For several years, Thomas Sir and I were regulars at a swimming pool in Kochi, be it summer, monsoon or winter. Many people would come, do it for a few days or a week, and then vanish for months together.
A friend explained to me the primary reason they come. The doctor would warn them their health problems will become worse unless they do some exercise. But the motivation declined after a few days.
Thomas Sir, who was in his seventies, when I first met him, would first go to the gym overlooking the pool. He would do quite a few exercises. The one I remember the most was the way he swung his hips in a half-circular motion while standing on a base that moved in a circle. After that, he would ask me if the water was cold. If I said it was too cold, he would go home.
If not, he would step into the pool after the mandatory shower. He did laps in a slow and relaxed manner. Thomas Sir enjoyed swimming. Sometimes, between laps, as we stood at the shallow end, to regain our breath, we would chat. He asked about my family and my work. I did not ask him about his family. Instead, I asked about his career as a land surveyor.
Once he told me, “Being fit is no guarantee for a long life. My brother, who was a good badminton player and played often, died of a sudden heart attack. He was only 71.”
Both of us pondered over what he said before we resumed our laps.
All was going fine, till the corona pandemic struck. Everything went into lockdown. The club closed. Many employees went home. The pool lay untended. The chlorine coagulated, and the water became spoiled.
Thomas Sir had a problem. He missed the adrenal rush he got from doing regular exercise and having a swim in the pool. His muscles became stiff. Thomas Sir’s body lost its rhythm. His mood fell.
Finally, his health declined.
I offset this loss of access to the pool by going for daily evening runs. That kept me going. I got my daily release of dopamine. And it kept my spirits up. But I was younger than Thomas Sir, so I could do that.
After the epidemic, when the pool opened, I did not see Thomas Sir. I asked the pool in charge, who said that Thomas Sir stopped coming. Unfortunately, I did not have the sensitivity or the grace to get in touch with him. I had neither his number nor did I know where Thomas Sir lived. But the pool in-charge told me he stayed near the club. I assumed that because of his advanced age, Thomas Sir stopped coming.
On the evening of March 15, I went for my usual swim. When I returned home, I saw a message on the club WhatsApp group. ‘Senior member Thomas has passed away. You can view his body at his home.’
In fact, as I swam that evening, my regular companion lay unmoving on a bed in his home.
The next morning, an hour before the burial, I went to his house for the first time. It was less than half a kilometre from the club.
The family had placed his body outside on the porch. Thomas Sir lay on a bier under a white sheet, surrounded by white flowers. They put up a golden crucifix behind his head. His face looked peaceful. A priest, in a white cassock, intoned prayers. Several mourners stood nearby.
I saw his wife sitting next to the body.
I remembered Thomas Sir telling me that his wife suffered from knee and back pain. When he said that, I assumed she was overnight. But she looked slim and frail.
A pony-tailed photographer took a group photo of the family, next to the body.
I heard a man standing next to me tell another man, “He is the son.”
By coincidence, the son, in his fifties, came and stood next to me. His eyes were red from crying. I introduced myself and explained how I knew Thomas Sir. He said his name is Austin.
Then I said, “Did Thomas Sir’s health decline because he stopped exercising?”
“Yes,” said Austin. “That was the main reason. He had no health issues before that. But problems began when he could no longer do any exercise. In the end, his heart became too weak, and he passed away.”
It opened my eyes to the possibility of what could happen to me if I could no longer exercise in old age.
Thomas Sir was 86 when he passed away. So, he exercised till he was 83 years of age. That was remarkable.
That evening, I met a senior swimmer at the pool. He told me he had countless conversations with Thomas Sir over the years. “I have a regret that I did not go visit Thomas in his home,” he said. “I could have easily done so after a swim.”
I realised I was not the only person to feel regret.
This is the second time this has happened to me.
I am a member of a public speaking club. The senior-most member was an eloquent speaker and author. But when he grew old, he could no longer come for the meetings. But none of us went to meet him. It was a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Then, one day, we heard he had passed away. Members went and offered condolences to the wife and children and placed a bouquet near the body.
Later, at another meeting, I mentioned there was a lapse on our part that we did not pay a visit to our senior-most member when he stopped coming. Everybody agreed. But I had clearly not learnt from the regret I felt. Because I behaved in the same manner with Thomas Sir.
These will be regrets I will carry until the end of my life. That’s what death can do to you. You end up with permanent regrets.
I hope and wish I don’t make more lapses like this in the future.
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