16 yrs, 16,000 students: Kerala's swimming guru on a life-saving mission

Saji Valasseril has been holding free survival swimming lessons in Kerala to prevent drowning. Arjun Raghunath visits him

Every morning at 5.30 am, a long whistle pierces the quiet banks of the Periyar river in Aluva, a suburb of Kochi. Children, office-goers, and grandparents swiftly fall into neat lines. They say a silent prayer before doing warm-up drills for the swimming lesson. No swimming pool comforts are in sight — no steel ladders, no shower cubicles, and no clear blue water. They must descend a flight of stone steps, wade into the olive-green waters, and get started in a river that stretches endlessly.

This is no ordinary swimming class. It is not for recreation or competitive sport, and no fees are charged. The goal is to learn swimming in open waters and be prepared against drowning.

This early morning routine has played out at Desam Kadavu, near the popular Aluva Manappuram pilgrim centre in Kerala, for the past 16 years. All thanks to Saji Thomas, a furniture shop owner whose life mission is to reduce drowning incidents.

When I visit his swimming camp on a Monday, 184 people have turned up for training. But for Saji, better known as Saji Valasseril here, the numbers are small. He suspects the ongoing examination season and Ramzan fasting may have kept many away. He runs the free riverside swimming camp every year from November to May. On most weekdays, about 300 people show up, while weekends draw twice as many. To date, 16,000 people have learned to swim under Saji’s watchful eye, and nearly 4,000 of them have crossed the Periyar, swimming diagonally across 780 metres from one bank to the other.

Funded largely from his own pockets and donations, this voluntary initiative has achieved far more than it intended. Some who came simply to learn a survival skill have gone on to set swimming records, build careers in paralympic sport, rescue people during floods, and, in several cases, overcome alcohol and tobacco addiction.

Welcome to heaven

Saji’s love of water began at age six. His father, V Thomas Mani, was a swimmer with the Madras Regiment of the Indian Army. The Periyar flows less than a kilometre from his home.

He has trained 16,000 people in the basics in 16 years and 4,000 of them have gone on to cross the Periyar diagonally.

The idea of teaching river swimming came after Saji was disturbed by frequent drowning incidents in Kerala, particularly the Thattekkad boat disaster of 2007. The boat capsized near the Kochi-Idukki border during a school excursion, claiming 18 lives, including 15 children. Reports suggest that drowning kills roughly 1,400 people in the state every year. “My sole motto is that no one should drown simply because they don’t know how to swim,” says the 62-year-old.

He began by teaching his daughter Merin, now a physiotherapist, his son Jerin, currently in college, and a few relatives, without using any equipment. His wife Jiji, a homemaker, followed suit. That small beginning set the tone for what became the Valasseril River Swimming Club (VRSC).

Today, a jagged name board marks the club’s presence on the riverbank. An old tyre hanging from a tree bears the Malayalam words ‘Ividam Swargamanu’ (This is heaven). Another board lists the number of drownings recorded along this stretch of the Periyar. The count stands at nine, the latest victim being a bank employee from Tamil Nadu. He drowned while bathing here, unaware of the river’s sudden depth. He did not know how to swim.

Lead Saji Valasseril teaches swimming in the Periya river in Aluva, Kerala.

Before daybreak, under emergency lights, Saji and his student-turned-volunteers begin preparations. The training area stretches 350 feet long, 50 feet wide, and about 10 feet deep. They lay out around 24 swimming lanes using inflatable buoys and pipes. One end is barricaded with a tarpaulin sheet to provide privacy for women using the bathing ghat behind it, while at the other end, an iron pole carries a warning about deep waters and strong currents. Some volunteers stay on the bank and flash torchlights for students arriving in the dark and guide them past obstacles such as dung.

A rescue boat and ambulance are always on standby. Participants voluntarily contribute a one-time fee of Rs 100 for these safety arrangements. “As the number of students started increasing, the authorities raised concerns, so we had to put these measures in place,” says Saji, adding, “There hasn’t been a single emergency so far.”

The setting is scenic. Dense trees lean over the riverbank. The opposite bank is lined with palm trees, houses with sloping roofs, and modern apartments. Lie back in the water, and you see clear skies and birds gliding overhead. Yet few come to take in the view. Watching students try, fail, try again, and succeed, I found myself invested in their progress. In them, I was reminded of my own story: I can swim in shallow pools but can never quite manage deep water. Open rivers look inviting, yet intimidating. It’s this push and pull many of us feel when facing a river.

At least 10 differently abled persons have attened his camp and one, Muhammed Aasim, is now a international paralypic swimmer.

Doctorate in swimming?

VRSC feels a bit like a school. The swimming curriculum is divided into 17 levels, from Pre-KG to PD (Post-Doctoral). “Once you clear Plus Two, you can consider yourself a good swimmer,” says Saji with a laugh.

At the PG level, swimmers practise floating continuously for up to two hours. They must also dive about 10 feet underwater and return with sand from the riverbed to earn their PG honours. After that comes NS, short for the Malayalam phrase ‘Nirbandha Sevanam’, meaning compulsory voluntary service. For at least six days, trainees assist with the classes until they are ready for the ultimate test — crossing the river. It is like a graduation ceremony, attended by family, friends and even district authorities. Finally comes PD, which requires swimming against the current and training in rough weather. Students also learn to use rescue buoys so they can save themselves or others in case they are in trouble. All students have to start from scratch, regardless of prior experience. About 70% of them discontinue after learning the basics, which usually takes 20-30 days.

Made paralympic champ

A majority of people approach Saji to overcome a fear they believe swimming pools cannot cure, the fear of open water. They want to face it head-on, from Day 1. The urge to conquer that fear comes from many places.

Viswambharan was 15 when he fell into a water body and narrowly escaped. It left him with a deep, lasting fear. Fifty-five years later, at 70, he travelled from the adjacent district of Thrissur to learn river swimming.

Sudheesh Babu, who works with a public sector undertaking, would feel jittery while travelling over the Periyar or other rivers by train. “I would start thinking, ‘What if I fall into the water?’ Accidents, like the 1988 Peruman rail tragedy, when the Island Express, travelling from Bangalore to Thiruvananthapuram, derailed near Kollam and 105 people drowned in Ashtamudi lake, come rushing to mind,” he recalls.

Jincy Jose recently enrolled with her four-year-old daughter. “We live near a canal. I am always worried about an accident,” explains the homemaker.

Over the years, Saji’s students have come from all walks of life, from senior government officers to doctors and police personnel, even Malayalam actor Tini Tom. Yet the story most often talked about is that of Muhammed Aasim.

Born without arms and with a deformed leg, Aasim has won several titles in para-swimming. Last month, he helped India win its first gold medal in the mixed 4x50 freestyle relay at the 2026 Para Swimming World Series in Australia. The story began years ago when Saji read about Aasim in a local newspaper. The boy, from Kozhikode, 180 km from Aluva, had been petitioning the Kerala government to upgrade his school so children like him could study. Moved, Saji travelled to meet Aasim’s parents and asked if he could teach the boy to swim. It took time to convince them. Eventually, Saji arranged for Aasim to stay at his home and refused a single paisa as ‘guru dakshina’. In less than a month, Aasim, then 15, crossed the Periyar.

Since then, Saji has trained at least 10 differently abled swimmers. During my visit, I see 11-year-old Antony Ryan, who uses a wheelchair, waiting for his turn to enter the water. He aspires to be a para-swimmer. “Ryan had trained elsewhere, but the support we saw here for children like him made us approach Saji,” says his mother, Aneena.

For some, Saji has fulfilled lifelong dreams. “Both my legs were affected by polio when I was two and a half years old, but I always wanted to swim,” says Rateesh N P, 42. He joined in 2022. “Saji sir told me physical deformities aren’t a barrier if you are mentally strong. I learned to swim in 11 days and crossed the Periyar on the 22nd day. Now I even swim in the sea. Earlier I used to fear I might drown even in two feet of water.”

Many like Minu Kanatt, a Merchant Navy captain, approach Saji with professional goals. He says, “In our job, we are mainly trained to use life jackets and other safety equipment. I thought learning to swim in rough conditions would be an added advantage,” he says.

Building community

Saji’s swimming club has taken on a life of its own. Stanley Joseph and Venugopalan K are admittedly slow in their progress, but the retired professionals don’t mind. They say the club offers companionship and camaraderie.

Many others have found unexpected benefits, and even a sense of purpose. A Malayali family settled in Mumbai sent their 33-year-old son to Saji’s camp last year, hoping it might help him overcome smoking addiction. Saji had made no such promise. But discipline, he believes, can reshape lives. The student found a healthier distraction, and today he is a keen swimmer and volunteers at the camp.

On the doctor’s recommendation, Rinusha T R came here to find relief from post-Covid breathing problems. In a year, the government schoolteacher had regained her lung strength, and crossed the river.

Remya Ratheesh believes Saji’s ‘unusual’ methods helped her son Arush, seven at the time of training, overcome speech difficulties. Before every class, Saji gathers the children for a short assembly. Standing on a plastic chair, he randomly asks them to speak on different topics, anything except politics or war. Sometimes they talk about school life, training, or personal achievements. He also insists every child describe the route from their home to the camp. During students’ birthdays, toffees are handed out, but Saji insists no wrapper be left behind. He loves nature, and some trainers joke it’s fitting his birthday falls on June 5, World Environment Day!

On the day of my visit, the topic of discussion is changing times. Saji tells the children how, in his childhood, people used fire sticks instead of torches to move around at night, walked long distances when transport was scarce, and cooked together over firewood during weddings long before catering services existed.

Sometimes conversations drift into serious territory. One day, Saji spoke about the problem of children wandering to water bodies without knowing how to swim or telling their parents. A student then recalled a real incident. A woman he knew was searching for her son who had gone out to play but had not returned home. She found four of his friends on a riverbank, but they insisted they hadn’t seen him. However, the mother noticed the boy’s clothes lying on the bank. The child, it turned out, was hiding under water, holding his breath so he wouldn’t be caught!

Ahead of government

The vast majority of students come from Aluva and its surroundings, with a few from other districts. Saji insists the popularity of his classes hasn’t created tension with other swimming coaches. His work is a social service, and it recently drew the praise of the Kochi district collector. Some also say Kochavva, a character in the 2016 Malayalam film ‘Kochavva Paulo Ayyappa Coelho’, also teaches swimming to locals for free, much like Saji. A local I meet on his morning walk recommends a Padma Shri award for Saji’s service. It’s not hard to see why. Saji recognised the urgency of drowning deaths in Kerala long before the government. Only last year did Kerala launch a World Health Organization-led initiative to teach survival swimming in schools, but it has been progressing at a snail’s pace.

But for Saji, the greatest reward is when he sees a student transform, from fearing water to embracing it, as if a switch has been turned on. He loves unleashing their adventurous side. Like, when he and 184 students swam 3.1 kilometres across Vembanad Lake, Kerala’s largest lake. Or when his student Malu Shaika became the first woman to swim the lake solo at age 20. Or when Arifa V K swam across the Periyar at the age of 69. Or when his team assisted in rescue operations during the 2018 Kerala floods.

It is 8.30 am, and the camp comes to an end. Students climb out of the water and onto the stone steps, and head to makeshift changing rooms. Meanwhile, Saji and his volunteers pack up the equipment and buoys, clear the riverbank, and stow everything in a shed before heading off for their daily work. Within minutes, all the brisk activity disappears, and the Periyar falls quiet again. Tomorrow, the routine will repeat. Saji will whistle, step into the water, call out ‘Kunjumakalle’ (dear kids), and the students will shout back ‘Enthooo!’, a sign they are ready for the swimming lesson.