Deep impact

“Never hold your breath!” The PADI diving instruction booklet said the phrase in bold red lettes — twice — as fair warning to scuba newbies. On a balmy autumn morning in the Seychelles, I was descending rapidly into the depths of the Indian Ocean, a belt of 4kg lead weights slung around my waist, oxygen cylinder strapped to my back. To my alarm, I realised with a start, I’d broken the cardinal rule.

Instinct. It’s most natural to hold your breath the instant your head goes underwater. The last time I’d backflipped into the ocean to dive was over a decade ago, aged 15, when there’s little fear of the unknown. This time was not quite as easy.

The instant I hit the ocean surface, salty water filled my mask and stung my eyes. Breathing through the regulator was laboured; I had to be conscious not to breathe through my nose. Movement was restrictive, what with all the equipment, and I was exhausted before I even started.

For all my aquaphilia, there was a sudden breakdown of faith in my own abilities. My entire trip to the Seychelles had built up to this moment. Yet, my mind was blank as I struggled to recall instructions I’d received aboard the boat. Something about equalising and various hand gestures. Panic set in.

There was no cause to worry, of course. I was diving with Big Blue Divers, an established centre in Beau Vallon on Mahé, run by the calm Liz Fideria, an experienced Dutch lady who’d come to dive in 1995 and never left. Randy, my instructor, was a local Seychellois with bleached blonde dreads and serious swag. His instructions were wonderfully laid-back, representative of the island spirit.

The boat that took us far out to the Coral Garden Reef — a dive site off Mahé — was loaded with a dozen or so experienced divers, some of whom had clocked over 2,000 dives. Once they’d set off, Randy proceeded to explain hand signals.

An upheld hand means stop. “Don’t be giving high-fives under water,” he said. To confirm all’s good, make a ring with your thumb and index finger, like you’re saying ‘fantastic’. A thumbs up doesn’t mean you have great diving chops, it means go upwards. Swimming with flippers takes some getting used to. “Move your leg from the hip, like kicking a football,” Randy advised. In trying to keep up, I have morphed into a bobble-head.

A few moments of fear on the ocean’s surface, and I realised I had nowhere to go but down. Using the rope that anchored the boat I slowly descended, all the while equalising — exhaling sharply against pinched nostrils so my ears popped. In a dramatic motion, Randy let go of the rope, making a sweeping gesture with his hands, and floated away backwards. All I heard was my rattling breath. Ten metres below the ocean surface, it was darker, cooler, full of shadows and alien creatures. A swarm of tiny silver fish swam past. Spools of seaweed danced in the depths. Spiky black sea urchins sat calmly on the ocean floor, at once gorgeous and dangerous. And everywhere, otherworldly coral formations in hues of lavender, green, brown and ivory. They rose in flat, wide plates and intricately patterned fans, sharp white towers and stubby outcrops. Bright yellow and black striped fish swam through the formations while clown fish darted around the anemone. A fat sea cucumber lay lazily on the seabed.

Time had slowed. My breath had steadied. Somehow, in this magical blue universe, I had slipped into a second skin, discovering glorious weightlessness, altered vision, alien sounds, and new ways to breathe and move. The mask obstructs peripheral vision and I swivelled my head furiously, keen not to miss anything. Suddenly, I saw no one, just an expanse of murky blue. “Have I drifted too far?” I thought in a moment of dread. I glanced up to see human shapes floating a few metres above me. In this watery world, there are more than two directions to consider.

On the ocean floor, I ran my fingers through the shifting sands, sharp coral remnants grazing my skin. The hour elapsed far too quickly and a pleased Randy signalled it was time to surface.

I have since dived in other, more-touristed locations, where beginners are made to link hands and stay within arm’s length of each other. It was only here in the Seychelles that I swam far and free, though under the watchful eye of an instructor, to discover a new world and emerge with reinforced faith in the human mind and body’s capabilities.

Malavika Bhattacharya is a Delhi-based freelance travel writer

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