I was nine years old when my pyjama bottoms fell to the floor in the middle of karate class. One moment I was shouting kiai and punching, the next I was frozen in place. The laughter came instantly. The girl I thought was cute laughed too. I didn’t even grab my pants. I just ran.
That was the end of karate for me.
My mother always wanted me to do sports. She thought it would be good for my health, discipline, and maybe because she and my father worked long hours, it kept me busy. The idea was brilliant. The journey to make it happen, though? Let’s just say it was a comedy of errors before I landed on something I liked.
I learned to swim when I was three. I could glide, crawl, breathe properly. But swimming was only a summer affair. Then came tennis. I didn’t like tennis. The coach made me run. A lot! I ran more than I ever played, and I still recall every patch of grass on the court. The racquet was decorative. When people talk about tennis matches, I nod politely, like we played the same sport. Then came basketball, badminton, and karate. I didn’t particularly enjoy any of them. I just showed up because I was sent there.
Karate was different for a while. There was a girl in the class who gave me goosebumps. Suddenly, I wanted to go every day. I had barely earned a stripe on my belt. Until the pyjamas incident, of course.
After that, I thought sports just weren’t for me.
Then came a small and casual swimming competition near my house. I hadn’t trained, but I joined anyway. And somehow, I came second in the 50-meter crawl. The winner was a competitive swimmer. Much faster. But I was next. It was the first time I’d won anything in sports. I got a medal and a little prize money. With that money, I bought my first walkman! One I would treasure for years. It accompanied me to every single competition.
Something changed that day. I went back to the pool, but this time I wanted to train. My coach noticed immediately. That’s how my love for swimming began. Not because of Olympic dreams, but because I liked the feeling of being good at something. Of winning.
I trained hard for the remaining years of school. Swimming changed my health, my confidence, my discipline, my friendships. At its peak, my day began and ended with a swim, more than 5 hours in the pool a day. My parents reminded me that in India in the 90s, you couldn’t make a career out of sports. Education was more important. Swimming stayed a passion. Part of me wishes I had chosen both and made it happen.
Looking back, I realize that all those sports I didn’t enjoy weren’t failures. I was just going through the motions until something clicked. The pyjama incident was just an embarrassing detour. And that unexpected medal? It showed me what trying actually felt like when you wanted to.
The walkman probably still works and is lying in a box. The medals are packed away somewhere. But I still remember the feeling, that first time something felt like mine, something I chose to work for. That’s what stayed.
