH?!? WHAT?”
“Who’re you yelling at, you madcap? Get out of there.” I don’t think she’s in a mood to answer questions though…
“…How the HELL am I expected to get into this thing?? Oh, I know, I’ll just dismember myself, and shove myself through this bloody suit, piece by piece. Hand me my swiss knife, Nayan…”
“Tara, stop overreacting and get out of there, everyone puts on weight. We’ll lose it before you know it.”
Glory be! The bolt is moving. “I’m coming out. One single squeak of a giggle, and my swiss knife will make contact with your jugular. You listening Nayan?”
“Yessss, ma’am. Now get your fa… umm… yourself out of there. Please!”

Tara is fat, bengali, and adorable. Her most serious vice is probably verbal diarrhoea; once she starts ‘opining’ , a nuclear war wouldn’t be allowed to interrupt (‘oh, go away, how rude!’ she’d probably say to it, and resume her theorizing). It’s taken me a month to get her to come swimming with me every morning for the whole of this vacation, and this is our first day. I doubt we’re ever going to get out of the ladies room today though…

Anyway, we finally make it into the water. Wasn’t counting on so many kids landing here at 6:30 am, though. Never mind that, we’ve got a job to do, I tell myself, and start on my first length. Thankfully, I haven’t lost touch although a whole year has passed
Ahhh, wonderful… slices of cool water flow all over my body, there’s a light breeze at this time of the morning that makes all this perfect. Just perf… “AAARGH!!” I holler; I’m convinced my eye’s been gouged out or something. I rub the water out of my remaining eye, and open it – I’m face to face with my assailant – a three-foot-nothing, kid of about 5 or 6, flailing his arm-float strapped arms wildly in all conceivable directions. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the wading pool, junior?” I yell at his retreating back.
“WHO’RE YOU CALLING FATSO, YOU LITTLE SNOTBALL?” I look around to see Tara screaming her lungs out at a bunch of 10-yr olds, who promptly spray her with water, and swim away.
“I suppose it’s asking for the moon- a pool without pesky kids who use profanity when they’re not trying to blind you or cause severe head injury with those bloody frisbee things.”, she fumes
“Fatso, profanity…?” I start…
“…Almost makes me wish I could fling the whole lot of them over the wall or something. Remind me to get my swiss army knife into the pool next time…”
And so the morning wore on, with us trying in vain to swim uninterrupted stretches; there’d always be a dysfunctional limb jabbing into us, we’d get hit by a variety of objects : Rubber tubes being flung around, plastic balls, a Water pistol(!), rubber ‘duckies’, Tara even got her arms entangled in a tiny XXS sized swimming costume.
Help! They’re taking over! When we finally got out of the pool, it was in the foulest of moods. Day One didn’t exactly go as planned, I muttered to myself under the shower. I felt like shaking up some of those brats myself…
“ Nayan, how does this thing come off? It’s stuck, I’m going to have to have this thing on me forever. Speedo, I’m going to sue you…”

Till tomorrow morning then…