Rafting on Holy Waters

My sins have been washed away. Thanks to a rafting trip on the river Ganges. Seek adventure, get religion free.

The road trip to Rishikesh was like any other trip out of the capital. But I forgive Delhi. Its relative proximity to the Himalayas is reason enough. Thankfully, the trip was spent in a stupor. Partly asleep, the mind was unaware of time passing, but the body remained fatigued. Not a bad deal.

My first waking glimpse of Rishikesh was of a deserted ghat at 3 AM, and the Ganga flowing. My first steps on that hallowed ground were in the knowledge that a walk to the hotel was ahead of me. In the incipient winter. With piles of winter clothing in my luggage.

I was not sure how long the walk would be. Any distance between 500 meters to five kilometers is described as “just up ahead” here. Thankfully, the walk was just long enough to get the sleep out of my eyes. Just before our programme allowed a couple of hours to catch some shut-eye. Suffering builds character.

The town is quite clean, no informal toilets at street corners. The place becomes too crowded during the day for such responses to nature’s calls. And during the night, being less adventurous, most people keep off the streets. Explains the absence of pictures of Gods and Goddesses at waist height on boundary walls. But then, there is no dearth of reminders of the Almighty. There are temples everywhere. Advertisements proclaim spiritual sermons and yoga classes. There are a good number of resident cows.

It is surprising that the cows don’t all run away. This is where the Sacred Cow is a scared cow, true story below:

Crowd of holy men and onlookers (trying to force a cow to enter a confined prayer area, pushing and pulling): Go on, go on.

Petrified cow loses bowel control.

Holy men (in unison, folding their hands in prayer and bowing to the cow): This is a wonderful omen! The Gods have showered their blessings on the ritual.

Cow bolts. Maybe the treats the cows get at the end of the rituals keep them motivated.

Curiously, I spot a yuppie crowd thronging the parking lot of a temple complex. They do not seem in the least religious. A closer look reveals a spanking new, powder blue TATA NANO. The owner arrives and tries to get closer to his car, in vain. The crowd is oblivious, tapping and peering through the windows. One onlooker even begs for a ride as the owner manages to get the door open. Ticket to heaven and everlasting life?

Time to raft. Our guide is a spunky young Ladakhi. He shows us all the don’ts before demonstrating the do’s. It is far too late for me to learn from his hilarious mimicry of common mistakes.

I hoist myself onto the raft in a hurry. A rafting trip is most fun in the front seat. My life-jacket is strangling the life out of me. The guide says it is best that way. They say the safety equipment leaves the river no chance to get you. I concur.

The Ganga is a safe river. The rapids are separated by stretches of calm water. The guides encourage rafters to jump into the river at the appropriate places. The rafters happily oblige. The experience of a lifetime, it is faith that makes this the holiest river. Maano to Ganga Maiyya, na maano to behta paani. Heard that on some loudspeaker somewhere.

Lunch is at the rafting camp by the side of the river. I discover that the sunburn on the Ganga is just as bad as on the Zanskar- the frostbite is missing, though. Thank God for the small mercies.

Rafting complete. I come away sinless, with a sunburn. Hopefully lighter by a kilo or two. The bus takes us back to Delhi. I pray that I make my flight the next morning.

A sigh of relief. I reach the airport on time, or so I think. Lethargy makes me move slowly towards boarding. I have lost count of the muscles that are aching. Rafting has made sure I cannot sit anywhere for too long.

On reaching the boarding gate, the staff tell me I can’t make this flight. Just as the public announcement system belts out the “last and final boarding call” for this very flight. The airline gives me a full refund, and I get myself another ticket home. It is all karma, or maybe it is maya. Only He knows.

In the Mighty Mountains

I forgot I had a blog! And so did you.
It’s been a while and below is why it’s been a while.

27th August 09, Day 1
Could not complete all that I had planned to before leaving. Left office with passing words from the Boss “We will try not to call you”. Was informed that Wifeji is running behind schedule, but inspite of the commitment to her work, we managed to get to the airport in time. Even the hail and the resultant traffic jam couldn’t stop us.

From the posh HIAL we hurtled into the ‘all cattle class’ aircraft. In the excitement of facing all that we thought the impending future held, I forgot to ask for the emergency row seats. Two reasons why emergency row seats are my all time favourite airline seats
1. Easy to slouch into for tall men (hint)
2. They can be handy during emergencies, especially when all the loos are occupied or when you are flying the national carrier with austere politicos in economy.

28th August 09, Day 2
Reached Delhi past midnight. We had decided to wait for the connecting 5 am flight at the historical Terminal 1A (Delhi is dangerous enough during the day). For those who don’t know, this is the terminal through which rulers like Babar and Sonia Gandhi entered India. The Archeological survey has declared it a heritage building and thus the Airport Authority/GMR can’t do any renovations here. Bureaucrats!

The 5 hours spent at Terminal 1A were as good as any night spent there could have been. Yours truly worked for a while, while a bunch of Bangalore tourists kept up an incessant yacking alternating with monstrous laughter all night. There is something about Bangalore. After several rounds of snacks and e-mails we zombied into another aircraft. Scared of the motherly stares from the hostesses on board we finished breakfast like good children. Nothing caught fire during the flight.

The sight from the window was striking and the passengers collectively took control of the aircraft and jammed their faces into the window, three per pane, with motherly hostesses finding it difficult to keep discipline.

Landed at Leh’s Bakula Rimpoche airstrip (there isn’t much of an airport there). It was bright as bright can be. We got lifted, courteously, by the Indian army and deposited at one of their guest houses next to the Indus. Overlooking the mountains on the other side and the works. Beautiful.

We got clear instructions from the army that we were not to venture out for the first 36 hours for acclimatization and for us to avoid High Altitude Sickness. (We are sickly corporate types, right?) This was followed by a visit from a qualified physician checking on us. To his great disappointment we exhibited no signs of being affected by lack of oxygen. I don’t know about wifeji, but after 5 years of working with my boss, nothing effects me anymore.

We expressed a desire-cum-request to go to Leh Market. Our hosts nipped any such ideas in the bud and then went on to uproot the plant. Surreptitiously, with assistance from a kindly souled driver from Bihar (aha!) we managed to escape to the market. While wifeji went around in her inquisitive, socially-alert economist avatar interviewing roadside vendors I too learnt a lot from this Gandhian escapade. The summary of my lessons is thus “the veggies in Leh are very green. And very fresh”.

29th August, Day 3
Still no sign of high altitude sickness. All four lungs in the household operating at capacity, leading to some very disappointed physicians. (Statutory warning to all my Kannan, Srinivasan, Venkatratnam kind of friends. Folks, the water in the taps can be bewilderingly cold; don’t put your warm South Indian souls through it).

Hiked to the Spituk monastery. Stopped for 15 minutes, precisely after every 4 steps. Gasp, gasp. There is something about Buddhist monasteries. I don’t know what it is. They are beautiful though.


30th August, Day 4
Lazy day. Perfect day. Morning spent walking along the Indus. We spotted a Rosefinch. The afternoon included a ride to the Indus-Zanskar confluence. Amazing. (More on the Zanskar later). Stopped over at the Patthar Sahib, where Guru Nanak killed/reformed a monster.

There was a kind of freedom to kill monsters before they set up the Parliament in this country.

31st August, Day 5
It rained the whole day. Uncommon, they told us, in Leh. Went to the raising day of the 14 corps. And when we can’t do much else we do one thing. Planted ourselves with our Major friend in a restaurant and ate a lovely Ladakhi meal.

1st September, Day 6
Pangong-Tso!! Went visiting Pangong Tso through Chang-La. The drive was death defying. And the driver was death defying too. Just at the time when our mighty Scorpio would be overtaking an unconcerned army truck on the single lane tight corner with an 800 metre drop, wifeji would pep up and say “Bhaiya, koi Govinda ki CD nahin hai kya”?!? And Mr. Chevang (henceforth called the Scorpion King), in his chivalry, would start changing the CD right then while driving with one hand. I almost pulled the handle off the car door, knuckles all white. Nobody paid any attention to me, looks like we have been married for a decent length of time.

We reached Pangong Tso after several such fickle genre flips. The lake is one of the most beautiful sights on the planet. Nature did the right thing by putting it at such remote a place and on the India-China Border (wherever that is) via the India China Friendship highway.

We also met some foul-mouthed Delhi kids at the sole restaurant on the banks of the lake. Wifeji gave them the looks that homo-sapiens gave the Neanderthals sometime back.
Intimate discussion followed
Wifeji: “Nuts from Delhi”
Yours truly, speaking through the binoculars: “where? I am hungry. Do they have some walnuts?”
Wifeji: “I am talking about these crazy kids sitting on the next table”.
Yours truly, still staring at the lake: “How do you know they are from Delhi, you may not believe it but there are crazy people outside of Delhi too.”
Wifeji, loudly: “Whoever paints so much make-up for visiting a place like this?”
Yours truly, defeated: “Good Point”
(This is interesting, more on this later when we found out who they were).


2nd September, Day 7
Khardung-la today. Same melodious ride with Govinda-army truck-Scorpion King thrown in. It was freezing and snowing up there but plenty of tea and maggi available. The sights on the way are seen to be believed. Each turn is a fresh painting on God’s canvas and he is the best painter yet.

The long ride was followed by a dinner at an open air restaurant in Leh Town.
Dinner with Delhi Nuts: Act I
Spotting the same foul mouthed kids from Delhi, wifeji exclaimed “I bet these are the same morons that we met in Pangong Tso”
The Restaurant Owner, friend of our Major friend, came running and told us with a smile “did you see Minissha Lamba”
Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “Who?”
Yours truly, acting smart: “oh, the tennis player? He is good I tell you. Will go far”
Others around the bonefire: “Gasp”
The Restaurant Owner: Have “you seen that movie” (playwright’s note: name I can’t remember now)
Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “Nope”
Yours truly: “We grew up watching Jaya Prada”
Others around the bonefire: “Gasp, she is an actress”
Yours truly, Grinning: “She is an MP too. Rampur ke Sholey”
Others: “SHUT-UP. Minissha Lamba is an actress. And that Delhi nut you met in Pangong Tso is Minissha Lamba.”
Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “oh”
Yours truly, with composure and dignity: “I don’t know why all sportspeople want to become actors”.

(Rest of the act is full of jokes about how Minissha Lamba must be saddened at the fact that people don’t recognize her and think of her as some Delhi kid who just flunked her DU-BA English paper). For those who are interested we were also informed that Farooq Abdullah’s nephew/s were part of the crew accompanying Ms. Lamba. While Rahul-Priyanka cheer for SRK’s KKR, the Abdullah scions have to make do with some obscure actress. Is this a class-divided society or what?


3rd September, Day 8
More rain. Longwinded discussions on global warming, sensitive dependence on initial conditioning. It is better to be happy than to appear to be intelligent. Visited Hemis Monastery in the afternoon.

4th September, Day 9
Long drive to Chilling. This is a beautiful drive along the Zanskar.

5th September, Day 10
Rafted the Zanskar. The Zanskar is an amazing river. It serves a heady dish of sunburn and frostbite in one. While the balding head will get burnt the river will quietly be biting off a couple of toes. Lovely though. This is a must do for Rafting enthusiasts.

6th September, Day 11
Walked around in Spituk Village. Leh town in the evening. Some shopping.

7th September, Day 12
Back to Hyderabad via Delhi. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I am sure this is not our last trip to Ladakh. If only we were younger, we could have done a road trip!