| hippie |
Posted
on 10-Nov-02 12:41 PM
Inspired by Deep and oys_chill, the movie "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and aided by some "stuff" ........
Fear and Loathing in Nepal
I recoiled. It wasn’t exactly fear per se. Rather it was anger as I struggled to pick up the phone at three in the morning. “Mula, teen bajaya bihana pani kohi jiudo manchhe lay phone garchha rah. Saatya nash hosh tesko”, bhandai I groped for that stupid receiver. Eyes still closed, I barked, “Mula, ko ho?” stressing on the question mark. It was Kale.
Funny that all of us had been so engrossed in our work trying to be a “thulo manchhe” that ten years had passed since we had last met. Instantly, I felt a sudden uneasiness. Quivering, he muttered: “Oway yaar. Chado aahija Bir Aashpatal mah. Hamro Mote coma mah chha. Room no. 60 mah rakheko chha teslai. La jhattai aaijah hai.” As he hung up the phone, my resolve started to weaken and I felt this pressing need for a “hit”. If life indeed flashes before your eyes when you die, I wonder what Mote had thought of before he went into the coma. Maybe he reflected on one of our badmashi congregations twenty years ago. I still vividly recall our last psychedelic rendezvous.
As is usual with him, Mote came a few minutes late, panting and drenched in sweat. Wincing in pain, he lamented, “Hya yaar, yo thau dherai tada bhayo. Change garu yaar.” To which, Kale retorted, “Khana kaam gare po hunchha mu**. Mula, balla pako chha yesto gajjab ko thau. Aba talai bhanera charter plane magai deula nee. Aba soon nah Mote mu** ko kura pani." Befuddled, Mote stammered back, “Tah tah, salay …. koila ….. hapsi….. Nah ka-ka-kara hai mah sanga …..” But Kale was right this time. It had taken us two months to find this secluded hideout. It was perfect to perform our diurnal illicit affairs, as few people came that way for the fear of the “baan-boksi”. Eager to get started, I tried to calm Mote, “Hunchha yaar. Pahilay tanum, ani sochula.”
Kale and Mote, however, continued with their usual bickering. Losing patience, I gladly finished the first “khilley” without them. Just when I was getting ready for the more potent ether hit, Kaley and Mote bellowed in unison, “Aaye mula, eklai sakkau-chhas key kya ho sabai!” Already a little light-headed from the g, I muttered in daze, “Khoi mula! Afu lai tah jhagada-sahgada garna aaudaina, tanna matra aauchha ..… haha …... La la aaija, mula haru!” Two hours and a heavy dose of ether later, all three of us were embroiled in our own drug-infested utopia or dystopia, as was often the case with Kale. We were now in a survival mode: some struggling with thoughts and some battling with delusional vision.
Our “etherified” Kale was defending himself against the ominous looking bats with his hatti-chhap chappal and crying in despair:
“Oway, oway, hare tah! Bhagwaan hamee sanga risayo jasto chha yaar. Katra-katra chamero hamee lai marna pathayeko.”
I whispered to Mote: “Lau mula lai lagee sakyo jasto chha.”
Mote, adorning a mandah “Monalisa smile”, mocked Kale:
“Kale! Murkha ko murkhai bhayish taah tah. Tyo tah talai chamero haru lay side po haneko ho!”
Mote and me burst into laughter as we watched Kale fend off those fictitious bats. Now, the ether was getting to me too. I thought for a second and an instant fear gripped me as I realized: “Well, if Kale is right, hamee tah bihee na gardai marne bhayou.” Being the smarter (afno sochai nah ho) and certainly the more pragmatic of the two, I didn’t want to take any unwarranted risks. I fled like a racehorse with a desperate need to pee before Kale’s menacing bats could wreck havoc on my tanneri jiwan.” Meanwhile, Kale kept on the fighting heroically and whilst Mote wondered off in his thoughts……
Fast Forward: 20 years.
Everything changed with time. Some for better but mote for the worse. Ironically, Kale had gone on to become a doctor in Bir Aashpatal. I, on the other hand, had embarked on my aimless odyssey, collecting stories and absorbing thoughts. While Mote, the usually happy-go-lucky keto had been consumed by excess of the 60’s. If Tim Leary were alive today, he’d be proud of Mote.
One look at Mote, wearing the same serene “Monalisa smile” even in coma, and you wouldn’t believe he had gone on an ether-binge the night before. Neither could we. Yet, here we were facing the grim reality and fearing that he may never come back. Maybe, he was going to spend the rest of his life confronting “bats” of a different kind—his kind. Or, we hoped, perhaps not.
Two hours later, I went home promising to return in the morning. Unable to sleep, I put on what used to be “our” favorite movie, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, to reminisce the good times we had shared. With the voice of delirious Raoul Duke (from the movie) ringing in my ears, “ ….. you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug…….” I slumbered in the couch. I was tired emotionally, if not physically. I am not sure how long I was asleep, but the ringing of the phone jarred me back to confront the grim reality. Fearing for the worst, I reached out and meekly answered, “Hello.” An upbeat Kale at the other end continued: “Oway mu**, salay mote hosh ma aayo yaar. Mu** chado aaija hai. La tah mula.” I noted how Kale’s liberal use of the “mu** parlance” during happier times had not changed at all. Letting out a sigh of relief and I chuckled, burden free.
Imitating his voice I acknowledged, “La la ma aaye. Some things never change and some do. Yestai rahechha jindagi hogi, mu** Kale.”
Here’s to a drug-free Hippie World ;)!!!!
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