Bitten by the rafting bug

The first time I went rafting was in November last year. I've been back three more times since, and am waiting for the start of the rafting season again to hit the water.

The weekend getaway begins with the journey to the beach camp at Shivpuri with the volley ball court, the red rafts and yellow paddles that line the river bank, the well-equipped airy tents that line the beach, and the little touches of welcome garlands and refreshments while you look around in relief (at having managed to reach camp) and awe (at the surroundings). The beautiful, silvery beach is the cleanest and the softest sand that I've ever had the luxury to step upon, and there is tree laden with big orange flowers that I look for as I complete the downward climb from the road to the camp. The water is a clear, icy green which meets greens and browns of the foothills that bind the river, which in turn stand against the blue sky and brilliant sunshine.

The usual camp routine begins with a rush towards the tents to discard all extras, change into shorts, and rush back out to stand barefoot on the beach. Food, briefings… and then time to get into the river. I've been to camp with a mix of friends, family and strangers each time, some old-timers and some novices – and the run into the water together is the best start. Cries of 'Har Har Gange', squeals and delighted laughter abound as all dunk themselves and others in the holy river, before going off in rafts or canoes. The day passes with the struggles to synchronise paddles, racing to get to the best rapids, jumping off the raft to let the river carry us along some of the stretches, and the inevitable dunkings and water fights across rafts. We come back tired (but exhilarated) to hot tea, snacks, a shower, and evening revelries around a bonfire on the beach. Starlit skies give way to an early dawn when the fishes are fed, making little ripples as they jump at the bread crumbs thrown in – and it starts all over again.

Over the past visits, I've come to know the names of the rapids on the usual stretch of the river, and some of their peculiarities. Each rafting trip is a different experience of the river, which changes with the season, the time of the day, and the level of water released by the new dam upriver. The different activities – rafting, canoeing, kayaking, bodysurfing, or even jumping off a ledge twenty feet above the water (the 'cliff jump'), and the latest (and possibly most fun) which has been slithering down a fifty feet long rope off a bridge that is sixty feet above the water at one of the most beautiful bends of the river – each add a new dimension. The respect for and trust in the camp guides and the safety equipment are also a critical element. Their passion for the river and for adventure is communicable, as each time at the cliff jump the instructor in the raft races to make the first jump into the deep.

I enjoy the beauty and serenity of the Ganga and the Himalayan foothills and have discovered an enduring and healthy respect for nature. I look forward to the activities that challenge my inertia and force me to go beyond my self, to discover the expanse of possibilities available beyond the routine. I love the fact that without electricity, connectivity, and the need to carry money around I am in a different space and the interactions and relationships here are bound by the now, and by shared experiences. And there are few things better than floating down the Ganga on a nice Sunday morning.