Seventeen days ago, we began summer with a splash. My daughter, 6, has been learning swimming for two years at school, but could barely float. So we decided that this summer would be it. Swimming is an important skill, and you need it to graduate some colleges, and M was willing to go to the coach -- which was a really big deal for which I must thank her ballet teacher who accustomed her to tyranny.
The coach -- on most days, he's as foul tempered, sarcastic, and cramping, and understandably --at any given moment, there are 14 children, and their 17 enthusiastic mothers vying for his attention. Invariably, when he's in the middle of a triumphant breadth, pulling along a child who is kicking quite well, some befuddled kid in large goggles and with a ruffian stroke, will bang into his back, and rob the moment. And he won't scold the kid. He gets this look of plain disgust on his face. Then some soccer mom will scream from the sideline, "Sir, please work with Mohammad Jibran." He said to me once, snidely, "They think they have bought me. Mein kisi ka khareeda hua nahin hoon." He gets a wage, not commissions.
The coach -- on most days, he's as foul tempered, sarcastic, and cramping, and understandably --at any given moment, there are 14 children, and their 17 enthusiastic mothers vying for his attention. Invariably, when he's in the middle of a triumphant breadth, pulling along a child who is kicking quite well, some befuddled kid in large goggles and with a ruffian stroke, will bang into his back, and rob the moment. And he won't scold the kid. He gets this look of plain disgust on his face. Then some soccer mom will scream from the sideline, "Sir, please work with Mohammad Jibran." He said to me once, snidely, "They think they have bought me. Mein kisi ka khareeda hua nahin hoon." He gets a wage, not commissions.
I remember when M was a baby, our apartment complex in Northern California, was offering swim lessons. The coach was a black woman and she had only one student. We were in an H1B work visa ghetto and most of the middle class Indians did not think it wise to pay for swim class, or that it was a necessary craft. She was polite and encouraging. Any child would be brimming with self confidence for just dipping his or her head under water, or even just showing up in a smile and trunks. She was young and sweet, and wore a Baywatch red swimsuit; edges of her gold tinted afro unrestrained by a swim cap, would get wet and dark..
Not our coach. He ducks you, pulls you; he's older, with a slight limp, goatee, hair fully white, and pashtun nose. I have also noticed him smacking faces, except he gets some vibe from me, and has not tried it with my kid and stays cautiously verbal with her. If he's particularly pissed off or feeling mean, he bangs the kick board so hard on the water, your stomach hurts watching and remembering your own badly placed dives from youth. Truly, he has no business being around young children. But then he has moments of tenderness. When a child will weep mid stream, and a pretty mother will panic, he'll get sheepish and consoling -- and later he will give the child precious extra minutes, all the while maintaining eye contact with the proud mama, who is now shouting, "Maya, you are doing so well. Maya, you're a big girl."
Yesterday, he tried synchronizing M's arm motion with her leg motion, except M stopped kicking the moment she moved her arms. He yelled. So she stopped moving her arms and kicked instead. He yelled. And eventually, she stopped moving both arms and legs and just kind of squirmed forward. When she came up, he pulled her face close to his and yelled: "Does your arm not move?" Yeh tera haath nahi chalta? 15 din se aa rahi hai, kiya seekha? What have you learned these past 15 days? M was speechless, and didn't quite get that he was suggesting she is, um, disabled? She skipped class one day and he cornered her and demanded an explanation. At first M did not know what to say, so he pressed on. She finally came up with.."Meri Mommy ne.." He was so bored by now and said, "Don't miss again!" and turned away, leaving me a little intrigued about how I was about to be implicated by my lawyer child.
But children deal. They seem unfazed by casual meanness, the insinuating bangs of the kick board, or I imagine. Children do not get sarcasm -- almost never -- so don't try it at home. They understand just one word. "Chutti!" M too knows how to filter out his madness. M's ballet teacher was Central Asian, and trained in Moscow, and had a posture made of iron and steel. When we used to ask her to be less harsh she was alarmingly defiant and asked us how we would feel if on stage our child missed a step. The swim coach is comparably less militaristic - even if he is ex army. When I talk to my daughter about his anger issues (as I did about the ballet teacher), she says he gets only a "little upset." The ballet teacher had inspired a higher level of petrification. But then when I asked her one day if we could skip swim class because the routine is exhausting for me, her eyes widened, and emphatically she declared:
"We can never miss class!"
The mothers are dedicated. Some of them wear hijabs, niqabs, abayas, and burqas which is their constitutional right. But their children, unfortunately, are not as free. I know Maya must be a big girl but does that necessarily imply she gets to wear a burqini at age 7? All the girls have conservative suits, the type scuba divers wear. You get to be a child for 10 years. Then come the awkward years. And then you are grown for 70. So is it really necessary to cover up so much for the first ten?
But it isn't really the mothers. Its not they alone who have sexualized their girls prematurely. As soon as a girl turns nine or ten, she can probably feel the weight of the glares on her legs. Our parents were less Islamized by the Wahabi Deobandi influence. It was the merry eighties, and pockets were still hung over from the liberal seventies, while in other pockets, Zia caned people under the Hudood. We wore swim suits well into the awkward ages. But, I can definitely vouch for this. Even then, no awkward age girl felt comfortable in a swimsuit. Girls who vacationed in Europe were an exception, and they were happy sliding and diving in bikinis.
We, though, were bogged down, and underwhelmed by the stares. We were self conscious and guarded. People stared, and the staring started when you turned ten - and for some girls, nine. And you had to figure out and perfect that maneuver. Wear your cap in the ladies' room. Shower before. Find a chair close to the pool. Dump your towel quick. Dive. In all less than 3 seconds.
Girls have it rough, and these are the most privileged lot. So don't start on me. I almost titled this entry, "Swimming with the Taleban," but then realized, I'm no longer interested in countering or mocking their stupid narrative. Not in this blog. I am not even on speaking terms with the west anymore. History sab jaante hain.
So in the meanwhile, here's to girls being girls, and summer in a swimsuit!
Not our coach. He ducks you, pulls you; he's older, with a slight limp, goatee, hair fully white, and pashtun nose. I have also noticed him smacking faces, except he gets some vibe from me, and has not tried it with my kid and stays cautiously verbal with her. If he's particularly pissed off or feeling mean, he bangs the kick board so hard on the water, your stomach hurts watching and remembering your own badly placed dives from youth. Truly, he has no business being around young children. But then he has moments of tenderness. When a child will weep mid stream, and a pretty mother will panic, he'll get sheepish and consoling -- and later he will give the child precious extra minutes, all the while maintaining eye contact with the proud mama, who is now shouting, "Maya, you are doing so well. Maya, you're a big girl."
Yesterday, he tried synchronizing M's arm motion with her leg motion, except M stopped kicking the moment she moved her arms. He yelled. So she stopped moving her arms and kicked instead. He yelled. And eventually, she stopped moving both arms and legs and just kind of squirmed forward. When she came up, he pulled her face close to his and yelled: "Does your arm not move?" Yeh tera haath nahi chalta? 15 din se aa rahi hai, kiya seekha? What have you learned these past 15 days? M was speechless, and didn't quite get that he was suggesting she is, um, disabled? She skipped class one day and he cornered her and demanded an explanation. At first M did not know what to say, so he pressed on. She finally came up with.."Meri Mommy ne.." He was so bored by now and said, "Don't miss again!" and turned away, leaving me a little intrigued about how I was about to be implicated by my lawyer child.
But children deal. They seem unfazed by casual meanness, the insinuating bangs of the kick board, or I imagine. Children do not get sarcasm -- almost never -- so don't try it at home. They understand just one word. "Chutti!" M too knows how to filter out his madness. M's ballet teacher was Central Asian, and trained in Moscow, and had a posture made of iron and steel. When we used to ask her to be less harsh she was alarmingly defiant and asked us how we would feel if on stage our child missed a step. The swim coach is comparably less militaristic - even if he is ex army. When I talk to my daughter about his anger issues (as I did about the ballet teacher), she says he gets only a "little upset." The ballet teacher had inspired a higher level of petrification. But then when I asked her one day if we could skip swim class because the routine is exhausting for me, her eyes widened, and emphatically she declared:
"We can never miss class!"
The mothers are dedicated. Some of them wear hijabs, niqabs, abayas, and burqas which is their constitutional right. But their children, unfortunately, are not as free. I know Maya must be a big girl but does that necessarily imply she gets to wear a burqini at age 7? All the girls have conservative suits, the type scuba divers wear. You get to be a child for 10 years. Then come the awkward years. And then you are grown for 70. So is it really necessary to cover up so much for the first ten?
But it isn't really the mothers. Its not they alone who have sexualized their girls prematurely. As soon as a girl turns nine or ten, she can probably feel the weight of the glares on her legs. Our parents were less Islamized by the Wahabi Deobandi influence. It was the merry eighties, and pockets were still hung over from the liberal seventies, while in other pockets, Zia caned people under the Hudood. We wore swim suits well into the awkward ages. But, I can definitely vouch for this. Even then, no awkward age girl felt comfortable in a swimsuit. Girls who vacationed in Europe were an exception, and they were happy sliding and diving in bikinis.
We, though, were bogged down, and underwhelmed by the stares. We were self conscious and guarded. People stared, and the staring started when you turned ten - and for some girls, nine. And you had to figure out and perfect that maneuver. Wear your cap in the ladies' room. Shower before. Find a chair close to the pool. Dump your towel quick. Dive. In all less than 3 seconds.
Girls have it rough, and these are the most privileged lot. So don't start on me. I almost titled this entry, "Swimming with the Taleban," but then realized, I'm no longer interested in countering or mocking their stupid narrative. Not in this blog. I am not even on speaking terms with the west anymore. History sab jaante hain.
So in the meanwhile, here's to girls being girls, and summer in a swimsuit!
1 comment:
Summer is fun. Especially in Karachi, as the weather in June, July is more tolerable than May.
And you're right; Pakistani children have built up a (sadly necessary) resistance to casual meanness.
Avoiding mention of religious extremists in the city may be something we'll have to drop, considering recent events.
Post a Comment