Steffi, Phelps And My Son
A shifting era of idols and idolizing…!!
"Mamaa!!! There is a swimming competition on the 16th!" These were the words with which my little man greeted me as I reached home from work. I wasn't even allowed to step in until he had finished explaining to me all that had caught his attention and awe in school that afternoon. He studies in DPS and, to his great satisfaction, had been selected for the school sports team a few months back, category - swimming. But he was still raw and in need of quite some sweat and toil before he could be expected to finish a good race. Now it so happened that the swimming coach had announced this afternoon that he had been selected along with some other students to represent the school in an upcoming district-level swimming competition. It was his first chance at it, and he was thrilled. It made him swell with pride and also made his head a little heavy with the sense of responsibility; he was going to represent his school - he could not make blunders. He had taken a resolution then and promised to do his best. Only when he was done with repeating the whole thing to me, including his resolution, while I stood thirsty and sweaty by the doorway (after a full day's work), did he finally allow me in. I immediately slumped into the nearest sofa and sighed with fatigue, letting the homely sights and sounds gradually sink in through my senses. I heard my maid scuttering about in the kitchen, my mother-in-law busy with some chalisa and bells in the prayer room, the TV playing out to no one in particular and on top of it my barely ten-year-old, proud swimmer, running all over the house announcing his plans and resolutions.
Later, when I emerged fresh and clean from the bathroom, I saw him bent over his computer, watching something on youtube. As I walked across the room, passing behind his back, I couldn't help noticing that he was watching a video on Michael Phelps. Possibly they were Olympic reels. The next time I crossed him, I saw him watching a handsome-looking Phelps giving an interview. Next was some Youtuber, giving tips on diving and flipping over at the pool's far end. He was seriously watching it all. I decided to leave him at it without my usual line - "Enough screen time." The next day too, as I was sipping my coffee and scanning a news weekly, I noticed him from the corner of my eyes, intently scrolling through the videos and snippets on swimming. I smiled at his indulgence. It is one thing to participate in extracurricular activities in school, yet another completely different thing to take upon himself the responsibility to prepare and perform for the school at his best level. I was happy that he was doing the latter.
It was now three days since his announcement, and we were sitting in our living room, sharing our day's stories with each other. My son suddenly said - "You know Mama, Michael Phelps started swimming when he was seven years old; he was fifteen at the time of his first Olympics event." Then he went on to say much more about Phelps - his Olympic exploits, his bag of gold medals, setting and breaking of records; also stories about how he trains his own children now. I was surprised when he spoke about Phelps's issues with ADHD and depression (I wonder how much he understood) but I listened to him like a good attentive parent. And it soon dawned upon me that he had assimilated so many stories of his idol within this short period of 72 hours, all across the screen. I felt a little surprised, and unknowingly, I was transported to my childhood days when I, like many others at that time, used to be mesmerised by Steffi Graf, Boris Becker and their like. I remembered how I had a scrapbook devoted to Steffi, cutting out her pictures from newspapers and magazines. Those were collected not over hours and days but over months and years. Every piece of information about Steffi - her career, her personal life, her choices - likes and dislikes came in the form of a trickle or a drizzle compared to the rain of information that pours out nowadays the moment you type a name in the search bar of Google. We have shifted during our lifetime from an era of yearning for more to an era of quick fulfilment. I asked myself, "Would I have nurtured the same intense memories of Steffi if I had gotten all of her over a few days of scrolling?" I think not. The process of being awe struck by her, waiting for every tennis event to watch her live, wanting to have her in the form of pictures and stories, meticulously collected and cherished over years - all these allowed the brain to store the memories layer by layer until it became a consolidated volume cherished in a corner of the brain. So whenever I remember Steffi, I do not remember her as a sportsperson alone but as a compilation of grace, talent, beauty, and brains. It will forever be an honour in my lifetime to have had the opportunity to grow up watching her; admiring and adoring her. And I shall be curious to know how our children will remember the idols of their growing years, years later from now. With this thought in my mind, I told my son - "What Phelps is to you now, Steffi was to me years ago. And I still love her a lot." He smiled and nodded like he understood. 😊