I am not an extreme sports person. I am not even a sportsperson. I pretend to run a bit, I cycle sometimes, and oh yes I drove a tank once. None of which really qualifies you to bungee jump. For that, you need to be a self-hating, air-pumping, I-love-life-on-the-edge sort of screwy somebody. All of which I am not.
So when we decided to do a fun weekend in Bangalore I was just going to be the cheerleader at this bungee venue that had just been set up and everyone else wanted desperately to try. Once there, I made my first strategic mistake. I spoke to the jumpmaster. He was a Frenchman and I was practising my French. Or so I thought. Actually, he was gently persuading me. And I, schmuck-like, was getting persuaded. He said the usual things, about how big a thrill it could be, about how more people die crossing roads than they die bungee jumping. The sun must have affected me, because instead of coming up with some clever retort, I sappily nodded oui oui.
Faster than you could say French fries, I had signed the release forms, had my BP checked, and was climbing up a scaffolding tower strapped into what must have clearly been a strait jacket.
The tower was about 125 feet high, with a cage encircling the very vertical flight of steps. It went on and on, like a modern-day Rapunzelian tower on a bad hair day. I thought the climbing was extreme sport enough, but none of the other half-a-dozen loonies with me that day realised this or even reduced their manic cheerfulness. Finally, we hauled ourselves out of a little trap door on to a platform.
The view was gorgeous, a sharp breeze was blowing, and Bangalore stretched herself lazily far below us. An assistant described how we ought to spread our arms like wings, keep our bodies straight like arrows and simply tip over the side, face downwards, and keep our minds blank of everything but the act of jumping. He didn’t need to tell me that — my mind was blank as an icy plain, frozen with fear. I was clammy, nauseous, and very close to peeing in my pants.
We were all lined up, and of course I chose to go last. I needed every minute for prayer. Everybody else jumped, smoothly and gleefully. Then came my moment of reckoning. Someone tied the rope to my shaking ankles and gave the spiel. Something about floating down like a bird, something about the thrill. I walked like a zombie to the edge and they started the countdown 3-2-1-go… and then I froze.
I was corpse-cold. I could taste the fear in my mouth (it tastes foul). Tottering back, a shaking, sweating, crying mess, I collapsed into the jumpmaster. The mystified Frenchman spoke gently, realising he was dealing with a cretin. He said it’s okay, I could just walk back down, ça va?
Somehow, that was not an option at all. So I stopped sniffling, wiped my eyes on the poor man’s shirt and went back. By now it was drizzling. I remember one part of my unhinged mind thinking the rain might hide the tearstains and another part wondering why anyone might want to do this for fun. But there I stood again shakily on the edge. And they did the countdown thing again. This time I just shut my eyes and jumped. A desperate, suicidal kind of throw. No elegant, bird-like moves for me. Just a clumsy, curled-up, foetal-position leap of faith.
I heard myself screaming as I fell. Then I bounced up nauseatingly and fell again. Suddenly it wasn’t petrifying any more, just stomach-churning, like a rollercoaster. I tentatively opened an eye and discovered an upside-down world swinging crazily. I heard distant voices telling me, bafflingly, to enjoy the view. Really? I focussed on my shoes.
It was all over quite soon. They slowly let me down on an air bag, where I lay like a landed fish. A staff photographer came along and asked me to smile. And I did. I grinned like an idiot, as if I hadn’t just gone through the most traumatic, life-stopping moments of my existence.
They say extreme sports give you an adrenaline high. I got that alright. I floated all day in a euphoric, endorphin-fuelled rush. But heck, what a lousy price to pay for it. I’ll settle for a smoke any day.
