‘A highway driver’ Sunny smiled, referring to the the man who was driving us up the mountainy hills. We were going at a furious clip. The sun was still only rising and I’d had nothing but a cup of sweet chai to wake me up. But sitting in the back of the truck, the breeze blew life and excitement back into me. Today was going to blow every other day in Rishikesh out of the Ganges.
Sunny’s wife Apurva also sat in the back of the truck, and when we finally disembarked I met the three other people I would be rafting with upon the Ganga – though I remember only two of them: Abhishek and Ritz. I thought they were a couple at first but turns out they’re just friends, both unmarried. Ritz is from Moradabad, living and working in Delhi, and Abhishek is from Ahmedabad – the capital of Gujarat.
We made our way down to a stony beach where we get on our raft. All the instructions and safety information was given in Hindi. I had to do my best to follow the hand gestures of the instructors and have a guess at what they were saying.
No sooner had we set off upon the relatively calm but fast flowing water, our guides – Mahadevar and Rishi – were getting us all to stand upon the edge of the raft. We were balancing like mad to stop ourselves falling in. I flailed backwards and would have fallen in had not Abhishek grabbed my hand and pulled me forwards at the last second, thus saving me from being the first of the team to fall into the Ganga barely one minute after we’d begun.
Each rapid upon the river had its own name which the guides announced as we approached them. One of the first was called “Three Blind Mice”. We never knew just how rough each new strain of rapids would be; our guides must have known the river like the back of their hand, but for the rest of us, well, we were the “six blind mice”…
With the sun roaring silently above us, we eventually submerged ourselves in the Ganga (between rapids when the water was calm). I could not have appreciated the water more. A sense of uncertainty ran through my skin as I treaded the Ganga until the coolness of it made me tranquil.
After the “six blind mice” survived the Three Blind Mice, it wasn’t long before we were entering the next set of rapids: “Crossfire” and after that the “Rollercoaster,” the most violent and careering of the lot.
Rishi let me stand up on the raft and dive into the river and Sunny announced that the water of the Ganga was drinkable. He leaned back over the edge of the raft and cupped his hands in the water, bringing handfuls of it to his mouth and gulping it down. Not something I was about to try myself.
Abhishek and Ritz invited me to hang with them in the evening. We walked down to Ram Jhula and Abhishek bought one of those pop-on T-shirts with Hindi or Sanskrit symbols on them. They seem to have them everywhere in India. I bought two while I was in Vrindavan.
Here, on the bank of the Ganga we watched the Aarti – a ceremony performed by Vedic Priests. It begins with a chant, and follows with the priests lifting and waving their flaming torches while the crowd lift their smartphones to record everything as they absolutely must. The chanting at the beginning of this ceremony is supposedly the priests making prayers to Agni – the god of fire.
Ritz set some flowers alight and we watched them burn and wash downstream like a fiery Lili pad.
Abhishek is planning to go to London and wanted me to tell him about the city. He told me about the nightclubs of New Delhi. Both he and Ritz insisted I try some lemon water that was being served right next to the river. I didn’t want to but they insisted, so I drank a whole cup full. I could barely stomach the stuff. It was salty as hell. Please don’t say I’ve been drinking water straight from the Ganga… I thought. I was probably just paranoid…
We later met up with Sunny and Apurva. They were in a café upon a hilly alleyway in upper Tapovan. Upon a neat lawn and beneath a very ambient wooden shelter we lounged upon cushions. Most of the others ordered Maggie – Indian instant noodles. Something I have never been curious enough to try. I instead had a heavenly bowl of Dal Makhani with a basket of naan bread.
Sunny told me about British colonialism and asked me what I think of arranged marriage. I didn’t have much to say about it… I didn’t know what to say… I asked him what he thought of arranged marriage, and that’s when he told me that his marriage with Apurva was an arranged one. The two of them seem extremely happy together.
Sunny had some whisky in his room and brought it down for Abhishek and I. We mixed it with coke. I sipped it. I didn’t want to drink too much coke lest I instigate a premature death by caffeine. I’d already had a chai and a strong latte. We lounged upon the cushions for many hours… and a guy sitting nearby began playing the guitar and sing in Hindi… or perhaps another Indian language… who knows.?
Apurva asked me if I struggle in India when people speak in Hindi. She talked about visiting a friend in south India and feeling left out, because they all spoke a different language down there and not her language. Not Hindi. I suppose it would be like moving from London to Cornwall, and having them speak a completely different language. Not that strange. But a bit strange….
Abhishek, Ritz and I said goodbye to Sunny and Apurva as we left the café. And then I said goodbye to Abhishek and Ritz. All four of them were heading back to Delhi the following day. As for me… I won’t leave India without venturing to its capital. But that time is not yet.
