It wasnt about rafting down a river, neither was it about male bonding. It was just a break from Delhi 13 colleagues on an officially budgeted trip, yuppies looking for a quick fix, a respite from parking and e-mail. And it wasnt a trip that changed our lives nothing really does more a loosen-upper, something like Wilfred Mulliners Buck-u-Uppo in Wodehouses story. The kind of trip we all need once in a while, especially now that outbound development or Self-Experiential Adventure Tourism (SEAT) is here to stay.
Out in the distance was Good Morning, our first rapid of the day. But Im getting ahead of the story, and need to get back to our arrival at base camp a sandy shore, one of many, on the banks of the Ganga upstream from Rishikesh. And before Good Morning came the Cobweb. If you took a volleyball net, unravelled it and put the strands back together in a loose configuration, it might look like the Cobweb. Its tough to visualise and it was even tougher to get through. Two teams of six and seven each had one hour to figure out how to get through the strands. The rules were simple six of the holes in the net could be used for passing through to the other side, without touching a single strand. If five people passed through the other side, and the sixth touched a strand coming through, then all six came back and started again. Half an hour of getting down from a 10-hour bus ride, we had to figure out this Rubiks net from hell.
What became quickly apparent was that clothes were out, if you wanted to get to the other side. It wasnt a pretty sight 13 half-naked males going through hoops on one side of the Ganga. What also became apparent was that you couldnt do it alone. You were hefted, dragged, cajoled and cursed through that net by your team. God help you if you were the last one through (I was), because the drinks were on you if you messed up (I didnt).
The Cobweb kind of summed up what SEAT was all about. It wasnt about a workshop on team-building, it wasnt about discussing the experience, it was about living the experience. If you wanted to take something away, you did; if you didnt, it was just fun, which is not a four-letter word. When a round of rum and cokes depends on it, then you better get through that net. And we all did, all 13 of us.
Talking about cola brings me to the harsh reality of the morning after. Cruising down the river, around the ragged rock the ragged raft ran, on the ragged rock and on several other ragged rocks, we observed gigantic advertisements for a company, which shall remain unnamed for politically correct reasons. In short, they painted the river red.
Rafting itself is basically about getting wet, and having a good time while getting wet. Which became painfully apparent when my boats coxswain (or whatever it is theyre called), a mean-minded Aussie called Bruce, appointed me as masthead. For those familiar with Roman galleons, instead of a proud eagle at the mast leaning in to the wind, there was me. My duties were twin; one was to kneel in the front of the boat, with my head sticking into the wind, like Holding bowling into the breeze, slicing it away aerodynamically for extra pace. My other duty was chief bailer-out of the water which gathered in the bottom of the boat whenever we passed through an unpleasant rapid a not infrequent occurrence or in the aftermath of a fight between the two boats.
According to Vasant, the joint-director of the outbound-training company, there are three types of programmes companies opt for. One builds teamwork at the top; the second encourages mingling between senior management and trainees. The third was what we were doing experiential fun.
Surviving the Gangas rapids was chicken feed compared to the Muzaffarnagar bypass. Rapids are rated on a grade of one to six, with the maximum we did being a three (not counting the bypass, which rated a five). Golf Course was a three. What a stupid name for a rapid, you thought, until you realised that it had nine holes, and distinctly unfriendly holes they could be if you fell off the raft. These minor whirlpools looked like theyd do your back teeth no good at all, though youd gladden a dentists heart if he ever found you. We watched an Army team negotiate the golf course all grace and rhythm, a spandex ballet in action. While the non-swimmers on the team went walkabout, we idled around while our coxswains planned strategy. The final plan of action was more top-down than consensual, and a bloody good thing at that, because none of us fell off during the half-a-minute whirlwind.
Other rafting trips include a five-day trek down from Tehri, navigating five-plus rapids and sampling chilled wine during the pit stops. Not recommended for weenies, this requires two days of training. I would say its worth it primarily for the taste of the mutton, the backdrop of river and mountains, the beach bordering both, the sound of the guitar under stars youve never seen before, the calm of the river after a rapid. Perhaps they should call it inbound development instead of outbound, because in is where youre bound on this trip.
Rappelling is not for the faint hearted. No, Im not talking about wrestling. Thats grappling. In rappelling you free fall 60 feet off a rock face. Sit back and imagine a zig zag series of nine trees up a vertiginous slope, a rope linking each tree. What you had to do was pull yourself up that rope and pray you didnt lose your grip, the downside being a free fall off the rope suspended in mid-air. Not a cinch for us city slickers, but we did get up there, which brought us to the point of getting down. Getting down was simpler: approach the rock face, take a step backwards into thin air, the aim being to take vertical steps off the rock face. We have a zero per cent accident rate, except for the silly blighter who panicked mid-rock face, but he only had a mild fracture. As a trust-building exercise in the guy whos holding your life line, this is without parallel.
Two parties coordinate outbound programmes. The facilitators are usually qualified in the arcane degrees of outbound development. They came from diverse backgrounds one was a farmer, the other an engineer. The second type are the jocks who get you through the rapids.
Its called your comfort zone, that feeling of invulnerability in familiar environments. In Rishikesh we had to move out of our comfort zone very fast, and the first signs were the clothes we shed in the Cobweb. Faster than any classroom Get crazy session. The other realisation was that no matter how many companies you have reengineered, merged or acquired, here youre a nobody who has to rely on someone youve never seen before to get you off a cliff or out of a watery hole. Humbling.
Sand all over the house is how it ends. Sand which takes ages to get out of your toes, shoes, pants, socks... I cant wait to go back. But this time, no Cobweb.
