Happy birthday, dear son; one of the most gentle and strong forces I have encountered.
They Carry Us Along
It was one of those man-made canals that carry water for irrigation from high up in the mountains of the north to the farthest reaches of the vast plains that would otherwise be parched for many months a year. The bed and inner banks were lined with brick and concrete when it was constructed. The water flowed fast and silent, cold and clear.
The commanding officer had ordered the soldiers who could swim to be ready to cross over to the other side and return, as part of a routine infantry training exercise. It was taken for granted as a matter of course that the young company commander would be the first to take the plunge.
How broad was the canal? I don’t really remember; 40 metres, maybe 50, or 60?*
My swimming skills were never something to write home about; let me say that I could stay afloat if my life depended upon it. But from somewhere I had learnt that if I let the flow of the water carry me while I steered along with a gentle force in the direction of the other bank, the current would carry me on its vast shoulders and deliver me safely on the opposite side, albeit a few hundred metres downstream. If, however, I tried to head straight across the river, the tremendous force would tire me out in a minute and throw me around like a piece of driftwood.
The trick was, not to panic.
I did it. There were surprises along the way; the immense power was intimidating, the thought of what could happen was frightening, the expanse of water seen from its surface level seemed vast, the realization that I was in it and I was not in control was exhilarating! It happened exactly the way it was meant to, and the current was my biggest ally. I went across, landed far downstream on the opposite side, walked far enough upstream on the bank and crossed back to land almost exactly where the rest of my party waited.
Fighting against the flow, I would probably not have survived to tell a tale; but working my direction with the strength of the current to help me along, I scored a lifetime achievement.
Birds do that to journey thousands of miles across the skies; fish swim the oceans in a similar manner; a boxer's arm is an extension of the roll of his body; satellite launchers play along with the pull of gravity to keep their objects in perfect orbit; sergeants shout commands from the core of their guts rather than from the throat; wrestlers use their opponents’ momentum to throw them sailing through the air; sailors fill the sails of their vessels best if they steer slightly athwart the wind rather than have it directly behind or before them; trekkers can tackle formidable slopes by slanting upwards from side to side; skiers can ease downwards in the same way where they would otherwise hurtle down out of control.
And so it is with so many seemingly insurmountable forces that become our friends and lend to us freely from their vast strength if we are discerning enough not to stand in their path to try to stop them or to try and bend them to our will, but to acknowledge their strength and be grateful for their magnanimity. The energy of the sun. The moon and the tides. Gravity and buoyancy. Wind. Fire. Love. The passage of time.
When I was out of the pull of the current, a few metres away from the bank, I felt a rush of fatigue. I called to my soldier friends to come and get me. I felt good in letting them know that it is acceptable to ask for help; I felt good in letting them know that they could step forward and lend a hand; I felt good in letting them know that I was vulnerable; I felt good sharing my victory with them. They, too, were part of the currents that carried me along the path of life.
The trick is not to panic; to let the forces be our friends; to understand that the circumstances given to us are friends who will carry us on their shoulders towards objectives we are meant to reach. Patience.
There is so much to admire, so much to wonder at, so much to experience, so much to be grateful for.
*(It was the Anupgarh Branch of the Indira Gandhi Canal somewhere near Suratgarh and Bikaner in Rajasthan, if any reader ever happens to go that way.)
