काजी

कुरो र कुलो जता बंग्यायो तेतै बंगिन्छ भने झै, लौ सुन्नुस मेरो राम कहानी 

I started mine when I was 13, the first one. One of my senior dai from school, offered me a puff after school and I lost my innocence. At least I came to know about its features and the fantasies it created. It was Shivaratri and we went to Sleshmantak ban like anyone else. I don't have more memories of that day now (may be its because of the #4 memory loss as mentioned by dekchidriver). But I do remember this eternal view after being 'jhyaap' from the benches at Sleshmantak ban, across the temple.



I did not smoke again religiously like my senior did. But I also did not refrain from making it my ritual every shivaratri chanting, "जय शम्भो अली कम भो ! "



Cigarettes had become my friend since I was in Class 10, the 'dai' at school among all class 1 to 9 'bhais'. Cigarettes became by friend at TC and i have not betrayed it until today and probably till eternity.

It was during I.Sc. First year when one of my friend decided to help me out with  my 'earthworm dissection', so that we both could bunk the practical class, leave early and enjoy a movie next door in 'Bishwojyoti' hall.

We went on the roof of the Biology department and Lo and Behold, from under the water tank on the roof of biology department, my friend pulled out  a tightly packed green mean tube looking thing, a bamboo rod. He carefully opened the bamboo, revealing the secret ingredient of the magical journey, Gaanja.

I was spellbound. He taught me the tricks and styles immediately, while loading it in Shikhar, his all time favorite.
I was blessed with the learning that it tasted best with shikhar than any other brand. The taste was that of a raw mango with scent of fresh leaves but coarse, that kicked in right away, forcing me to cough out of my throat and lungs. He did not pity on me and kept on insisting me to inhale more. I had to prove myself, establish myself as a cool dude, ready to take up the challenge. He, on the other hand seemed lost already, flying high, releasing loose smile through the side of his lips, his eyes getting smaller by the seconds and his face bestowed with a charming smile ! Why wasn't it working for me? I wondered. 'Just wait!' It will kick in and you will love it, he consoled.

I don't know when it hit me. But when it did, I was charmed by its bless. I was happy, yes happy is the right word. My friend started cracking up non veg jokes and we started laughing. I remember this day as me being baptized, taking on the tile of a 'gazedi' an honor bestowed to select people. We pent the rest of the day, watching the same movie twice in Biswojyoti hall, refueling once in between, hitting Jamal ko Momo pasal twice and then retiring with another one back on the college roof. All the time, I remember, I was happy. The unbound happiness in me was molding my brain cells in such a way that I wanted more, more happiness and more peace out of it. I was in, for good!


By the time I graduated from TC, I had a Ph.D. in joint. Those wonder years bestowed me with the essence of peace and tranquility, while my country was burning in flames. 'Baal Matlab?' we would say, frustrated by the thousands of killings every year by the Maoists and the semi-annual governments. The years of conflict in Nepal, taught me well the meaning of peace through weeds. The search and hunt for gaza when I needed helped me develop friendship with guys and girls from all corners of Kathmandu, many places in Nepal and abroad. Wherever I went, sooner or later I would find it. Gaza was the synonym of peace and friendship, the language of the silent, beyond race-sex-national origin-color-sexual orientation!


When I was on my own, I had to survive and by survive I mean, i had to find the sources and origins if I wanted to make a living out of gaza. By making a living, I don't mean trading it but depending on it. depending on friends for my 'doses' was not efficient and sometimes, days and weeks passed by me being dry. I had no option but to depend on Twaat, the alternative. I refrained from taking TABS, the hardcore shit, based on my belief that "gaza is a natural way and the tabs were chemicals". I had seen my friends messed up with that shit and did not want to try. I can proudly say, even today, I have never tried those chemical waste, toxic and crippling.

Like I said, I could not depend on my friends. There was a understanding that we had to buy it if we wanted to take home. It was free whenever we were together and someone had just hit the jackpot. Over the years, I kept on unearthing new sources and point of contacts throughout Kathmandu.

• The 24-hr drive thru in Gaushala: The old woman with a naanglo and a doko, sitting right in front of the Tilganga hospital, selling churoot, badaam, lyaasi paau, lacto, mango tart, hulaak ticket, etc on the Naanglo and gaza underneath it inside the doko. She was very picky about her customers and sold for 20Rs. She mentioned she was picked up several times by the Gaushala Chowki and ws released every time for a little bit of Ghush. Rain or shine, night or day, weekday or weekend, she was there-either her or her daughter doing business.
  
• Kathmandu East - A teashop in Saankhu, very selective about the customers. One had to reach there, order tea, snacks, chat, talk about weird things until he felt comfortable and then he would ask you, "kati ko laane ho?". Good stuff for RS200, a 50 Paisa Polythene bag filled, that fitted perfectly in the bikes tool box under the engine !
• Kathmandu West - Another teashop of a home owner in Ichhangunarayan village. The baje was so professional that he had the bamboo pipe ready once he would see the customer's bike. All you had to do was drive by his house-make sure he sees you-smiles at you-reverse your back and park in front of his house-have a tea-chit chat-pay and get - try the sample stuff before you leave and leave. The problem was there was an Armed Post Barrack on the way, which would make you paranoid. He seldom takes his customers inside his den, only if he can believe you. The fake wall inside his गाईको गोंठ would open up to reveal another  wall with hundreds of holes, each stuffed neatly with bamboo rods, aged and counting. The older the better the dearer ranging from RS100 to RS 500 per shoot. The same taste of raw mango and wild leaves.
  
• Kathmandu North - A village in the outskrits of Budhanilkantha. Another teashop owned by a girl, a woman I should say, hot and sexy, naughty by her words, frank and bold. Most had impressions that she was into sex trade. All you had to do was order her specialty, chatamari and chhyang and then she would speak up. The more you spend, the more she would open up. She sold it as a ball wrapped in banana leaves and stuffed inside a polythene bag. Expensive but mesmerizing.
  
• Kathmandu South - A high tech guy in Dhunga Adda in चापा गाऊ. Dealt with customers strictly by appointment. Call him first-set up an appointment and meet him within a 30 minute time slot. You miss him you lose him. He never picked up the phone unless you were a regular. Rather he would call back. Nepal's mobile did not have voice mail service then. The journey to चापा गाऊ was always mesmerizing. A day out with guys. After we picked up the stuff for a whooping RS500, a large polythene bag filled and wrapped by newspaper, we used to hit the पोलेको धराने कालो बंगुर को मासु shop on our way back, smoking, ordering and feasting  and returning back.
  
• Kathmandu Central - A to-go order by phone in one of the shops in Asan. Call him, get a time slot, buy it and GO. That was his order. He was an ex-army, a major or something.
  

The journey did not end here. Over the years I became familiar with the Terai Chilum gaja, coarse, harsh and mean, leaving behind smoked hay smell on your body, making you restless and forcing you to think wide. One summer, I thought about establishing a new Sauraha on the banks of a river in Janakpur during our trip to Terai! You know what I mean?


Sauraha was the heaven, the Shangrila and you did not need connections. I ended up being in Sauraha twice a year at least, spending at least 3 -4 days to a week, releasing myself from the clutches of Kathmandu puzzle and its stress. Switch off your cell, grab a book from the used book store in Sauraha "Nepal Mandala Book Shop Sauraha, Chitwan", grab some killer stuff from your hotel boys and hit the Sauraha beach. The Sauraha stuff is good. Good is relatively a small word to explain its aftermath. Eat as much as you can, the Sauraha way!

I remember one of those days, by Jiba's Bar on the beach which serves from martini to sex on the beach and bloody Mary, we were confronted by a young guy. He lost no time in coming to us introducing himself and asking us if we wanted "the ride of our life"? Why not? He opened a fancy box, stuffed by varieties of stuff all different color and sizes and pulled out his rizla. He promised, he was giving us the best. It was courteous, not commercial. "दादा म हजूरहरु लाई ऐठन खालको चखाउछु है?".
Whatever he was making, seemed dangerous. I had never tried on double size rizla, the size of a cigar, stuffed neatly and looking MEAN! I was the first victim, The first inhale kicked my guts, reversed from there, traveled directly to my lungs, tingling my heart for a while racing its beat and then thrust out towards my throat forcing me to cough though I did not want to. He smiled. My brother thought twice before getting his hands on it, he was shocked to see my state. I never used to cough. I was well known for inhaling the smoke, without exhaling any of it and topping it off with a sweetener - either a fanta or preferably a frooty. This time around, my pride was gone. I could feel my eyes forcing itself to diminish its size, a sense of relief and restlessness at the same time. By the time I could think more, the new friend was passing it to me again, and he was coughing, coughing bad! फेरी तान्ने र? I thought, but I guess didn't have choice. It went on and on for three rounds before I surrendered. This was the first time in my life I had left a smoke, unfinished. After about 10 minutes my brother passed out, maybe because of the whiskey he was drinking on the side. I was sober, until a few minutes ago.

The new friend, (i wish I could remember his name), laughed and told me his secret. मैले नि अहिले सम्म यो चाहि खाको थिएन दादा, तपाईहरुलाई देखेर, संगै हान्दिउ न त भनेर आएको, बबाल रैछ है, दिमाग ख़राब ! The words kept on ringing on my ears. The very night we three spend the whole night around a bonfire where a whole wild boar was being roasted. We kept on smoking, but the softer ones. By morning, a group of 12 people including us three, the hotel owner friends and foreigners had consumed the whole boar.
All or some characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.