“Park…park…park.” Only one of them could read, two figured out from the familiar shape of the words and one just parodied the chorus. “Park…park…park…” the boys screamed with a maniacal unison like frenzied rock fans in an upper-fuelled concert. We were only 25km out of Mussoorie, on our way to Rishikesh. The only thing on our adult minds was rafting. “Park…park…park…” Swirly white water creating those ominously inviting whirlpools… “Park…park…park…” Plunging at precarious angles through spray screens with shiny, lovat boulders looming half-a-hand away… “Park…park…park…” Dhanaulti was early even for