What happens in Kasol, Stays in Kasol...

Google maps were something that use to work in US of A, Digital Camera was something that we had seen form a distance & in the name of Travel Literature the only source were Travelogue sections of monthly publications like Reader’s Digest & Manorma Chronicles; not sure if you’ve heard about them. This was the time when S3X was safe & Motorcycles were considered dangerous.

It was 2005, when for the very 1^st time, we heard about this magical place called Kasol. The casually roaming Hippies, Cafes playing psychedelic music, Signboards in Hebrew & English & No Dilli Haryana ka crowd; this was the definition of Kasol before the term “Mini Israel” was coined. Well, that was the best, Rudra my cab driver could have explained. This reminded me of Goa of the ’70s; strange but true, still I was not ready to believe it. Inquest to know more; I asked for a few more details. “Manali ke route par, Bhuntar se alag rasta kat ta hai” (Enroute to Manali, from Bhuntar you a left); this was the best Geo Coordinates for Kasol that he could furnish. Rudra’s half-open bloodshot eyes, deep voice & slow rate of speech; gave me an impression that this all a fictional story he is telling me, as he seemed a bit stoned. “Who told you about all this???” I enquired. He had ferried a foreign couple for a 15 days Himachal trip. Best quality Hashish (Charas, Hash, Black Gold) at cheap rates, was something he forgot to mention; but was an attention catcher.

Over dinner, I mentioned this place to Ashu. Brothers in arms, partners in crime, the next weekend we ventured out for this magical place; two more friends were destined to join us on this spiteful journey. Human interaction was the best way of knowledge transfer & the best we could do was to ask for directions on the Highway. After a 14 hour-long journey, we reached Kasol; it was around 4:00 pm & Kasol was waking up. What we had heard, met our eyes & the feeling could be best explained in the word of Bob Dylan… “I would not feel so all alone… Everybody must get stoned”.

The smell of coffee & cheesecakes pulled us to the, now infamous, but one out the only five at that time; Shiva Mama Café. Aching butts, tiered shoulder & senses lost; to our rescue, came the cheesiest Margherita pizza, a large cup of hot Cappuccino & the softest Cheese Cakes. While we were getting back to senses, somebody whispered Charas.. charas. After a bargain; Franco was kind enough to roll a joint for us & told us about his weed (marijuana) fields in a village close by. Who’s Franco, wondering??? Franco was the Italian Nation, who’d been in Kasol since 1991; passport expired, illegal & all.

The next morning we planned for a Hike & following Franco’s directions, we started off for Malana. Crossing the Parvati River, we entered the Parvati Valley of Himachal Pradesh. A 19 kilometer hike along the Parvati River, lead us to Malana; a quiet hamlet in the laps of Parvati valley. Knowing nothing about the culture & customs of this place; we strolled through the narrow passages. It’s said “Not to be a Gama; In the lands of Lama”; some curious eyes started following us. Walking through kinked paths; to our surprise; were the magical fields Franco had talked about, last night.

Bad Companies; Make good Stories. Looking for some cheap thrills; we thought that we had been stupid enough to pay for Charas all this time, despite the fact, it's available here for free. We tried our hands at the rubbing technique, as told by Franco. Amidst the 6 feet tall, gold & green, five-pointed flowering shrub; all of a sudden we felt as if we're not alone. Scared, with the possibility of a wild animal, we started looking around the bushes. To our astonishment, came out four guys, faces covered & bloodshot eyes; their built, their outfit & brogue, made it clear enough they were not locals. In a jiffy, before we could comprehend that things were not going the right way; with a country-made firearm at their disposal, they pushed us & made us walk through the same fields. It was mayhem in paradise.

“Continua a camminare, figlio di puttana; seedha chal” along with a few knocks & kicks, was the response to our attempt to talk things straight; we knew were in a tight corner. It was already dark & along in the distance we saw this shimmering light; looked like a campfire at a campsite. Wondering now what the almighty had in place for us; we were made to squat down near the campfire. Straight out of The Godfather movie, we were surrounded by Mafioso. Unable to understand the Italian, English, Hindi & local Himachali dialect; it became really tough to convince Padrino, that we were neither cops nor any agents. It took us all night, but everything turned fun before the sun. With morning sunrays, we were offered a hot cup of Café Espresso, needless to say, a few farewell joints.

With a non-verbatim promise of “What Happens in Kasol; Stays in Kasol.”; we were asked to leave Malana & never ever to return back. Grateful enough, that we were still alive, we packed our bags & were ready to run for our lives; “Santozo” called the Padrino & was gracious enough to hand us 1-T (tola; 10 grams) of the wickedest Malana Crème & asked us never ever to return back.

Though it had been all fun under the gun; it was time for to learn…

1. All's Well That End's Well.

2. Ass, Gas or Grass; Nothing Comes for Free.

P.S:

** This is a full-blown attempt to impress my mentor, Nivi. Guru, the one who leads you from darkness to light; is the best what describes her. You have an entire universe of knowledge within you, but you need a directing force to channelize that energy. That’s how she has impacted me!!!!

For some kick-ass stories & pictures, hit on her Blog, link given below: