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bitsaa.org BITS Pilani |
General Interest
Skydiving...Of fear and fun
By Sagarika Jaganathan
My
passage from childhood to adolescence had one significant
undercurrent—rebellion. Despite growing up in a not-so-conservative
suburbia of Chennai (then
Ours
was a dad-daughter relationship wrought with tension so thick one could
cut it with a knife. Growing up in an all-boys neighborhood, ‘fear’
was non-existent in my dictionary. My dad found that out when I was five.
Having searched the entire colony for a whole Sunday afternoon, he found
me perched among the coolest and tallest confines of the backyard Neem
tree, with three of my pals—all next-door boys. He ordered me down and
marched me to his study, quietly fetching his wooden ruler. With three
resounding thrashes that day, he inserted ‘fear’ into my dictionary.
Spending
the next decade of my life in implicit obedience and strict conformity to
parental “rules” intended at wresting every tomboyish trait from a
girl “who will never otherwise find a good husband,” I made up my mind
to break the “fear” mold, slowly, yet surely.
At
15, I was the oldest in my school to learn to ride a bike. But I did--over
and above the din of dad’s voice reviling senseless
At
17, came the admission letter to BITS in faraway Pilani: “the land of
endless desert sands, bitter winters and unbearable summer heat that
causes nosebleeds,” according to what someone had told dad. My myriad
arguments failed to pack the punch that would blow this fears away,
instead, off I was packed to the cooler confines of a missionary
institution…an engineering college nestled on the banks of the Siruvani
river -- the lifeline of the city of
Dad
and his fear …there’s a story in our family that explains his whims:
When dad was 22, he’d ridden a boat with friends from college, off the
shores of Mahabalipuram--historical site of the Pallava temples. A sudden
turbulence had sent him flying into the particularly rabid waters of the
But
at 21, white water rafting seemed like a pretty cool idea to me (having
learned to swim barely two years ago…). Of course, I never told dad
until I got back in one piece -- surviving to talk at length about the
experience of a lifetime. Triumph number three!
Conquering
imposed fears was fast becoming a norm I was getting tired of. I didn’t
want it to constitute a lifetime’s journey, despite being tremendously
self-assuring at each instance. I believe each of us has inherent fears,
which too must be dispelled during one’s lifetime. Mine was of heights.
Not that I was paranoid about tall places but I often got the chills from
imagining myself on an airplane and being required to suddenly bail out.
Having
never been on a plane during the first couple decades of my existence, age
22 was a milestone of sorts. Not only did it ear mark my first flight
journey, it also was my first ever attempt at bailing out of one!
Five
or six or even seven paragraphs devoted to this perception-altering event
may still fall short of fathoming the effect it had on my psyche --
liberating it from the shackles of its own making. But it’s definitely a
worthwhile attempt, in my eyes, at underscoring the importance of
overcoming one’s own fears and teaching oneself a lesson or two on
living in the moment…
As
the airplane rose to 25, 000 feet--a rusty, yellow Cessna, I looked around
me. I was a novice rubbing shoulders with veteran skydivers who would
enthrall me within minutes by their expertly choreographed mid-air
calisthenics. I felt a knot in my stomach as my instructor patted my stiff
shoulder, and sensing my rather uptight demeanor, said “You’re going
to do just great,” with a flashing smile that suddenly became my
lifeline. He was going to be right there with me, every step of the way,
and I had to trust his over-a-decade’s experience jumping out of planes:
a bizarre leap of faith, quite literally!
That
early Sunday morning, there was just one other novice skydiver on the
Cessna; he was sitting, fingers crossed and eyebrows knit, straight
ahead--instructor in tow. We were each too absorbed in our own fears and
elations to waste those precious minutes of ascent in small talk. But my
instructor was bent upon playing the exorcist for his very own
rib-tickling fancy: "I'm on LSD," he hollered, splitting the
steady drone of the Cessna with cackling laughter. I did an instant about
face, a death-pale expression shrouding my face, masking the veneer of
clarity I was trying hard to portray ....are we really going to jump to
our deaths today, I wondered.
But
the six expert sky-divers, seated ahead of us, booed him into silence.
"It's part of the rush," they said. "You have no clue what
it's like...just wait and see." My mind was awash with hope and fear
and everything else in between. The instructor, sensing my growing
discomfort, said: "It's time to roll now, and don't worry, I haven't
had as much as my morning puffs of Marlboro today. We are going to soar,
but not on the wings of LSD. So just relax!"
That
was all I needed to hear; the rest of his instructions were lost in the
Cessna’s drone and the sheer awe and excitement of watching those six
veterans ahead of me tumble out in a matter of seconds, soaring toward a
formation, the likes of which I'd only seen on RealTV. Then my eyes fell
on the guy ahead of me, attached to his instructor: Siamese twins ready to
be birthed from the Cessna's comforting womb...Each of our tandem-jump
instructors had been doing just this very thing for the past couple
decades—taking novices like us down a wild dive from the skies:
dispelling fears, broadening horizons and, literally, altering
perspectives, changing, forever, the way we viewed the earth and the
skies, and our places in the sun.
At
the count of three, we spilled out of the mouth of the Cessna—from the
warmth of her protective belly into the tantalizing arms of the roaring
winds in a death-defying 250 miles per hour drop. I felt scared,
vulnerable, like a prey clutched in the mighty eagle’s talons, about to
be torn apart; only in my case, being buckled to my instructor was a
life-saver. I had evidently blocked out his instructions: lock your knees,
draw ankles to your back, as close as you can, and tumble out in
somersault-like motion....I only remembered the word 'three' severing the
last shred of my Pollyannaish hope that somehow, I will not have to jump.
I was flailing my arms and legs, winds screaming in my ears in a ghastly
mockery of every fear that was coursing through my spine. "This is
it," I thought, "There’s no turning back"-- a final
moment of revelation that stripped me of all fears and opened my eyes to
the panoramic view: endless mounds of snow-white clouds…I was floating
among them; mountain ranges, far below, curiously defining the margins of
human territory beyond which wilderness assumed a life all its own...I was
looming over them, high above, like a bird, who, for the first time, had
learned to fly.
Amid
this drama of exploding winds, the caressing clouds, and the colorful
unfurling of the parachute across the blue skies, while I was trying to
take in as much as my eyes could hold in those fleeting moments: the
mountains, the rivulets and streams, the ground fast gaining upon us….a
certain realization dawned upon me -- It was really about fun, not fear.
And
as I floated above earth, I realized ah! life is beautiful.
Touchdown!
■
Photo Credit: Kim H Cetti
(c) Copyright 2003 BITSAA International Inc.