For the past two years, as spring arrived, we found ourselves returning to a space just beyond the edges of the capital. Not too far, yet far enough to breathe differently. It became a ritual — stepping out of the city with our community to create something temporary, but deeply felt.
WHAT BEGAN AS A SIMPLE IDEA QUICKLY GREW INTO SOMETHING MORE MEANINGFUL
At its core, it was about music — vinyl being played in the open, underground dance records from different parts of the world finding their way into a shared listening experience. No excess, no spectacle. Just sound, space, and people. But over time, it revealed a deeper intention. It became a way to reconnect — not just with music, but with something more instinctive. A reminder that beneath the structures of the city, there is a part of us that still seeks openness, unpredictability, and freedom. A part of us that belongs in the wild.
The first gathering was a single-day event, held in the foothills of the Aravalli in Mangar Village. It was raw, unpolished, and honest. And that honesty stayed with us as it evolved into a two-day format — something closer to a festival, but still rooted in intimacy. Mornings unfolded slowly. People swam in nearby lake, explored the jungle, or took part in bouldering sessions. There was no rush, no fixed expectation — just a shared environment that allowed people to exist differently. As the sun went down, the energy shifted.
Evenings became a space for collective release — a dance floor shaped by sound systems and carefully curated music. Each day carried a distinct identity, with different genres and moods flowing through the space. Inviting artists like Unnayanaa, (BFR Sound System), Earl Gateshead from the UK, and Cantos from Los Angeles who brought their own interpretations of global dance culture.
At one point, even the Worldwide FM team found their way to the gathering — a quiet acknowledgement of what was being built. It felt like something was forming organically. A community, a rhythm, a shared understanding.
BUT BEHIND THE SCENES IT WAS NEVER EASY
Every edition came with its own set of challenges — rising costs, logistical constraints, and ongoing negotiations with authorities to secure permissions. Despite this, we managed to hold four editions, each one pushing through the friction.
Eventually, we chose to pause. Not because the idea had run its course, but because the space itself was changing.
Mangar Village had started to feel like home. But at the same time, we began noticing the shifts — more roads cutting through the land, new constructions rising, private developments pushing closer to the forest. What once felt open and untamed was slowly becoming regulated, observed, and reshaped. The wildness that defined the experience was being diluted.
The Aravalli landscape, long known as a refuge for climbers and a natural escape near Delhi, now stands at a fragile intersection — caught between preservation and expansion. Government policies, real estate pressures, and geographical positioning are collectively transforming the region in ways that may not be reversible. And with that, the culture around it begins to shift too. Taking a step back became necessary But this isn’t an ending.
If anything, it’s a moment of reflection. A pause to understand what was created, what was lost, and what could still exist in new forms. Because the essence of it was never tied to just one location. It lives in the people who showed up. In the music that was shared. In the feeling of stepping outside the expected and into something more free.
We remain hopeful that the community will find its space again — whether in the wild, or in new, unexpected places
Until then, the intention stays alive.
To keep building connections.
To keep exploring sound.
To keep bringing people together.
So that when the time comes to return,
it won’t just be about revisiting a place.
It will be about reclaiming a feeling.
A return not just to the land —
but to ourselves.
Back to the wild!
ARTICLE BY RISHABH KHURANA
THANK YOU FOR READING!
