The Insatiables

It all began that night when Sahu got that insatiable urge to get high! After all, things were going on pretty smooth of course with that standard deviation that life forces you to counter. Not that we were not surviving without the spliff; but then who the fuck could manage to reason with Sahu. He is a son-of-a-bitch, I tell you. He was the one who dragged not just himself; but me as well into this shithole of a mess. But it’s not that I was some innocent, do-gooder, docile dude. I wanted my share of spliff as well.

You might have obviously heard of the booze getting on top of you; but how many instances would you recall of you getting on top of booze, like literally? Not many times, I am sure. But then that was going to happen, as those motherfuckers made both me and Sahu strip down to nothing and were forcing us to take a seat… No, don’t even expect any pleasantries. There is no room for niceties here. They were not offering us a seat. They had broken beer bottles placed right under asses!

My version of Sahu (The Insatiable ver 2.0)

So, let’s roll back to where it all began… It was sometime in August, 2006, in Jayanagar, Bangalore. That is where I (the insatiable ver 1.0) met Sahu (the insatiable ver 2.0). Fuckin’ moron had come to this PG where I was staying. He came with his dad, looking all decent and all. He had that “good boy” look plastered all over his face. His dad took a tour of the PG and eventually agreed for Sahu to stay there. For the first few days, I was busy with my own shit. I had enough of it to handle, so there I was – keeping to myself. But then, they say in Hindi “Jab Kismet mein likhe hon laude toh kahan se milenge pakode”. And that was true in my case, sorry “Our Case” on both literal as well as the metaphorical level.

So, yeah there we were. Sahu decided to stay in the PG and his dad left him there. I was busy with my own shit for the first few days, or should I say weeks. However, eventually, I did manage to bump into him and boy, did that create chemistry! Not the ones, you would expect, folks! It was not meant to be one of them gay love stories. It was chemistry that you strictly find between straight, honorable men sharing a great; but plutonic friendship. So, yeah we met and from that point on, we blended like Blender’s Pride. Sahu was from Gujarat, and he got some kind of an insane kick to break the law there and indulge in high spirits. So, when we went out to drink for the first time, I asked him what would he prefer, he said “I drink only in Gujarat.” And I was like “What the fuck is so special about that place?” He said “It’s a dry state.” I mean come on; even a fuckin’ camel will tell you that it is a dry state. My question was “What the fuck is so special about that “Dry State”?” He said there’s prohibition on alcohol out there. Lofty concepts like “Freedom & Independence” can go for a flying fuck, I said. My reply to him was this “Dude, if you drink there, then you fuckin’ drink. Now, there’s no point being a wanker. Order what you want; because I am not taking your sissy answer that you drink only there.” And that’s pretty much how we bonded. From that point on, it kind of became a ritual for us to go out every goddamn weekend and transform ourselves into “free spirits” at a “nominal expense”.

Then came a night when we went out to indulge in some spiritual exercise again and after having drowned ourselves sufficiently, Sahu very gently walks over to me and whispers in my ear, “Mere paas maal hai”. To my naïve mind, I thought he was trying to reprise the dialog from the classic Deewaar; which I dutifully corrected “Abey DK Bose, dialog yeh nahi hai… Dialog hai “Mere paas maa hai.” He said “Mujhe pata hai; but I am not talking about the dialog. I am talking about the stuff.” He said he got the dope. Believe me, that was the first time, I ever saw what grass looks like. And I was like, “What the fuck do you think I am, Popeye or something?

We gulped down our last drinks, paid our dues and walked out, rather swayed out. The PG was just walking distance. We reached home, changed into our shorts and came out to the main verandah. Sahu was there already! Bastard, I had never seen him that excited. He was like a kid in a candy store. He took a small stash of grass out of his pocket, rolled one joint very quickly and THE moment arrived. It was the first time; I ever took a drag of dope. It felt brilliant. I could see it in Sahu’s eyes that he loved seeing me getting bombed. And bombed, I was. It was that day, it all started. Not that the incident we find ourselves staring at right now began that day; but somewhere the die was cast that night.

Nights after nights, we got hooked to it. Not the substance, mind you! But both Sahu and I were hooked to each other’s company. The good old adage stands the test of time, really. Intoxication soars even higher when the company is right. And that’s what we found with each other. Brothers of Peace, I thought, we should name ourselves and form a band. But yeah, there I digress again. So, yeah, the craving for discovering the greener avenues only got increasing as we got more and more of it. With limited sources of income – a meager salary and money from the house (read doting parents!), what could we do to keep up with life’s increasing demands? How could we make both ends meet?

Idea, I said to Sahu. I got an idea to constantly keep our stash filled. He asked “What?” And this is where I fucked up…

Sahu’s version of Me (The Insatiable ver 1.0)

So, yeah, we were getting our regular fixes of alcohol and every once-in-a-while, dope too; but see this is where they say “Necessity is the mother of all fuck-ups!” The author of the story, who so far has very graciously managed to stay anonymous, is no less a fucked up soul. Let me provide you with a bit of background on him as well. His name is Sharan. The truer side of the story that I would want to validate here is that yes, we both met at the PG in Jayanagar, Bangalore. But beyond that, your guess is good as mine. After all, this is a story about us, the insatiables, and what’s the guarantee that there is even a slight possibility of what you have read in his version is true. You see, he was the one who smoked for the first time; and hence it is quite natural, he was bound to be hit by the substance hard. And this pretty much puts everything he narrates on the shaky ground as far as credibility is concerned. How are you to believe what a guy who is “Stoned Immaculate” says!

So yeah, as I was saying, don’t be fooled by whatever he says… I know opinions are always colored by what you see, hear and read; but then humans are possessed with thinking and a seeking mind. So, don’t just take everything on face-value. Find your own truth somewhere in this muddle of gibberish! And I digress too… Damn!

We met at the PG and yes, we drank and spent some really crazy times together. But as times progressed, and our desire to stay stoned scaled new heights, we were looking out for ways that could enable us to get the stuff coming in. With limited source of income and constant desire, Sharan came up with a “master plan” of sorts.

Sharan, what were you saying? I asked him.

See, it’s very easy. I have a friend who smokes very regularly and this guy has been a good friend of mine for a very long time. He had tried previously to introduce me to the joys of pot; but I refrained. He had also said that he can help me score and that he knows a supplier.

Ok?

And trust me, Sahu; the shit he gives is pretty amazing. Every time I have been at this friend’s place, I have seen him bombed.

Ok, fair enough.

So, what if I call him?

You sure, you can do that? Bhenchod, koi lafda nahi chahiye…

Arey, I am absolutely sure. Things will be fine. We will score for very little like 100 bucks or something and since it’s my friend, I can ask him to pay off for me and I can pay him back later. Besides, this friend of mine is very rich. He is one of those underground artists and is a tripper. His dad was in the military and is now retired. This dude stays in Jal Vayu Vihar. In fact, let’s do one thing… Why don’t we jam up with him tonight? That ways, you can also try the stuff. Ek QC toh ho jaayega… What say?

Theek hai…

And that’s how we got to meet Sharan’s friend Abhimanyu. We went over to his place, sat around, had a few drinks and then took a spliff. He is an underground artist. Wait, I already said that, right? But yeah, let’s get specific. He is a painter and comic book writer. He was working on something that dealt with Shiva, mythology, dope and something to do with sexual undercurrents. At least that’s what this Abhimanyu guy told me. Sometimes, I don’t know whether these artist types are actually intellectual or whether they are just brilliant speakers faffing their way to glory playing on their strengths and other people’s dumbness.

It doesn’t matter really. I didn’t understand jack-shit of what he said. I was just playing along. Since, I got to get drunk and got to take a spliff, I was happy. And Sharan, boy, was he playing around too. He nodded his head to everything that was coming out of Abhi’s trap. I am not sure whether he felt obliged to agree with him because of the weed or what – I don’t give a fuck!

After smoking two or three good jumbo joints, we were all so wasted, that we decided to crash out. We slept; but not before, Sharan spoke to Abhi about the score. Abhi graciously agreed. Sharan also said that right now, either of us don’t have any money and that he will pay him as soon as he gets his salary. Would you believe if I told you that Sharan actually asked him to score for 500 bucks? Fuckin’ son-of-a-gun, he told me he will score for 100 bucks or something, and bastard, that big-fuckin-mouth, there he goes… Score for 500, it seems!

Nonetheless, by Wednesday, we got our consignment. We smoked it and smoked some more. The quality was brilliant and so was the quantity. Ah, thank god that Sharan asked for a 500 bucks worth of score, I thought.

The month end came, and it was time to pay Abhi. I didn’t have much money with me. Whatever little dad had sent was enough for me to pay the rent, mobile bills, drink DSP Black tetra pack or Old Monk and manage with food. So, I asked Sharan about the payment to Abhi. We owed him 1,500 bucks! Sharan said, he has also run out of money and he has very little left that is just about enough to get him by for the month. He also said that he had spoken to Abhi about it and that he will clear his account off soon. A fixed date became soon. Amazing, how things evolve. He had also asked for some more score. Now, that’s what I call sticking a gun to your own head.

But the reality was far from it. Sharan had not at all spoken to Abhi about either returning his money or even another score. There was another score coming for sure, but from a different peddler. Now, how would I know of it? Abhi had called me one night while I was busy with my girl friend. I answered his call and he asked about the money. I was shocked as hell, and you can imagine why!

Nonetheless, within a week, we got another load, and off goes everything else including our sanity. We were back to the Stoned Age. As time progressed, our score never stopped; but the debt kept on increasing. To be in any sort of position to ask Abhi to help us score again, Sharan had managed to make an interim payment to him. We had paid him like 2,000; but what we owed him was roughly around 7 grand. And 7 grand was just Abhi’s money. Beyond that, we also owed roughly about 3 grand to another peddler. So, there we were – in deep shit!

Then one day, we went to meet Abhi again at his place. At the gates, we saw a few guys walking out. We went in and saw Abhi bleeding. When asked about the reason, he said that the comic book that he was working on had eventually released and had ruffled a few feathers of the moralists. And that they came here and tried to persuade him to pull the comic book off the stands. When Abhi refused to comply with their demands, this is what they did…

What could we do? We just walked out of the house. While we were stepping out of the house, we saw a bunch of another guys walk in to his house and they obviously did seem extremely overpowering. I suggested Sharan that we should go in and see what’s happening; but he was too scared. He was like, Screw it, man! It’s his shit. He has to deal with it. We didn’t suggest him to write such crazy shit, did we? Fuck, why should we get involved? And we left Abhi’s house.

After about an hour later, when both Sharan and I were sitting smoking our joint of the last remaining stash, we saw a couple of jeeps coming. They came and parked right outside our PG. The doors opened and we saw the same bunch of guys who we saw entering Abhi’s place earlier in the evening. We tried to scamper; but obviously, we failed. There’s this thing about fear… It kills you even before you are actually dead. And that’s what pretty much happened to us as well. Sharan tried to jump the walls; but was hit on his leg by a rod. I tried to run away; but I got one on my shoulder and it knocked me out. For a while there, we couldn’t sense anything at all. But when we woke up, we were beaten, tortured and basically battered like fuckin’ crazy! Then they made us strip down naked.

We had broken beer bottles right under asses.

The next day, we were sitting at the Jayanagar police station, still carrying the wounds and shivering out of sheer fear. The inspector came and told us that Abhi was brutally murdered. They found a huge stash of weed from his house and Abhi’s dad is in the ICU.

THE END.