CHAPTER ONE:
A common family! A new member! A divine festival!
It was the end of the nineties and our small family had just undergone a change in its fundamental configuration, for the first time in a quarter of a century. Prior to this, our family had been a four member nuclear family, and the last time such a change happened was when I was born, as the youngest child, over twenty five years back. This latest change was brought by the addition of a new member to the family, as my elder brother had recently got married and my sister-in-law, a fine young lady barely a few months older than me, had come to stay with us, in accordance with the traditional Indian social system.
Everyone in the house, which comprised of my parents, my brother and yours truly, was trying hard to adjust to this new arrangement, still just a fortnight old, and to the new member, who was probably trying the hardest, to accommodate and adjust herself to this house full of strangers. We were all facing a situation like this for the first time and each of us were trying his/her best, or so we thought. Despite our best efforts, the struggle showed from time to time, through our mistakes, as well as, through our pretentious politeness towards each other.
My brother’s matrimony was also an interesting tale in itself. My parents were traditional by every definition and my mother in particular, was elated when my brother finally agreed to get married. She had been waiting for this day, and took the responsibility entirely upon herself, to find a suitable bride for this eligible bachelor, who also happened to be a Government employee, a highly demanded commodity, in the matrimony market back then.
My mother spread the word around among friends and relatives, met up with professional ‘Ghataks’ (match makers) and even heeded the advise of some well wishers, and published a small box in one of the major daily’s matrimonial column. Responses came pouring in by the hundreds, both as personal visits and uncountable postal mails, with photos of young women looking for an established groom, to spend their lives with. My mother’s smile widened with every new response, as she convinced herself that raising a son with such marketability, was an achievement no less than winning an award for herself.
My father was relatively calm and indifferent and I, a born skeptic with little faith in the concept of arranged marriages, as I had with almost everything ‘traditional’, would stay in the shadows and watch this drama unfold.
My brother himself, played the role of the most obedient son and repeatedly told my mother “whatever you think is best“, whenever she would present a new potential match. My mom would give me a sarcastic glance which conveyed
“See how respectful your brother is, unlike you, who doesn’t understand the value of traditions”.
Then one day, my mother showed my brother her latest shortlist and my brother gave his consent, but still stroked her ego by saying ‘if you think so, you know best’. My mother, feeling as powerful as the almighty, started contacting the family accordingly and took the necessary steps to arrange visits from both sides. The process took over seven-eight months and finally the marriage date was set, after quite a few visits from family members of each side.
After the wedding ceremony was concluded, my mother would proudly declare in public, how her son had trusted in her, and how she had found him the best wife a man could have hoped for. Little did she know then, and it was only disclosed a few months after the wedding, that my brother had actually taken a fancy to one of the ladies and had contacted her, without my mother’s knowledge, long before my mother started the formal communication with the bride’s family. He had deliberately forwarded this lady’s details to my mother, pretending not to know her, just like he did with the other women showing matrimonial interest, and had managed to make her believe that it was in fact, her own choice.
And over the next eight months or so, the two of them had been seeing each other, without either family having a clue, till they felt comfortable in each others’ company, believed that they know and understand each other to a reasonable extent, and felt a strong sense of love for each other. And that is when, the final dates and formalities of marriage were agreed upon. And during this entire period of courtship, my mother was made to believe, that she was the one calling the shots.
This was an afternoon in the month of February, on a sacred Hindu festival day, celebrated as ‘Maha Shivratri’. One of the most auspicious days in the Hindu festive calendar, Maha Shivratri, which literally means ‘The great night of Lord Shiva’, is celebrated in most states of India and is declared as a national holiday. Religious Hindus usually fast on this day and pray to lord Shiva, and women flock to temples of Lord Shiva and offer prayers and fruits, as well as pour milk on the Shiva Lingam, the abstract representation of the Hindu deity.
But to most young guys, Shivratri also has an additional attribute to celebrate. This happens to be one of the only two festivals, the other being Holi – the festival of colours, when ‘getting high’ is not frowned upon as much, socially.
Lord Shiva is one of the most important deities of Hinduism, and that is no mean feat, considering the fact that this oldest religion believes in polytheism and is known to have thirty three million (yes, that is the correct figure) gods and goddesses. Lord Shiva is a part of the holy trinity of Hinduism, alongside Lords Brahma and Vishnu, and therefore belongs to the Crème de la crème of Hindu deities.
But Shiva is also known to be a humble and simple character, easily satisfied and easily pissed, and one who likes to sit with his close disciples, and enjoy a few drags of weed (ganja). So much so, that almost all (male) worshippers of Shiva, including the saffron clad sadhus, relish the smoking of weed themselves. And as a mark of respect for this cool God in an otherwise uptight religion, most people, while smoking weed, would utter the words ‘Bom Bhole!’ (Praise to Lord Shiva!) and accept the ‘chillum’ (mud pipe) of marijuana as the Prasad of the Lord.
Despite the eternal connection between Lord Shiva and marijuana, smoking of weed, although fairly common, was not a socially accepted practice, at least back then. Although its undeniable presence could be found in dark street corners and almost every college and university, and it had been showcased, and at times glorified, in numerous popular Bollywood movies, people who smoked weed would usually try to keep it under the wraps, without publicising it much.
However, there was another form of marijuana consumption, which was not only socially acceptable, but also somewhat encouraged during these two occasions. ‘Bhang’ as it is called, is an edible mixture made from the leaves and flowers of the female cannabis plant, and has been widely used in Hindu religious practices and rituals for centuries. It is also considered as an Ayurvedic medicine and is supposed to be remedial for numerous ailments. Bhang is usually mixed with milk and curd (yogurt) to make a thick drink, its taste enhanced by a range of nuts and herbs, including ground cashews, almonds and pistachios, cardamoms and saffron, rose petals/water and mint leaves and this exotic beverage is popularly called ‘Bhang Lassi’ or ‘Bhang Thandai’ in northern India.
In Bengal, we called this divine beverage ‘Siddhi’.
