Marijuana Mentor

"There are two rules of marijuana", he spoke in his deep and slow voice that resonated as much as it hypnotized. Sujoy, he was my friend but more than that, he was my mentor in life. It was the first time I was doing weed. We got a pack full of leaves that would be enough for two joints per day for each one of us and would last for a week. I not only had a man with resources, I had a man with knowledge.

He sat with his legs crossed on the floor. Nobody was at home. His father was in police and his mother had gone out with his sister for household shopping. We both were alone. I don't know if two people can be alone, but if they can, we were. There was no speaking, only work. He was having the leaves placed on newspaper over a small stool and was crushing them carefully while throwing away some tiny hard balls.

"These balls hurt your balls. I don't wanna fuck for life and have no kids despite that. Throw them away, always", he told while facing downwards and crushing the leaves. Although he talked a lot about sex and girls, I never saw him with any girl ever since I met him. Either he was discreet or fake. Maybe he was gay and hiding his insecurity by talking about girls. I gave him the benefit of doubt and spend the last whole year of college hanging around with him.

I took the cigarette between my index finger and thumb from the filter end and gently pressing its tip while rotating it side by side, let the tobacco fall out of it. Sujoy began mixing the tobacco and marijuana leaves. He was from sociology but knew pretty well how to mix tobacco and marijuana in perfect proportions for a joint.

"This will be a strong one", he said while looking up at me. He never asked, he told. Either you were on his side or you weren't, there was no convincing, no requesting and therefore no resentment. I liked the way he lived his life. I always wanted a strong yet caring father. But what I had was a rude and commanding man who was my mother's lawful partner. So I enjoyed being in Sujoy's presence. Childhood wounds are deeper than we realise and it takes them way longer to come up to the surface than what it took them to get under our skin in the first place. He was mixing it nicely and that was about two thirds marijuana and one third tobacco. The rest would be used for another joint, he told me.

I didn't know what that paper was called. It seemed like a small part of butter paper. I didn't question. Sometimes it is better to have cake than to ask for its recipe. I just looked at him sitting in front of me across the small stool. He made a small paper cylinder by rolling a piece of drawing sheet tightly. It was the tip that was to be taken in mouth, he told me. He then placed that butter paper lookalike on the paper cylinder's tip and began wrapping it around it in a peculiar fashion. He was not making a cylindrical shape but a conical one out of that. He went ahead and finally with a lick of his tongue at that butter paper lookalike's edge, set it up with a press and it was finally set. He made the roll. We had the mixture at our side. So what were we waiting for, I wondered, and then he stood up and went over to take out a notebook and pencil. He placed them on his study table. He began filling the empty roll with the tobacco and marijuana mixture and made use of his pencil to leave no empty space in between. Within a minute we had a roll filled. By we I mean he. I was a passenger, he was the driver. Many a times people in our lives are passive rather than active, I was just being one of those passive folks since it made sense for a beginner to not mess up the work of those who were trained and advanced.

I first met Sujoy when I had to go for a meeting with the college principal. He was to accompany me. I could clearly see that the way he was dressed was pathetic but his body language projected a sense of confidence that was way deeper than I had ever seen before in my life. That was the day we first met.

I thought it was ready, it wasn't. He took the butter paper end of the roll and made a thin tip of it by rolling it firmly with his fingers. He knew what he was doing, not just while making a joint but in life. Maybe that was his key to confidence. I knew it was my reason to feel small, because I didn't knew things and I was not even marginally good at what I somewhat knew. I got the matchbox and took out a matchstick expecting him to ask me to light. Then he spoke what was taped to my ears for lifetime.

"There are two rules of marijuana". He spoke while looking at me. His eyes were shining without even being high.

"First one. The one who makes the joint doesn't smoke first. They only light. Second one. Whoever takes a drag, they take two at a time, no less and no more", he started deep into my eyes while holding the joint, "Go ahead", he said and we exchanged the stuff we had in our hands. Now he held the matchstick to the matchbox while I held the joint in my mouth waiting for the first drag. He lit the matchstick and I took a really long drag only to realise I had to take it deep but not long. My throat slicing cough made me realise it was very different from smoking, for it was not just tobacco. He passed me over the bottle of water that was already placed on the floor adjacent to us. I was right when I felt he always knew what he did. I drank some water to clear my throat while he took his two drags. I broke my rule, but he would forget me, I thought. He did, but sure he would bust my balls for that, I knew. He had his share and then passed me the magical remedy to all of life's problems. I took two small but deep drags while sparing my throat. This went back and forth until our eyes could see hazy and our ears could hear everything from faaaaar away.

I don't know why people do drugs. I only know that I did it to feel what I was really feeling. Most of the times in my life I was unable to speak what was in my heart and that got repressed forever. Other times I spoke my heart out only to realise my opinions were considered shitty by those who were supposed to understand me. One day me and my family members went to dinner. My uncle and his wife and kids were also there. Everybody was ordering something for themselves as it was my uncle's anniversary. "I want a dosa and kesari halwa. And one ice cream later when we will leave", I told my uncle. He was a loving man and he gave thumbs up to me. As soon as I turned left, I saw my father staring at me and said, "If somebody offers you something, don't open your mouth as big as you want. Respect". He said it in a voice so loud and with a tone so rude, I felt ashamed for asking what I had asked. Although I was sure that I would get what I wanted to have as my uncle told my father not to say anything to me, I didn't want to have anything after that. I ran outside the restaurant while tears rolled down my eyes on my cheeks that got warm and turned red due to what happened inside. I was just ten years old then. My aunt came running after me and gave me a hug but I still was weeping with an air sadness and felt undeserving deep down inside. She said nothing and we went outside. She sat with me on the garden bench and soon my mother arrived. She waved her to go away and sat with me for the rest of night while all others had dinner. I was in her arms with my head resting on her bosom. She was patting my back and caressing my hair. The love and acceptance I wanted, I never received from my parents, maybe that was the reason I felt so lonely at home. She then held my hand and asked me whether I wanted to go back in. I said nothing and clutched to her as tight as I could. She took me outside and we went to the ice cream vendor. We got my favourite cone ice cream and before I began licking it, I offered it to her. "This is for you dear", she said, "I won't eat before you begin", I replied. She began and I went ahead thereafter.

This act of me starting the joint while Sujoy held the matchstick triggered this memory that was more than a decade ago. That's why I did marijuana. To get back into the time I was sometime back and feel what I then felt. It only made me feel that my parents were uncaring, inconsiderate and harsh on me, which obviously was true.

I saw Sujoy writing down something in the notebook he had got with the same pencil which he used for stuffing in marijuana in the joint. He was the eldest child, his father's favourite, and probably that is why he hated his father so much. Everytime his father promised him something for his birthday; he didn't get that and got something else to compensate for it. The thing with promises is this. When you fulfil it, you get back sincere and joyful thanks, but when you don't, you stir anger and hatred. His father was superintendent of police but not smart enough to know how to keep promises and that his lovely son hated him from the core of his heart. The world was not shaking as I had expected it would after smoking weed. The voices were coming from far away; my eyes were focussed on whatever I saw. My mind had no thought other than the ones of past hurt and wounds that were paining so much. Despite that, I felt relaxing. My body was getting loose and I went over to see what Sujoy was writing....

 

Life promised rewards so big, I got pain instead

Family is so lovely, it is just a fairy tale

Love comes with conditions, welcome to my place

I thought it would last infinite, but happiness is minute long

I am a person of I don't know what, life seems so irrational

What I want is there for me, I am so privileged

I desire something from my heart, nobody seems to understand that.

 

I felt it was my story except for that I wasn't privileged to have what I wanted. Misery breeds in company, so does sadness. He closed his notebook and came to bed. I held his hand for he was trembling so bad I feared he might faint. We went to bed and lied together with our eyes closed and hands wrapped around each other's neck. I didn't have any idea how long would this last and then Sujoy spoke, "May this illusion last so long that reality may appear just another dream".