My mother stands alone, serene and sari-clad under the red monsoon umbrella she carries to keep the sun from her skin. A waiter bows and offers a bottle of icy cola, but she refuses it.

The English parents accept. They cluster in the short midday shadows of the coconut grove, where the steamy air softens even the icy cadences of their accents. Their words melt into the sound of water lapping against me and the other children.

I am listening only for the call of a whistle. My toes push against the rough concrete of the pool floor. I clutch my new white plastic ring under my arms, keeping my eyes fixed on the flaking blue paint on the far wall. I have to get there and back. Fast. My older sister has coached me; she's crouching behind me, silent now, but I can feel her willing me to win.

The white children are bobbing in their rings, and two of them are splashing each other.

The whistle blows.

"Good start, Bobby!" a father bellows.

"Go, Misht, go!" I hear my sister shout.

I pummel the water with my arms and push it behind me with my legs. My eyes are fixed on the wall, which is drawing closer by the minute. Faster and faster I go, churning the chlorine into the air. Towheads and redheads are falling out of my line of vision. The wall is just in front of me. All I have to do is touch it, turn, and swim back. The others are almost half a length behind me now.

Just as my finger grazes the wall, I notice a tilted dome of red perched beyond it. My mother is squatting in the sunshine, one arm outstretched. The hem of her sari is wet. She catches hold of my white plastic ring and pulls me to the edge. I fight against her, bracing my feet against the wall, but she is too strong for me. Her hands grip under my arms and she slides me up, out of the ring, out of the pool.

"You've won, baby," she says, and wraps a towel tightly around me, pulling me into the squat of her saree. I watch the others touch the wall, turn, and begin to swim back to the shallow end.

My sister rushes over. "Ma, the race wasn't over!" she says.

My mother shrugs. "That fellow said one lap only."

"One LAP means there and back, Ma!"

The crowd begins to cheer. The winner has reached the finish line. Wildly, I pummel my mother, but her arms and thighs are solid around me.

"It is only a game," she says. "Be quiet, baby."