When I landed in Plattling, Germany, for the Freestyle Kayaking World Championships, I wasn’t just stepping into an international arena, I was stepping into a dream that had quietly carried me through years of unseen struggles, silent resilience, and rivers that didn’t always lead to recognition. I came bearing more than just a paddle and a boat. I carried with me a lineage of stories that rarely make it to global waters — the dreams of a brown girl from India who once found freedom in a river and never looked back.

Being the first woman from India to compete at the Freestyle World Championships was already a milestone. Becoming the first Indian squirt boater at this level felt like breaking the surface of a long-submerged history. One where women like me were never expected to paddle against currents, let alone rise in them. Yet here I was, not just participating, but belonging.

I wasn’t always sure I could belong in freestyle. My kayaking journey has mostly been about creeking: running rivers, technical and big volume whitewater. I dabbled in slalom and kayak cross, but freestyle always felt like something reserved for others. I didn’t see many around me doing it, and with limited access to playboats or freestyle features, it felt distant.

My first coach, Ayodhya Bhaiya, was the first I saw playboat. Knowing that he’d even competed in Plattling years ago felt surreal when I arrived here myself. I remember watching him throw tricks, and sometimes I’d run my home river, the Ganga, in his old playboat. My friends would help me practice by literally holding the boat and helping me attempt a loop. But I never really committed. Freestyle felt like something I could admire, not necessarily do. That changed with this experience. It’s safe to say freestyle has caught my heart now. I want to continue whenever and however I can.

One of the most transformative parts of this journey was the ICF Development Camp, which took place the week before the event. It wasn’t just a training program; it was a crossing of worlds. There, in that vibrant patchwork of people and cultures, I met athletes from Kenya, Uganda, Peru, Argentina, Slovakia — and of course, my teammate Devi and I represented India. Each of us brought a story shaped by our rivers, our communities, our struggles, and our hope.

I still remember sitting by the water one evening with Martha from Uganda. She told me how her father had taught her to paddle, how the Nile shaped not just her skills, but her spirit. She was the first woman from her immediate community to take up kayaking.

When Martha paddled, I could feel the rhythm of generations behind her. There was something profoundly humbling in paddling alongside her. The grace in her movement, the joy in her laughter, the culture she carried so effortlessly. Watching her was like witnessing poetry in motion, born from a river that has given life to civilizations.

That’s what made the development camp more than just a place to train. It was a sanctuary of shared humanity. We weren’t just athletes, we were people of color, of strength, of different languages and rivers, coming together in a space that saw us not as outsiders, but as equals.

One day, I met Jorg, who was taking photos of the athletes. I told him how I’ve always dreamed of a photo with my kayak in a traditional Indian saree. I didn’t have one with me, but I had my kurta. He smiled and said, “We’re definitely doing it.” That image more than any other reminds me that we belong, fully, unapologetically, as we are.

What struck me most during my time in Germany was how the freestyle community held space for us. It wasn’t a space defined by medals or times, but by mutual respect. We were new, but we were never made to feel “less.” The coaches—Valerie, Maxi, and others—taught us with care and without judgment. World-class paddlers cheered us on every step of the way. And in the eddies where we waited our turn, we found acceptance and solidarity.

Still, the nerves were intense. Sitting in the eddy, watching world-class athletes go before you— it’s intimidating. But there was so much support. My teammates from the development camp, especially, cheered loudly every time I took a run. And that meant the world.

In my first official ride of the competition, I definitely had “competition fever.” I kept debating whether to go for the entry move but ended up struggling to land a spin. When I flipped on the wave, even my roll had deserted me! I finally rolled up on my fifth attempt. The crowd still cheered, which was heartening, but I was shocked and disappointed with myself. I had let nerves take over.

Right after my shaky first ride, Jezz Jezz came over. He pointed out how I’d done things I knew I could do better, and that short conversation really helped me reset. In my second ride, I didn’t rush. I just felt the wave, didn’t pressure myself to score, and somehow, I enjoyed it so much more. Spins and shuv-its were all I had, but they came out clean, and it felt satisfying.

Then came the squirt boat event — something I had never tried until three days before the competition. Just sitting inside the boat was a challenge. It felt claustrophobic. I remember thinking, I’m going to drown in this boat. But Valerie, our coach, showed me the technique, and once I got into the rhythm, it started to make sense.

In the eddy, I had Anna Bruno, Sera Janson Zegre, and Alex Horne encouraging me and laughing with me. Their energy made it all feel fun, not scary. Watching others do the mystery move — disappearing underwater for seconds at a time— looked magical and unreal. And when it was my turn, I simply did what I knew from those three practice days. I scored something. That was enough to make me happy.

Even without the competition, the experience of meeting elite paddlers from around the world was surreal. These are athletes we had seen in videos. Legends of the sport. And yet, they sat with us, shared meals, gave tips, laughed with us, and listened. Getting to witness the humility behind the excellence made me feel something I hadn’t always felt in competitive spaces: joy. Pure, expansive joy.

Experiencing all of this — freestyle, squirt, community, culture — in such a short time was overwhelming in the best possible way. Seeing people travel across the globe for a sport they love and then lifting each other up the way they do was profoundly inspiring.

At most competitive events, there’s a weight. An expectation to deliver, to prove, to justify your presence. But here, while the level of performance was world-class, the environment was deeply human. There was a balance between competition and community, between pushing ourselves and holding each other. That balance, that culture, is what I wish for back home.

In India, kayaking is still finding its way. And for women, especially from modest backgrounds, that way is often blocked by lack of access, infrastructure, and representation. But now, I return not just with new skills and knowledge, I return with stories, connections and a renewed purpose.

This is the spirit I hope to bring back to the rivers I come from. I want girls and boys in India to know that they belong in these spaces, not as tokens but as trailblazers. That their stories, too, can be written on water. As I look back on Plattling, I no longer see it as a singular experience. I see it as a ripple. A beginning. And though Devi and I may have been the first Indian women in that eddy, I know we will not be the last.

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Guest contributor Naina Adhikari is India’s number-one female kayaker and the founder of the Ganga Girls. A Class IV ACA-certified raft guide, Naina’s dream is to open an NGO that creates a space for survivors of abuse and human trafficking to experience her home river, the Ganges, and the empowerment that comes from navigating its holy waters. 

Photography courtesy of Naina Adhikari, Jorg Luhmann-Der Ausloser and Peter Holcombe.