Vanquishing Ganga !

A weekend of fun, being uncontrollable, being pampered, being nostalgic, being loud, being voracious, eating, sharing, laughing, and so much more.

It all started with Friday night of whining and me getting hopeless, short of breaths when almost-put-into-action plan was going to ruins in front of my eyes. By that time, I had tried every tantrum, emotional blackmailing and the same over and over again. Every time we would opt for a new strategy and every time there’d be a new fallout. But, then something miraculous happened and a plan was tabled. This time no fall-backs. By 9, our plan was chalked out and 5 am, the cabbie rang us up. I just love to describe the impromptu-ness. Perfect.

K was woken up when he had just started meandering. So some cussing we were already prepared for. Plus the never-ending happiness on S’s face (S here is not me, mind it!) on witnessing the sunrise from inside the car; a first for him had already given us the sense of fulfillment the trip was sure to bring.

The perfect songs from the perfect playlist, our favorite songs, coupled with S’s dance steps which he had dedicatedly learned, courtesy YouTube together with P's voice over without differentiating between Sunidhi and Shaan was perfectly aligned along the mood of our trip. P certainly is an ardent supporter of equality. Meanwhile, R kept oscillating along the seat in sleep. It was certainly fun to wake her up and watch her go sleep every single time. Imagine doing this iteratively!

We were all empty in our stomachs. We had had nothing to eat except the flaky Bhaakadwadi. So since I was ruling over all the decisions as always I take the best ones (kidding), we decided to stop at a Dhaba. But, irrespective the driver stopped in front of “Cheetal Grand”. He was just about to turn the car around when suddenly S wakes up to suggest it was not a bright idea to stop again for a Dhaba and we should get some Poha and get it over with because sooner than later we have to face it – these dhabas aren't good, and so totally unhygienic. The food’s tasty but they are not clean. No one should stop at these places. Looking through their fancy menu card where they served two kinds of tea – one plain tea and other tea per head - we all had Dosas but as life has it if you can’t get Poha you certainly have to go against the popular opinion and get Indian Breakfast. And this inadvertently turned in our favor because we would have missed out on such huge entertainment when the "Breakfast" showed up with two emaciated Paranthas and Rajma. Poor Intelligent S!

The next stop was Rishikesh. Our delight knew no bounds but none of us anticipated such a huge disappointment lying around in an ambush ready to kick us in our behinds. As per our travel coordinator we were in time for just one adventure, either Rafting or Bungee-Jumping. But we were determined to do both in time but as always, S had to have another opinion because the popular one is just so main-stream. But when we got to know Bungee-Jumping was yet not started the decision was made for us and we didn't like it.

But we didn’t let the disappointment loom on us for long. We went to have our lunch and returned back to see our raft ready for the adventure ahead. But no matter what we were not going to have an awesome meal anytime soon, we should have realized that sooner. Our sizzler was such a big blot on its namesake that we agreed to call it plain and simple ‘Paneer Tikka’. The pick-up took us to the spot where we had to board the raft and vanquish the waters of ‘Ganges’ as P would call it. We were instructed, too much rather. We had to sit behind the lines along the brim of the raft but inside the rope that marked the raft from all around. To our utter surprise and amusement, not the guides but Mr. K and Mr. S were made our leaders. Instantly we knew this 12-km long water swirl was going to kill me literally or the laughter that was to follow was going to sever my body from my breaths. The latter happened. Fabregas already had a loyal supporter in P. He already had separated 4 numbered helmet and oar for himself. But the leaders were in constant fight with each other, attacking each other with all the available resources to snatch the 7 and 10 numbered oars. Had Ronaldo or Messi seen them, they would have burst into tears. On the other hand, the leaders-forsaken entourage was busy following orders of the guide, listening to their orders and relaying it to the leaders, shouting when the orders were “do not shout when in rapids” verbatim.

We had already triumphed Initiation. When Double Trouble, the rapid, watered down, we were asked if we wanted to go inside the water. I was still scared of waters and still could not trust those damn life-jackets. I knew for sure they were designed to take me down and down and down. And, this time I was just hanging around the boat holding ropes in the water. We were all lifted up when Hilton, the third rapid, was in sight. Every time on rapid, we would float on the undulating bellowing waters, get lashed on by them as if we were going to fight it by getting inside it but ending up alight on the surge of water. Felt nothing less than an armed conquest with our armours on and our oars as our swords ready to cut through the enemy. This was when P misplaced his ‘lucky’ oar when in the turmoil of lifting him up the guides lifted him up from the water to half the length of raft above the water and moved on to lift others up deserting him then and there mid-way. Hilarious as it was, was no fun for him.

And, finally, came the time of my own victory against my own fear. And, thanks to thine comrades who helped me uphold the belief that life-jackets are sincerely meant to save your lives. They really do. They do make you float and they don’t have any such intention to drown you. Uneasiness was written all over my face. I wanted to jump like the boys who had by that time learnt that skill but something was holding me back. It all went awry when Nishant, one of the guides pushed me in the waters when one moment I was just sitting on the brim of the raft thinking if I wanted to go in and the other moment I was drowning inside. S could swear my shriek reached people on the other side of the town and he shouted to pull me out. I think I swore if I got out alive, Nishant was dead. But then, I became the only one who took ‘dubki’ in the Ganga and then I could relinquish the control of boat-rope and float a bit further even though strangle-holding K’s hands, he was forgiven already.

Darr ke aage jeet hai! You heard it.

The 12-km long ride was over in no time and we were stranded along the beach.

We sat along the beach for some time with our legs inside the cold, clean, pious Ganga and we moved on to Ram Jhoola for Kachoris. Then we took a ferry back to the other side. And the whole time P regretted letting me hold his camera and the pouch. We left for Haridwar after sometime to be the part of Aarti which we missed as a consequence of reaching late. But, then we took a whole round of every mandir and took off.

Our journey ended with not-so good dinner at Bikano. Someone certainly had it out for our food. I could smell it. Yet we managed. And, then spent the most of the rest of our time fighting and searching for our tracks in the music player, for which we didn’t mind scanning the whole list twice thrice.

Zinda and Mahi Ve are all worth this effort.

 “Hichkiyon mei kya hai marna, poora marr le!”

And at last we ended up saving 33 bucks because saving 33 after spending thousands is a huge huge accomplishment.