The whistle is all seeing, all knowing. The whistle is your master. The whistle lives round Karan Bhalla’s neck, and that spells trouble for you! You see, Karan is responsible for at least half the fun you have on Ganga Panga. The other half is down to you. If the whistle should wake you at 6 in the morning, calling you from your slumber, then answer its call. The Ganga awaits, enticing you to take a dip at the feet of the Gods. And if you refuse? Well, the whistle will do the job for you. Suddenly you’ll no longer be in control of your limbs; the whistle holds sway over others too-Karan’s trusty henchmen, the ever-enthusiastic Kaamya and Teyjus, and the usual suspects, Tina, Mohit, Hiranya, Adi and the rest, each as exuberant as the Whistler himself in their love for living life to the full. Their boundless energy is infectious, and galvanises a group such as the intrepid souls that happened to chance upon the calling of that magical, pied-piper of a whistle. And when you add the colourful, chaotic festival of Holi into this heady cocktail, you know you’re onto a winner!!
Carrying helpless victims down towards the Ganga has to be one of the most satisfying things about Ganga Panga, especially if you’ve already been thrown in yourself. Grab a leg, or an arm, hold them over the water for a while, draw it out a bit. Dip their bum in first-ahhhh that’s quite cold isn’t it?! Then it’s a 1…….2…...3……CHUCK!!! Watch as they splutter and wake up-in-an-instant in the fresh, icy Ganga Then move on, they have passed the test; they are one of you now.
We were lucky enough to be ensnared into the wildness of Ganga Panga back in October, so in some ways we were prepared for just how much fun the trip would be, and that only added to the excitement. I recruited Tommy and Booj (Patrick) along for the ride, hoping they’d be up for some Indian adventures, and they certainly didn’t disappoint. In the weeks leading up to Holi Saroj and I met up with some of the Delhi crew, but the fact that we then more, like-minded, fun people on arrival at Nizamuiddin, or even on the train itself, made it all the more special.
What a train journey! I’ve never been on a train when the entire carriage is devoted solely to one group, our group, but that is just what happened, and it was a good job too, that no-one else was trapped in that debauched coach on that fateful night. I would have felt sorry for them, for a few seconds at least. There was easily 60 of us, al tooled up to the eyeballs with a dazzling array of alcohol. It was almost midnight, and a Saturday night too, so you can imagine the mood of the carriage. Tom and Pat had only arrived in India, for the first time ever, that same morning, and we had stayed up drinking and talking till the early hours, then again cracked open the beers a good few hours before we left, so we were in a predictably fired-up state!
A buzz ran through the carriage, epitomising the electric energy of Ganga Panga. The Old Monk preached to the converted that night, dutifully doing his rounds and ensuring all felt blessed by his touch. One thing became clear that night- after a few drinks lads like nothing better to do than take off their tops and engage in a bit of male bonding and showmanship. An image that is ingrained on my mind is Tom, having met everyone just an hour before, stripping off his t-shirt and advancing towards Vishal, a suggestive glint in his eye! The girls loved it, except for Vishal’s wife, Sangeen that is, who was alarmed he seemed to be enjoying it too!
Now, if there was an award for performance that night it would go to one person…the infamous bellydancer Parag! If he should ever decide to give up his job, there is a career waiting for him as a dancer. Moving with such effortless grace, Parag rolled that belly in mesmeric fashion, wowing his onlookers. The Indian Train Service had never seen such behaviour, and it’s probably a good job too because none of us would ever see Parag again; the conductor would have snapped him up to perform on the trains for life!
There was another dancer on board that night, but as I was the only one to see him in action some people believe that he was merely a figment of my imagination. But I know the truth, and it was one of the most surreal experiences of my life! I stumbled out of the toilet, admittedly half-cut, and this music, it was some quality trance, floated down the corridor, catching me completely unawares. I gazed around for the source of the music, peering left and right. Suddenly from nowhere, a leg snaked into view, then a body, and finally a man’s head. He was obviously a Sikh, with a green turban, deep saucers for eyes and a thick black beard. He seemed to be moving as one with the music, and upon seeing me, his body gyrations moved up a notch. He really an incredible dancer, or body-popper (either that or the Old Monk and chapattis were taking effect). Facing him, I replied with some moves of my own, and for a few minutes the real world ceased to exist; it was like we had been sucked into a bizarre music video, honestly it was so good! Who was this guy, and where had the music come from? As quickly as it started, the moment was lost in the sands of time.
How often do you find yourself floating down the Ganga, looking up at the clear blue sky, soaking up the sunshine (and water), drinking in the scenery (and water), without a care in the world? Certainly not as often as you should! The bodysurfing on the first day summed up the leisurely pace of life up in Rishikesh – sit back, go with the flow, and see where you end up, The beauty of this laissez-faire existence is you never know what will happen next; we had no idea we’d lose all feeling in our arms and legs after ten minutes of floating downstream in this fresh, icy water, but that only served to make the sweet chai afterwards taste even better!
There is a strong sense of detachment from reality at Ganga Panga, on that glorious, golden stretch of sand-Shivpuri, that nestles snugly between the river on one side and the steep incline up to the dusty main road above on the other. The accommodation-simple yet luxurious, two person tents set back towards the trees and away from the water’s edge. As darkness falls on the camp kerosene lanterns appear as if by magic, hanging outside each tent and bathing the place is a warm, yellow glow accentuated by the sand underfoot. Perhaps it was simply good timing but the blazing sphere of the sun and the shimmering full moon followed each other in a sweeping arc high up in the sky so that the Snow Leopard camp was always bathed in light. As we stayed up progressively later and later, night became day and day turned into night until all sense of time was meaningless.
Only when there is no means of electricity do you realise just how nice it is without any, and that going ‘back to nature’ is really not that bad after all. It was actually a welcome relief to be without car horns, drilling, music; all the usual sounds that assault your ears in Delhi. Instead, the night is quiet, calm, and, as Asta told us late one evening/early one morning as he prepared to walk back to Camp Panther, the best time to spot a leopard, padding silently through the forest.
I first met the Captain up at the toilets and showers, which are tucked away at the far end of the camp, up a flight of steps carved into the hillside. When this path was beautifully lit up at night, it reminded me of the idyllic setting of the film Mamma Mia. Anyway, so the Captain saw me hitting an imaginary shot and asked if played golf. Of course, I didn’t know him as the Captain then; that would come later, in the haze of someone’s tent…
‘Roger that, we are ready for take off’, said the pilot, making sure all systems were set. On the signal, he pulled back the throttle, felt as the flames hit the pipe and BOOM! WE HAVE LIFT OFF! The F-16 soared high into the Shivpuri sky, dousing everything around it in a warm, orange glow. The B-52 Bombers were next, and Hiranya was in the hot seat.
..I also didn’t know just how much fun Amitabh and his wife Tammy would be. Free-spirited and easy going, the fact that they came on Ganga Panga with their two children is a testament to us all, and if anyone came to symbolise the true nature of Ganga Panga, it was Kaamya and Teyjus! Kaamya, take a bow; who else would do the cliff jump into the icy water five, yes FIVE times?!! Who was always at the front of the queue, willing to try out something new? And who returned to camp after rafting with a HUGE smile on his face, having flipped in the RollerCoaster, but Teyjus! (Tammy did too actually; she was buzzing, now we know where they get it from!) Kids-your enthusiasm and energy rubbed off on all of us - GANGA PANGA DOOM DHARAKA!!! HOOO HA! HOOO HA!
“No dhanna no khanna!!” Which translates into: “No singing, no eating!!” If you’re blessed with a good voice (like Saroj, or Kanu), and even if you’re not (like me and Pat), you still have to still round the fire before you are allowed to eat at night. Cue some hilarious performances, an eclectic mix of Hindi and English songs. The Backstreet Boys made an appearance, and Parag the bellydancer was called up on stage again, but it was the girl group of Kaamya, Saroj and Kanu that stole the show, whispering about their dance routine and trying to choreograph it secretly whilst the rest of us watched on in amusement. But good effort girls, it was an impressive number and you earned your food that night!
“Oh my God, I feel like I’m in Football Factory! Every time I hear your voices, especially yours Tom, I think I’m actually on that film set, and you’re gonna do me in!” That was Parag, surrounded by 3 English guys in our tent late one night. It was hard to tell if he was petrified or loving it! “You tryna mug me off?”, asks Tommy, nailing the accent perfectly, and sending Parag into hysterics. It was funny because we were in possibly the least-like Football Factory setting in the world-relaxing on a beach in the mountains of India!
Nikkel and his girlfriend entered the tent, eager to see what Parag was getting so excited about. I hadn’t spoke to Nikkel before that night but I’d watched him dominate the volleyball, and first Ganga Panga game. A real athlete, Parag says you should see him on a basketball court. Anyway, we’d bought some lethal gin and lemon concoction from Delhi, our one variety to Old Monk, and had cracked it open that night. Passing it round, the bottle comes to Nikkel. Like a fish, he opens his mouth and absolutely nails it, quickly going back for more too, gulping it down like water. Suitably impressed, we wondered how he managed it, and the next morning, found our answer, and Nikkel, hiding round the back of the tents! Later that day however he recovered so much that, along with Celine, he ruled the dance floor on the train, the two of them throwing out some very cool shapes. What energy, even after Holi!!
Holi-the festival of colours; I’ve never seen anything like it. Having take an enforced early-morning dip in the river, and taken a swig of Old Monk, I was ready for day. Well, I thought I was. Basically, anything goes, and there is no restraint. Holi is all about enjoying yourself to the full. The colours came out soon after breakfast-brilliant greens, yellows, pinks and purples. Luminescent, they glowed in the morning sun, and soon they could be seen on people’s faces, dying their hair, staining their clothes, covering the beach, it was brilliant! “Happy Holi!” rang out at Shivpuri; I didn’t realise but the way you celebrate the festival involves you walking up to someone and smearing their face with as much colour as possible, then shouting “Happy Holi!”-what a great idea and way to have fun! And the beauty of doing it there was, when you want to get rid of the colour, simply run into the river!
Those fighter jets were back…
The Pink Baba closed his pink eyes, inhaled through pinkened nostrils, contemplated (in pink), then, to the astonished crowd, with a deep, pink voice, he spoke: “Holiiiiiiiii”. “Holiiiiiiiii”, he repeated, just in case people hadn’t got the message. The tent erupted with laughter; to see a man covered head to toe in fluorescent pink is truly something. Hair, face, eyebrows, body; a sea of pink. What possessed the Pink Baba on that most Holy of days? Minutes earlier (and there are photos somewhere), the Baba had blessed the locals as they bowed down before him, as we pissed ourselves, probably the highlight of the trip. His work done, the Baba cleansed himself of wisdom and colour, back into the Ganga, so that others might learn too.
There are many, many ways to enjoy your time at the Snow Leopard camp; games, activities, adventures. The volleyball is a firm favourite, people love getting a face full of sand for some reason....ultimate Frisbee made an appearance this Holi, Shubhra being one of the earliest casualties of battle (great dedication Shubhra!). You can take kayaks or canoes out onto the river, or simply sit and appreciate the natural beauty that is all around you.
Or you could play Ganga Panga! Whilst being the name of this crazy group, Ganga Panga also lends itself to an infusion of football on the beach and rugby in the water, with canoes at either end that serve as goals. The rules are there are no rules. Well there are, but they are soon forgotten in the heat of the moment. Once the toss has been decided (thanks to referee Adi’s invisible coin!), the whistle (yes, the same whistle that sits around Karan Bhalla’s neck) is blown, all Hell let’s loose!
Encouraged to take people out, dunk them, drown them and generally wreak havoc in order to win, Ganga Panga is not for the faint-hearted! I can vividly recall Saroj, in the midst of some much bigger guys, battling bravely for the ball, only to get an elbow in the face for her troubles. She staggered round, unsure of her whereabouts, but like a true solder was soon back in the thick of the action, emerging seconds later having twisted her arm this time. “No more”, she said, the pain plain to see on her face. We had bruised shins, stubbed toes, swollen ankles, but it’s exactly that dedication to the cause that makes you a winner! Funny, I ended up on the losing team 3 times, sorry guys! Although Patrick nearly scored a wonder header; arriving from nowhere and flying through the air at speed, then I just missed with a header of my own, if only…
There were some closely fought battles this time round, but who should step up in the penalty shoot-out of the final and drill his shot, Cristiano Ronaldo-esq, past the helpless keeper? Yes indeed, it was Tommy, the Pink Baba himself! His goal sparked the winning team into wild celebrations, so that the battle cry of: “GANGA PANGA DOOM DHARAKA!!! HOOO HA! HOOO HA!” rang out around the camp, steadily increasing in fervour and energy so it seemed that they would explode with happiness. This is what you get when you combine Ganga Panga and Holi=a criminally satisfying blend of revelry and fun!
P.s There are lots more memories I have of Ganga Panga, but these were the ones I could recall straight off. Watching people spin round so fast they fall over; running the rapids with our wicked rafting team (especially the girls-Tanu, Promita and Saroj), who managed to sneak up on and then soak every other raft in sight (go team!); teaching the locals 21’s in the food tent; seeing if I could become Spiderman in the rappelling; enjoying that first-night cigar with Adi; having a chat with someone in the showers about a Bollywood film star being in town (I’m still not sure if this was a joke or not?!) and many others.
Thank you to everyone-the guys up at camp; Mohit and the Bhallas for organising this incredible adventure, and most of all, to you!!! :-)
