The Teesta in monsoon has a *xor* to it—not quite anger, but a heavy, knowing patience, like the old men who sit on our town's *adda* benches watching the rain ruin the road. Last summer, I saw a group of Delhi boys in those bright plastic life jackets laugh at a local guide who asked them to tie their helmets properly; half an hour later, one was banking against a rock on the Class III, and that same guide pulled him out by the strap without a single *acha* or *bhai*. My grandfather's rule for harvesting betel nuts is the same as for these rivers: you never rush a thing that can drown you, and the safest gear is the one your body knows well enough to curse in your own dialect.
#river-safety
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