Swimming with the Sharks

It is that time of the year when the community swimming pool turns into a fantastic commentary on our body image perception. It is when the beer-biryani bellies are on glorious display as men strip down to aspirational briefs (read: two-sizes too small) and take the plunge. The confidence with which the Average Indian Male (AIM) struts his stuff leaves you with no doubt that he is indeed God’s gift to mankind. On the other hand, look at the women. In frock-style swim wear, arms and legs often concealed in something that is a cross between scuba gear and a burkini. Her body language: Apologetic. She is almost sorry for being there, and would rather remain under water than emerge for air.

There are a million invisible lines of power in our community pools. They start with separate timings for men and women. The AIMs, it is presumed, have professional commitments and hence need to use the pool before the women. The Ladies Exclusive timings are later in the day — well after the men have left for work and the kids for school. It is often around noon, under the blistering sun.

It is perhaps a little different in upscale gated communities. The pool is usually open to all, at all times of the day. Even then, it is not uncommon to spot the alpha male, showing us how to use a certain kind of body language while marking territory in water.

I wonder if this confidence comes from the knowledge that most women, irrespective of their conditioning and confidence, tend to take up lesser space wherever they go. They sit elegantly, legs crossed. They swim gracefully — yes even your average thunder-thighs aunty can show you how to master the dive, the butterfly and backstroke without making too much of a splash. On the dance floor, they move in concentric circles, even as their men make drunken squiggles on the floor. Which is why, Vidya Balan’s big body language — legs spread, arms on knees, piercing gaze — in an upcoming film is so much about a woman’s sexual expression and identity than just a brothel owner making a statement.

Maybe this poolside gender role-play also has something to do with our collective fantasies. The pool, in popular imagination, has been where men have had the best of everything. A soft Turkish robe, chilled beer, leggy women pawing him, rubbing sunscreen on his chest and a cartel of substances that boosted his already inflated ego. Women, unless they were professional swimmers, would get into the pool only for his pleasure. An idea reinforced by 007 and Ajit the Loin. Which could also explain why the AIM is so insistent on taking selfies at every goddamned pool he meets — at resorts, hotels, clubs. His FB or Insta feeds will even have pictures of unused pools where he lounges in his blue reflector sunglasses and chaddis.

And so while I slip into a regulation swim wear and stick to my end of the pool, I watch the boys, men on the other side, taking up more than their share of space — both physical and otherwise. I wonder if they know I am judging them. Happily.

(Scribbler, scribe, traveller Chandrima Pal takes you through the sexual landscape of today)

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