In Jaipur, approximately 5,000 hop into the balloon annually during the season (September-April); in Lonavala, it is about 1,750 riders each season.
By Preeti Verma Lal
Picture this. You are 4,000 ft up in the sky. Winging through ribbons of mist. You are flying. But you are standing. Yes, standing. Standing in an open wicker basket.
There is no seat. No seat belt to strap. No overhead loops to hang on to either. At that height, you probably won’t wheeze for breath. Still, prep your lungs. There is no emergency oxygen mask. There is a pilot, but no steering wheel. You fly with the wind. Yeah, just the wind. Imagine sailing at a speed of 70 km per hour.
You know where the flight took off from but the landing point is uncertain. The wind could take you anywhere. Anywhere. It is a one-hour flight. There is no toilet. You cannot ring in for munchies. Or, alcohol. You cannot light a smoke. The balloon’s fuel is highly-inflammable. It is LPG.
Not stashed in an under-belly tanker, though. They are in the same basket as you. Two 70-kg LPG cylinders stand inches away from you, bro. Be careful. You can keep the cellphones on, though. That’s what a hot air balloon ride is. Unharnessed. Standing. Without a definite landing point.
Ready for the Ride
Did I scare the daylights off your head? Don’t panic. I just got off a hot air balloon ride in Lonavala, Maharashtra. I am alive to tell this tale. So, wipe that sweat off the brow. If a sheep, a duck and a rooster can do it, so can you. Exactly 231 years ago in Paris, the three animals were the first hot air balloon passengers. They flew 2 miles for 15 minutes. And landed safely. One balmy November morning (call it night, it was 4.30 am), I was to do what the sheep did in 1783. A hot air balloon ride.
My car was whizzing past loaded trucks on the old Pune highway towards Kamshet, the balloon’s take-off site. The sky was ink black, the breeze nippy, the dirt track rutted. All that seemed munificent was a fat luminescent moon. 5 am. “This is the take-off point,” said Sangram Pawar, Skywaltz’s Maharashtra franchise partner, stopping the car in what seemed like the middle of nowhere.
Fallow land with beefy Sahyadri mountain range standing as sentinel. Skywaltz staff in yellow tees hurriedly laid a blue tarp, pulled the nine-seater wicker basket and 30-metre high balloon out of the pickup’s back and switched on a fan to inflate it. The monotony of a dark night was broken by the car’s headlights as Pawar quietly poured masala chai for everyone. 5.15 am. Within minutes, the balloon bloated into a fattened giant, the LPG cylinders pumping hot air for the desired lift.
When the balloon began to stand tall, Pawar ticked off all that is mandatory. The civil aviation ministry stipulates that a log book, a certificate of airworthiness, a compass, an altimeter, a burner re-lighter, a rate of climb indicator, among other things, should be on board during the flight. A weight schedule is obligatory because balloons have to stick to minimum/maximum weight schedules. I looked around. No one obese. No one gigantic. A quick weight math. Nine of us together would not jump the maximum limit. Thank god, I wouldn’t be off loaded!
In the burnished orange of the morning sun, an apparition started walking towards us. It was Hatem Shoheb, the pilot in grey cargos and a black tee. Shoheb was an aircraft engineer and a Cessna pilot trained in Egypt to be a hot air balloon pilot. The tall pilot took his fat gloves off and started in his Egyptian brogue. “Remember, there is no steering wheel, nothing to manoeuvre the balloon. I cannot steer the balloon at will. It is all dependent on the winds. At lower height, we travel at about 12 kmph; 70 kmph at higher height. The landing can be tough. Do not panic. Bend your knees and hold on to the rope loop…. The balloon could drag. Turn turtle. Do not panic.”
Fear Factor
I had no reason to panic. Thousands have ballooned before me. In Jaipur, approximately 5,000 hop into the balloon annually during the season (September-April); in Lonavala, it is about 1,750 riders each season.
Skywaltz holds a pan-India NSOP (non-schedule operators permit) and is the country’s sole commercial hot air ballooning company fully licensed by the civil aviation ministry. It was in 2008 that Jai Thakore started Skywaltz, which now has six balloons (four nine-seater and two four-seater) and operates flights from Jaipur, Pushkar, Ranthambore, Neemrana and Lonavala (Maharashtra).
This is the second season of ballooning in Lonavala. The beginnings were tangled in red tape. But after five months, a few missing files and frayed shoes, Pawar, a tall, mustachioed MBA from the UK, finally realized that all that he ever needed was a permit from directorate general of civil aviation (DGCA), the sole permission granting authority.
With a 12-month permit in hand, everyday drill includes informing the Pune Air Traffic Controller before every flight. The permit comes with stringent don’ts: Cannot fly within 15 nautical miles of Pune Airport. Cannot go above 4,000 ft. Cannot serve food or drinks onboard (special permits are required for this). Cannot have a pilot who has not cleared written/oral test conducted by DGCA. Up, Up and Away!
“Hop in”. Shoheb broke my balloon-fact trance. One foot on the blue step-ladder, another in the basket and lo! I found my corner in the basket. Above my head, was the 6,500-metre balloon envelope that a seamstress took five weeks to sew. The collective disquiet of my co-passengers was drowned in the hiss of the burning fire as Pawar fixed the GoPro camera to videoshoot the ride.
When the murmur of the fire hit a crescendo, the ground under my feet went missing. As the balloon inched up, I was suddenly reminded of Gulliver’s encounter with the Lilliputians, but nobody shouted Langro Dehul san.
The beginning was so smooth that I did not realize that I was standing unfastened. If I took two steps backwards I would have fallen into Indrayani river.
The balloon was running at a speed of 70 kmph but it was incredibly efficient. As the balloon glided over villages, little children waved excitedly, startled dogs barked raucously, men still in their pjyamas photographed with their phones and two dark horses in a stud farm galloped menacingly.
In an hour we had floated 10 km away from the take-off point. “The wind is nasty this morning. The landing will be tough. Bend your knees when I say bend”. Shoheb spewed instructions like a martinet.
The whispers inside the balloon multiplied; it reeked of fear. “Bend”. A voice roared. I bent. Like a war-hardened soldier. The balloon landed, dragged on a farmer’s field, turned turtle. Awkward laughter rent the air.
We were lying like kids in bunk beds. Horizontal. But safe. The pilot hopped out. Pulled one passenger out. Then, another. I waited.
My boots had mud on them. My geography muddled. I knew not where I was.
Only the Sahyadri range looked familiar. In a blink the field was agog with curious onlookers. First, countless nosy children. Then, came men. Old and young. All snooping. Staring at the balloon. Wondering whether aliens had landed.
An old man moseyed up to me. Touched my camera. Spoke Marathi. I smiled unknowingly. Another old man stepped in as a translator. “Do you know where you have landed?” he asked. I shook my head in ignorance. “This is Nathuram Godse’s village.” The balloon had landed in Godse’s village exactly 65 years and one day after he was sentenced to death on November 8, 1949. I stood by the deflated balloon. Dumbfounded.
Fact File
Rs 12,000 per person for a fully refundable ticket and Rs 8,500 for a non-refundable ticket; Rs 6,000 for children between 5 and 12.
Tickets are valid for 12 months. Price includes free pickup, drop from/to guest hotel and light refreshments. Before booking, check discounts and offers at skywaltz.com. You can also book online at bookmyshow.com
(The author is a freelance writer and photographer)
