I live underwater. I move silently. I am deadly - Last but one

While my fear of water continued unabated, my grandpa bought me an aquarium. And a pair of goldfish. Overzealous (and kind), I overfed the fish and they ended up floating within two days. I spent the next few days ruing this acute loss, with tears, fervent prayers (to forgive my sin) and non-stop rants. Many dead fish later, a generous fish merchant suggested I not feed the fish much and instead try planktons. Desperate to keep fish alive for more than a week, I tried it and surprisingly, it worked! My fish crossed the 3 month mark sending me into paroxysms of joy. A couple of years later, I was the local expert in marine biology (and ecology), dishing out advice to newbies about the best plants to put in the aquarium, the right fish for hot Indian conditions, the cheapest worms to keep 'em healthy, techniques to catch colorful fish in local ponds, suitable breeding environments, child-care and so on. The audience was spellbound and there was a regular stream of visitors to my household to "take care" of my fish.

That is, until Mohan and his brother Balaji bought a fish tank equipped with an air pump. The tube was connected to a plastic tortoise placed under water. The animal lifted its head and opened its mouth to pout little bubbles that merrily danced their way to the surface. Both terrestrial and aquatic creatures in my neighborhood watched this splendor in rapt fascination. And I lost my audience.

While my love for fish resulted in long sojourns to look for fish in the heat of the summer, carefully preserved 10 paisas for buying more and friendships forged on deep rooted love (for fish, of course!), I still hated the water. And submarines.

That is, until...

... to be continued...