The Dope Trail - Pt 2

For the first part, you might want to refer here.

<17^th June 2012 1918 hours, Barista, Ludhiana>

I am at a Barista, looking to complete my travelogue from where I left it off. So, I’d reached Bhunter at around 1030 hours, munched a bit of food here & there, before finally taking a bus to somewhere we could start the trek to Malana from. On the way, chatted up with this stranger in the bus regarding the way to Malana, movies, mundane day-jobs etc. It turned out he was a documentary filmmaker & a PR professional going to Kasol for the two day trance party on sat-sun (9^th & 10^th June) there. My friend and I get off at Jari, discuss the possibility of attending the trance party at Kasol, but decide to trek to Malana instead. It is sometime in the afternoon with the sun shining strongly. We are told it is about 4 odd hours and we trek along the area of Malana Hydropower Project – an interesting contrast to the otherwise natural ‘unadulterated’ habitat of mountains, trees, flowing rivers, and sparse human settlement.

The terrain is broadly divided into three sections – the one immediately in the vicinity of the power project, which is rocky, somewhat steep, and mostly devoid of villages or non-project-working-junta or even trees for that matter; the route of metalled road used by the engineers working at the project; followed by a particularly steep route but very well covered with trees, shrubs, stretches of marijuana growing (or grown) freely. We fortunately get a lift from a few engineers working on the project – cutting our journey by a good one hour, if not more, with their 15 minutes of help J.

The most treacherous bit that follows also happens to be the best. We meet a few locals – asking for some ciggs from us – a rarity there, it seems. We later discover, anything apart from Navy Cut & Gold Flake is definitely so. Offering a few ciggs, we get them to roll for us and get them talking about the famed Malana culture to us.

So, Malana has a language of its own – notably different from that of the surrounding areas – and apparently might have an intriguing origin to it too. Hindi is clearly unnatural to them for they visibly struggle to form statements and think of words. Most interesting though, they have a slightly complicated panchayati system – apparently among the oldest in the world, or so it is claimed – with two permanent members, 4 members being elected by a system of electoral franchise, and 4 other members being nominated by those 4 elected. Together, they represent a proxy to their god – God Jamlu and all decisions are, apparently, taken by the 10 members in the presence of other villagers and is minimal or no interference of the local police officials – and the villagers are heavily fined if they have been found to go to the police for settling of disputes. They religiously protect their local temples and are off-limits (even for touching!) for outsiders – the offenders incurring a heavy monetary fine, again.

While they fiercely guard their culture and heritage, the story is, of course, not complete if you don’t consider the fact that most of the villagers derive their income out of farming marijuana and it is in their interest to guard it well.

I find what I am looking for, pick up some quantity of it and book a cab to reach Kasol – hopefully in time for the 1^st night of the party. While travelling back, the driver and I smoke up a quickie. Soon, we are intercepted by the police who do a very very detailed search of clothes, wallet, bags – everything! Fortunately for me, I had kept the recent purchase with the driver who was not touched by the police. I, however, had misplaced very minute quantities somewhere in my bag – helpfully found by the officers, much to my chagrin, of course. I am reprimanded a bit – ostensibly being given gyaan on the harms of ‘drugs’ (controlled the deepest urge to explain how marijuana is not a drug, is arguably less harmful than both tobacco as well as alcohol, and should, in fact, be legalised!) – and let off after apologising but without any fine.

We reach the party at 9pm – an hour before the stipulated end at 10pm – very underequipped to enjoy the party, given I had barely enough time to prepare, earlier in the day. The party is a complete contrast to anything I’d been through earlier in the day – but not something I hadn’t expected – with the crowd including some 100 odd hippies from parts of Europe and Israel majorly, and Indians from Delhi, Chandigarh, and a minority from Haryana, Punjab etc. in an open air ground grooving to trance music accompanied by the best of light & laser effects and trippy visual projections on a huge screen.

After dinner later, and finding an accommodation in the area, and obviously smoking up a bit, I doze for a very peaceful sleep after a long and tiresome day. My friend leaves for Delhi early next day and I mostly laze around preparing well for the night ahead. Around afternoon, I venture out to a local café and chat up with an Israeli backpacker, living in India for a few months now. A trained fighter with a degree in psychology, Gall, has an interesting take on most things and strongly believes that most of these Israeli backpackers are actually frustrated individuals looking to release the pent-up energy after a lean period of inactivity they’d have faced back home, following their military training. He avoids hanging out with them, preferring to travel alone, attributing it to their insensitivity to local culture among other things. The same factor, according to him, is also to be attributed to for the ‘corruption’ of the local culture & of making the local villagers a lot more money-minded. A very interesting person, Gall, advices me on the areas I should be visiting for the remaining part of my trip & suggests Kheerganga and Tosh, among others.

With that, I take leave to go for the party, much better equipped this time around, with some water spiked with white rum, a good load of ciggs, and joints. The second night is correspondingly, a lot more fun, and I end up spending some 4 odd hours there. It so happens, though, that later while waiting for my dinner at a local cafe, I puke on my way to the restroom – not something I am particularly pleased with myself for, of course – but in my defence, I’d blame it on the lot of things I’d had till then. This is witnessed by a few people around, but I duly ignore, clean up, pay the bill and take off to my accommodation there.

<2112 hours, Barista, Ludhiana>