"That is not a drug, it’s a leaf.”, so said Arnold Schwarzenegger…
And this holds true when in your mid-40s, you are in a reunion and you meet your old hostel mates and college friends, and suddenly you are no longer this almost-old man with receding hairline and bulging tummy. Back during our student days, it almost felt cultural for most of us to be smoking weed together.
For obvious reasons, I will refrain from taking “real names” in this write-up! Let’s see if you can guess who are the characters in these paragraphs.
So, going back to the weed-story I began with, let me tell you that it was a total - filmi atmosphere for smoking weed. The scene was reminiscent of a sexy Zeenat Aman swaying to ‘dum-maro-dum’ in a dimly lit overcrowded room. (You just need to substitute the actors with a middle-aged mélange of doctors who had flocked in from near and far in a picturesque resort, tucked away in the lush jungles of a complacent north-eastern state of India.). The crowd was grooving to the music, the rhythmic beats creating a sentimental trail from the present to the past.
I, the unofficial and self-proclaimed caretaker of the group, was also enjoying the vibe. It was awesome to be with friends, and it was more satisfying to see everyone enjoying the moment. With two left feet, I found myself shaking a leg to the music, and another “serious” /straight-lipped / proper / ladylike / professional friend of mine, who never deviates from her breakfast-lunch-supper routine and regularly meditates, began dancing! Even more surprising was to see another friend with a couple of fused vertebrae setting the dance floor ablaze with her moves.
Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I was pulled aside by the culprit. “Chakro, look look! Weed!!!” Ms. Composed remarked, widening her eyes (her eyes were almost as big as mine at that precise moment). I looked around and saw Mike Tyson and Khali rolling up innocent cigarettes. I, a pathetic teetotaler who knows no distinction between Phantom cigarette and Bandor bidi, was not much interested in the development taking place. Ms. Composed was a bit worried as she does not like her bedsheets crumbled, and she must have envisaged the weedy-worries that would ensue in case the guys reached a “high”. I consulted Ms. Sexy-Back on the matter, and she comforted me by saying that normies will always be normies, and they don’t necessarily like it when someone is smoking weed. I was reassured by her words and decided to ignore it.
In no time, Mr. Lone-Wolf joined in to roll the joint. He saw me looking stealthily at him with child-like curiosity, and taking pity on my seemingly pathetic knowledge on weed, he decided to teach me a few things about it. I know – it is not easy to learn and retain knowledge at the age I am in, but Lone-Wolf can be a lucid speaker at times. He told me that people reach for cannabis mainly to soothe their anxiety, and also has some of other, non-chill effects — such as the giggles — which enhance the experience. If you consume weed, you likely know the feeling: constantly teetering on the brink of laughter, even if nothing remotely funny is happening. He also noted that weed also lowers the inhibition of your laugh reflex — say, in situations that your sober mind would deem giggling inappropriate — by acting on the frontal lobe, responsible for inhibiting behavior. Having had enough of the lessons being given, I drifted away to meet Ms. White-Lee, who seemed a bit lost in the crowd. She expected some more fun, but was a bit disappointed at the tepid middle-aged doctors whose kids were either in college or were on the threshold of school and college. However, “spirits” managed to lift her spirits, and it felt good to see her finally mingling with the others and enjoying the party.
Meanwhile, Ms. Composed remained worried. Weed was in her mind, and sitting with her, I was waiting for the “smokers” to laugh and roll on the floor. I reached out to Mind-Lamp and God-of-Light and told them to arrange for smooth transportation of the would-be -gigglers to their respective rooms so that the kids in the room are not alarmed. So, it came as a huge surprise to me when even after a couple of hours of keeping watch over the smokers like a loyal watchdog, I saw no changes in the demeanour of my weed-smoking friends.
The party ended, and it was time for the much-awaited after-party _
adda. Clad in an alluring satin kaftan, Ms. Sexy Back teamed up with Ms. New Leaf and took the best chairs in the verandah. As Ms. Dimpled-Smile started gobbling up the apples which I was painstakingly chopping, the “weeders” joined in. I could not contain my curiosity and at last asked them why they weren’t behaving like conventional “weed-smokers”. One of them, who could have married me if he was so interested in marrying a Virgo, narrated the sorry state of “weeds” in the jungle.
When the interested guys enquired about the “item” at the reception, initially the receptionist feigned ignorance. Then a “peddler”, who was lurking nearby, took them aside and promised them the most potent staff which was available at the local Shiva temple. Upon reaching the temple with the ”peddler”, they were told to go to the nearby local “weed-adda”, and my friends were very satisfied with the potent fragrance in the air. They bought the stuff and came back to join the party. Unfortunately, the item turned out to be of inferior quality, and Mr. Rockstar remarked that Wills Filter gave more “high” than the “weed” of the jungle! Ms. Dimpled-Smile decided to take a few puffs to test its authenticity, and when even she didn’t giggle, the weed was officially announced unfit for public consumption.
Mr. Unrequited Love, who found the entire situation very disappointing, specifically requested me to arrange for better and genuine stuff in the next reunion. Mr. Hero of Mahabharat was so unaffected by all this that he managed to reach a “new high” with a couple of puffs of Wills Filter. Mr. Mind-Lamp and Ms. Curly-to-Straight hair took the matter sportingly, whereas Ms. Polka Dots giggled her way to the bed with a grey shawl covering her cute head.
And thus, though the weed-tale ended in a whimper, we got high, higher and highest with our gossips and giggles…
