Rafting @ Rishikesh

Caught 22

Do you fear the force of the wind,
The slash of the rain?
Go face them and fight them,
Be savage again.
Go hungry and cold like the wolf,
Go wade like the crane:
The palms of your hands will thicken,
The skin of your cheek will tan,
You ’ll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,
But you ’ll walk like a man!
…Hamlin Garland

To see the challenge in its face and stare down its eyes; to strangle the fear inside oneself and rejoice to see it die; to let the raging fire within fight the force of water on one's skin; is not what the meek would do.
And for once, Hamlin Garland was proven wrong when even the ladies of our tribe braved the wind, the water, the sun and the sand to quell humanity’s biggest foe: FEAR.

21 was the number of enthusiasts who responded to Vineet’s post on the Bulletin Board. Last minute adjustments and a few replacements saw the number rising to 22.
“We will move from the office at 5:15” was the unequivocal instruction and most heartening was the fact that the first Scorpio did leave to pick the people up at 5:15 AM. The next meeting point was Tribune Chowk. From there on the three Scorpios moved on together but not before halting again at Fun Republic to pick Aseem, our very own infoscion-photographer.

At the Bridgeview Restaurant, the breakfast constituting the appetizing Aloo-Parathas along with Lassis which we had beyond our satiating limit, was probably just a harbinger of the good times to follow…
We stopped at Paonta Sahab Gurudwara to offer a few prayers before moving on.

Past the bumpy detour to Dehradun, and beyond the sinuous stretches of roads moving in harmony with the meandering river we found our destination. However, the conundrum of which side the river should move with respect to us after we have crossed a bridge, remained incomprehensible. Only later we realized that everything we would do in the following 24 hrs, defied logic.

Camp Rapid Fire was supposed to be our base camp. We parked the vehicles on the road above and began trekking along a tortuous and only-a-little-less-than-dangerous declivity. The mere thought of climbing it up the next day sent a few shivers down a few spines. Soon we were at the right bank of the river with just a canvas sheet protecting us from the blazing sun. Mugs of lemonade came as welcome relief to the sapped out souls.

We had a short homily from Praveen, the organizer cum facilitator cum host, on the expected behavior of the adventure-freaks. In the sweltering heat the crystal waters had looked too tempting to resist; may be, the instruction to not to venture into the waters without life-jackets, was deterring us.
But then the nature showed its most unpleasant face and suddenly everyone was up against a blitzkrieg of a sand-storm; in ten minutes, our luggage, our clothes, our hair and everything except our spirits was buried in the white sand; may be it was a message from the nature itself, invoking its explorers to fall in its lap and soon everyone, with or without the life-jacket, was splashing and wallowing in the waters. Amidst the sessions on Kayaking and bodysurfing and swimming classes that went like “Chhap Chhap Chhap 1… 2… 3”, we had our lunch and a game of volleyball as well.

After the tea, it was time now for the first big thing viz. Rock Climbing (Level 1). The first experience of how tough things look when we do it ourselves and how threatening, the small pebbles we walk on, look when u stand glued to a 30 ft. high wall, groping for a strong foothold and a reliable handgrip; The first experience of putting your trust in a pair of gloves and a rope while walking horizontally and backwards. But of all the people, Eshi was the one to have been betrayed by the harness and this was the first experience for everyone else to see someone climb up the rock again from midway and descend with the same harness.

As soon as this was over, the darkness had started engulfing the gorge and in no time there were torches galore, each one of them a beacon either guiding the fellow wanderers or just proclaiming their own presence and once in a while even to illuminate a face to recognize an otherwise looming shadow. With nothing much to do at this hour, and the darkness having congregated us in one place, we decided to regale ourselves with a few spooky stories. So we sat on the sand encircling two shimmering lanterns trying to narrate first, second and third hand experiences with the supernatural in the most plausible manner and the most credible words possible.

An absconding guide caused us to delay our night trek and the delay caused the trek to be curtailed, to avoid any discomfort to the expected barking deer. Nevertheless we decided to undertake this exercise as well. To miss anything was not what we were there for. We clambered through the terrace farms to reach the highway. A long walk on the highway and another descent on a pebble strewn path led us to a suspended bridge over the river. As we were asked to retreat and return from the bridge itself, we had to trot back all the way definitely feeling short-changed.

While we waited for the dinner to be served, Rahul, Harneet and Vaibhav broke into songs with Anant as the guitarist and everyone else in the chorus; from patriotic to vulgar to peppy, the concert continued even at the bon-fire.
The much awaited barbeque was replaced by a modest round of snacks.

It was already 1:30 am and people, anticipating a tough day ahead, had started departing. The densely spangled sky was in itself a treat for the eyes and some of us did spend some time admiring the heavens above before we all got snug as a bug in a rug…

“The sky limited by mountains on all sides gave me a feeling that it is my own small world that is very close to me …”-Gaurav Khera

The night was not very long and a few of us who chose to sleep outside their tents were woken up by the bright twilight as early as 6:00 am. The tranquility of the place, where a single pebble falling down the hill could be heard on the other side of the river and a single twitter of a bird was enough to wake the whole valley out of slumber, was hallucinating. Soon the whole camp was again alive with people all over trying to explore nature in their own way or just answering its call!

Aseem did not let go any opportunity to capture the best of the pictures of individuals, of groups and of the panoramic view of the base camp.

Having been served our breakfast we were all agog to take on our biggest challenge. So we packed up our things to leave the camp. Lumbering and trudging all along the nearly 30 degrees slope with our baggage on our shoulders, to reach the road above was in itself a taxing exercise.
Thereafter the Scorpio took us to the point where our tête-à-tête with the vivacious waves was supposed to begin. In no time, everyone was all decked up in a life-jacket and a helmet. While Harish, the guide, rattled off his pedantic preaching on Dos and Don’ts of rafting and methods of rescue, the folks on the receiving end had a few prayers going in their minds.

The inflated raft, with nine to ten people on it (including the guide), looked as vulnerable on the rocky rapids as a balloon would on a needle tip. Although, we were supposed to traverse downstream, the wind was in the opposite direction requiring us to row almost continuously throughout the 16 km stretch. With a few practice sessions on how to paddle the boat we advanced to the first rapid, “Return to Centre”. This was a level 2 rapid with an Eddy current at its other end. Even though it was not dangerous it had excited us enough to make us start communicating “Bismil ke Sandes” to other rafts as well. Much to the perplexity of non-infoscions, Harneet raised the slogan, “Agadumal Dagadumal Babey di…”. “… JAI”, resounded the infoscions in unison!!
The next rapid was the Roller-Coaster; indeed it was, in every sense of the word. The raft jumped and fell, the waves hit us hard and the exhilaration had just started to build up.

Tee-Up was next; a little more violent than the previous one, it was slated as somewhere between level 2 and 3 and as the name suggested it was just the perfect launch pad for the most inclement of them all…
The Golf Course, so called because of the nine “holes”, was no easy game. At danger level 3, it was a test of heart, brain, nerves and sinews. We had to break each advancing wave (or it would capsize the raft) and it required frantic paddling. Each colliding wave was a water-cannon and each crest and trough was a jolt in the limbs. Although the rapid was over, the exuberance was brimming. We all were high on the thrill and wanting for more. The prayers were answered…
At the next rapid, on the guide’s behest, we jumped out for body-surfing. With the waves tossing our bodies helter-skelter, we were like little babies in the arms of Mother Nature. By now, the fear of water had vanished and the rafters were now happy weltering in the midstream.

But there was another fear to squelch, the fear of height. So we embarked upon the raft to reach the 28 foot high cliff. The Flying Sikh, Harneet was the first to take the plunge in this task of Level 4.
From pulling in your deepest ever breath to putting your worst ever foot forward to step in the air, hoping Newton to be proven wrong, and to then fall endlessly to hit the water and then wait for Archimedes to be proven right, to breathing out the most important gallon of air of your life ever… The whole duration was hardly 10 seconds with every millisecond of it having its worth in gold. While Jyotsna, the only girl to take it up, made it in the third attempt, Nishant was unfortunate to have fallen flat on the chest after having backed off before.

Two more rapids later (one of them ironically named “initiation”) we would arrive at the culmination point. But something was still left in Nature’s scheme of things. Strong winds and heavy rains followed. Despite our lustiest efforts, the raft was not moving ahead. Probably we just did well to prevent us from being blown back all the way.
At the bank we changed our clothes, had our lunch but just before we left, the sandstorm that had greeted us at the camp, was there again to see us off.

The Scorpios moved out of Rishikesh and we stopped soon after for some dance and a photograph and then again at the same “Bridgeview Restaurant” for tea and snacks. The surprise package was boxes of strawberries bought from local cultivators.

All were dropped at their chosen spots and the most momentous weekend had been perpetuated in memory.
The next day was supposed to be the most unfair Monday ever!!

Coorg

As it poured and poured in Mangalore and the city reeled under the juggernaut of inundation, little did the world realize that seven daredevils, with spirits unfazed by the forces of nature, had sneaked out of the snugness of their lairs in the pursuit of freedom… in the quest of life… in the darkness before day-break… in the car called Qualis.

It started with enough exasperation over the lack of punctuality of the driver, ostensibly conditioned by the repetitive incidents of dilatoriness by none other than the Infoscions themselves.
To our great relief the Qualis was equipped with a DVD Player and to our futile excitement, with a TV screen as well.
Akhil promptly took up the job of a DJ and executed it to the best of his abilities until Vikalp took over and started the battle of supremacy… a battle no less than divine… with an anathema on both the sides… Akhil blessed with “the curse of the last song” and Vikalp with “the bane of the skipping CD”

But this change over was marked by a special phenomenon… the discovery of pristine waters flowing down in the form a brook, en route to our destination. How could we have not stopped there? To run down on the pebbles… splash in the crystal water… do a Tarzan swing… the whole experience was Neanderthal, except that we carried with us a modern day Sony digicam (thanks to Akhil); and this out-of-place thing was destined to fall into the waters (thanks to Viji).

After some cribbing and mollifying sessions the Qualis moved on and we reached Madikeri. “No rooms” at Rajdarshan fell on our ears like “Sorry-sir-but-you-have-come-during-the-peak-season-and-that-too-without-any-prior-booking-and-therefore-there’s-a-bleak-possibility-of-you-finding-any-room-in-any-hotel-in-any-corner-of-Coorg-and-u-better-spend-your-night-in-your-Qualis”
Not the end of the road yet… Hillview was another place with rooms… cheap rooms… small rooms… dingy rooms… rooms we did not want.
“Hey Bops”, was Bharat on his phone…
“Where are u”
“Bangalore??!!!!!”
“…..”
“Coorg International”
“…..”
“Capitol Village”
“……”
“bye”
So we headed forth with guidance only from the nearby butcher and a print-out of the hotel names and their numbers… because our driver with all his experience of gray hair needed to stop and ask directions every time the road bent anymore than 15 degrees.
Most of the conversation was in Kannada so we didn’t catch much of it except ishtu kilometers, undu, mooru…
And ultimately came the good news… “Rooms are available!!!” was Bharat again on his phone…

Capitol Village was definitely a place built with a lot of space, a lot of effort, a lot of heart and surely a lot of money. With lush green environs far from the maddening crowd, ensconced in the wilderness this was the place to identify ourselves with nature. A rendezvous with serenity had seldom been so easily found.

Then started the usual room rate bargaining where Bharat’s first question was “Is there any way we can do a campfire here?”. The answer was a thoughtful “no”… consistent prodding allowed us to bargain for two rooms instead of three… so… after 5 guys and 2 girls had freshened up… and the “sacrificial” dog was fed with Good-Day, it was time to hit the road again.

The destination… Abbey Falls. A few kms and some steep climbs and curves later we were in a clearing of space that very easily could’ve housed the next Infosys DC. An idea that got lost somewhere between the cup of hot tea and the sound of gallons of water falling.

A modest trek over a paved path and our eyes were treated to what now is commonly known as Abbey Falls. To stand and watch the falls on the bridge was no way to admire it… so we trekked down to the very depths of the fall. A few photographs later everyone was happily perched on a solitary rock standing between the water falling and the safe earth beside. Akhil of course chose to stay on dry land and take photographs. Vaibhav and Vikalp on the behest of some of us decided to do a bit of rock climbing by tracing the sidelines and reaching the belly of the falls. A couple of photographs later we had had our fill of water. So we trekked back up over the bridge and back to our waiting driver who didn’t do much besides sit in the car.

Next stop Raja Seat. We reached safe in one piece and after the session of chana eating and discussions on why would this place hold any significance we just waited for the clouds to come over the view. Nature had stopped us from admiring itself, we took the hint and trotted back to our Qualis.

From Raja Seat it was time to go to the fort. Not much to see here but the fact that the fort had been commissioned as a prison for common thugs… although it seemed quite perplexing why a small town like Madikeri would require a prison. We anyway decided to peer into the prison compound which seemed easy enough owing to the high fort walls.

From there we split into two groups. The first being the hungry group which constituted of Vaibhav as our leader, the women and of course, Soumya and Akhil. The second being the adventurous lot who took it upon themselves to find dry wood in this damp town. Three quarters of an hour later the wood was there, the hungry were fed and we were all sitting in the Qualis ready to be taken someplace else. No one however knew where we should go now… since it was too early to eat and too late to go anywhere else… so we decided we will trek to the market and see if anything catches our fancy. Viji and Mohar bought spices (we think) and shampoo (we laughed). The guys just trotted around wondering why doesn’t it either rain or stop drizzling.

Tired, bored and hungry and chewing away on Gems, we trekked back to the Qualis. This time the discussion was where to eat. Should we pack and take the food back to the village? Should we eat here and go back? Coorg international someone said. It seemed like an ok idea… we arrived and looked like the most out of sorts people ever to grace the dining halls of Coorg International except Bharat, who made sure that he graced the restroom of the place. “Irish coffee’s on the house” was what the waiter said and that was all that was needed for the pack to cheer up… at least some of us. So we all had sizzlers and free Irish coffees and free Russian salad. The coffee was too Irish for some people’s palettes… none of it however going waste. There were enough people to take up the remains.

So now tired and quite bored of listening to “Salaam Namasteee” we called up on our maestro Vaibhav to sing a few songs. Vaibhav gleefully complied never to let a golden opportunity pass. So a Kishore Kumar song and another one later we arrived. The next question… mosquitoes? The answer… Kachhua jalao… “Jalao” reminded us that we have planned for a camp fire, whose ingredients were already congregated by the adventurous duo Vikalp and Bharat. So we stacked up the wood……sprinkled some Kerosene and the diesel borrowed from the resort, and “lo!! there was fire!!” Any further information on the fire is however …censored…… The fed and fattened dog was nowhere to be seen!!

The next feeling everyone had was of Vaibhav tugging at our legs at 7:15 in the morning. The women had already asked for at least an hour to get ready, so they were woken up promptly by Vaibhav to avoid any delay. Little did he know the lazy-bones in the group were not the ladies but Akhil. Hence the remaining 4 settled for a trek across the resort. A little exploration of the pathways leading from the resort, suggested no body ventured them for at least a year or so. The cobwebs were blocking the pathways, as we see in horror movies. The exploration ended, and resulted in two kicks for Akhil who was still lying in bed. And that was exactly what he needed to get up.
Several hours later we were breakfasting at the table eating jam that resembled sauce and toast that resembled well…something. The absconding dog of the night returned yet again and was fed yet again with Maska-Chaska.
By 10 it was time to settle dues and carry on forth. So we did just that. Driving on for Nisargadhaam…the front seat eponymously, DJ position, was up for grabs… fake symptoms like I feel like vomiting were claimed and believed. Akhil got to sit in the front again much to Vikalp’s fury.

Nisargadhaam.. what can one say… it promised salvation… we saw slush. It promised nature… we saw a closed gate in front of the river. It promised peace… we saw a rather large deer that didn’t seem to have horns. A wasted seventy rupees later… (maybe not all of it) we were heading for the Monastery. A spell binding dome and larger than life (plus death) statues. As Viji was researching on the paintings and scriptures inside the temples, some of us were delighted to find out ‘Knock Out’s and ‘Green Label’s stacked on the temple shelves. The shops nearby the monastery were quite entertaining too… with lucky charms, to lucky plants to lucky clothes. Vikalp and Soumya decided to buy monk clothes. Later of course they thought just the shirts would suffice.

Around this time we were hungry enough to again hog on Biriyanis and Coke, and also we were about to head for our next stop, Talakaveri, which according to our tour guide Soumya, was on the way back to Mangalore.
To Akhil’s horror (expressed vociferously) and chagrin of others (expressed silently), Talakaveri was 40 kms off the route… and thus began an extended ordeal of one and a half hours of bumpy driving.

At 3700 feet, Talakaveri was definitely worth the travel… the provenance of river Kaveri is a 20x20 ft. pond which gets its supply from under the rocks. Unfortunately only Soumya, Mohar, Viji and Vaibhav got to see that while Akhil and Vikalp got busy shopping for some trinkets and Bharat had a relapse of Coorg International episode and this time he made use of the cloud cover and many ATM slips.

Just as we were speeding back to Mangalore (bored of greenery and scenery) and hoped that everything would be great, things got us late. In no time we were amidst a thick quilt of fog, with visibility reduced to hardly 5 ft. and the speed to 10 km/hr. Viji and Vaibhav stuck their heads out of the window on either side of the Qualis to help (or confuse) the driver with left-left-left and right-right-right. The music was switched off and so were the wise cracks from the back benchers. Suddenly everyone seemed to remember they are all in their twenties and unmarried.

Slowly but surely we descended from the clouds, with the rains… so that when there were no clouds there was rain. So the journey continued as the vehicle swerved around or splashed into the (by now) countless puddles and potholes… only difference was that the DJ now was Vaibhav, blissfully inept and excruciatingly obsessed with Paheli.

So finally we made it… reaching KSRTC at 9:53 pm with no one winning the estimation bet and throwing Vikalp and Akhil in a war once again… of proximity of approximation.
Soumya was dropped home, who later joined the guys at Punjabi Dhaba for dinner while the girls, having enough stamina to cook, decided to be dropped at their house.

40 hrs of fun…
493 kms of smiles…
8941.5 rupees of excitement…
And a weekend to cherish for “seven” life-times.