Bum Shankar

Boom Shankar or Bum Shankar? That is the question - so I found in New Delhi.

What did I do in New Delhi these past six months? Well, apart from my morning blogging, which took a few hours, and my monthly column for Mint, which took a few minutes, I did no other “work.” All I did was have a good time.

For starters, Bablu Das and I established the Dhooan Club – dhooan meaning “smoke.” We put up a poster accordingly on my wall, with Bob Marley’s photo on it – and smoked. But since the smoke in New Delhi is extremely crappy, our Dhooan Club soon had a motto: Hanshi Aar Kashi.

Hanshi means “laughter” in Bengali and kashi is “coughing.” There was lots of laughter in the Dhooan Club alright, but there was also a lot of coughing. That was the quality of the smoke – all cough, no high.

Now, the Dhooan Club also had an outdoor location – under the neem tree near my local market. There, Bablu and I were joined by about a dozen hardy workingmen every morning – and we all pulled chillums. It was there that I met young Subol, friend of Bablu’s, a professional cook who claimed to be able to produce better Afghani Chicken than can ever be found in Afghanistan. Must have got the recipe from a direct descendant of Babur, I thought.

I soon took a liking to Subol, a simple, honest and gentle soul. And so it was that one day Subol said something that struck a major chord in my heart. He said:

Dada, everyday I buy a 20 rupee pudiya of ganja. It makes two chillums. I smoke then both – but never do I get a buzz.

Now, 20 rupees is a lot for a poor man like Subol – and 20 rupees is a lot of money for smoke. For 20 rupees you can get 3 sticks of India Kings, our finest and most expensive cigarette – and still have some bucks left over for a cup of tea. For 20 rupees you can get an imported cigar. I advised Subol to smoke IKs. Better 3 IKs and a cup of tea than 2 fuck-all chillums, I told him. He looked at me wide-eyed, and shocked.

This truth simultaneously dawned on Bablu and me as well. We were then spending over 50 rupees a day on crappy ganja. We decided to give it a skip. We tore down the Dhooan Club poster on my wall with Bob Marley’s photo on it and switched to smoking IKs and cigars. The smokes were better. We felt good.

And so it was that I, who flies the Ganja Flag – and will always do so – gave up on smoking the stuff myself.

Now that I am in sunny Goa, the economics is even worse. Here, because of western tourists, the market for ganja has been ruined for us desis. Here, a pudiya of ganja costs 400 rupees. For 360 rupees you can buy 2 cases of King’s beer, arguably the best beer in our country – and this lasts me a week. For 420 rupees you can buy 10 packets of Gold Flake Kings cigarettes – and this lasts me a fortnight. A 400 rupee pudiya of ganja just lasts me half-an-hour, and is not worth it at all. Bum Shankar.

Thus, I have made up my mind to migrate – to Jamaica. I am told ganja sells there in 2-kilo bags – and that is the dose I need. And there are sunny beaches. And great reggae music. Marley lives forever. That is where I am now headed.

What about Boom Shankar in India? Well, we now have a national security advisor (seniormost cop) named Shiv Shankar. His offices are in New Delhi, right next door to Chacha. As under his predecessor, so under Shiv Shankar, in India the slogan will remain Bum Shankar.

This is what “democratic legislation” has done to our fair land. We need to institute a “private law society.” Read my recent column on this here. And think.