Surely everyone here has heard of weed edibles, but have you heard of the type of weed derived edibles that make you so insanely hyperconscious that you can feel the food within you making it's way centimeter by centimeter down your digestive track? An edible that makes you so hyperfocused that you can feel each and every one of your organs communicating to you in its own language? Allow me to introduce to you...drum roll please... Bhang Lassi. I first learned of its existence from one of our Yoga teachers. He clearly advised us not to partake in it. Naturally, I knew from that moment forward that I absolutely had to try this stuff. For better or for worse, I'm a professional experimentalist. This pertains to substances (only to a certain degree), romantic partners, types of friends, places, ways of living, jobs, foods, books - everything. I feel that I need a taste of everything in order to truly understand what I like. How can you say that the only fruit you like is bananas when you've only tried bananas? If after sampling various fruits from various places, you still cling to your love for bananas, then in my eyes - your love for bananas is affirmed and true. Maybe it's the same way with romance. If your partner decides to see someone else, and then after "sampling" someone else decides they still want you, is that an affirmation to the underlying connection with you? They tried other fruits but still decided on bananas. If they choose otherwise, which has happened to many of us, then maybe in fact apples are the way for them to go. Is this making any sense? I'm not convinced any of it is. Maybe it's just mental masturbation. Or maybe there is something to it. I don't know. Anyways. Back to Bhang Lassi.
In India Marijuana is known as Bhang. Coincidentally, the way in which this magical potent concoction hits, it certainly packs a bang. A bang bang boom! - to be more exact. In many restaurants (atleast where I was) it was common to find a Bhang Lassi section at the end of the menu. You could choose between various fruits and sometimes even how strong you wanted it. Although I'm not sure how they measured this, or IF they even measured this. I think it was more of an illusion of choice situation. I think they were just throwing that stuff in there and seeing what happened to the customer (me). I tried multiple Bhang Lassis from the same place and each time the experience was different in its degree of intensity. It was always a surprise, which I'm not going to lie, was another component to the fun.
I tried Bhang Lassi on many occasions. Fortunately, the first Bhang Lassi I tried was in the evening while listening to some hippy dippy wu-wu music. Unfortunately for my friends who weren't Bhang Lassi-ed up, I wasn't much of a conversationist. Once the effects began to set in, accompanied by the music, I was traversing dimensions and time. I was flowing in and out of the music, sharing a dance with the universe - whatever that means. I couldn't stay on the same plane as my friends. I only had one simple desire. That was to sway with my body to the seemingly visual sound waves of the music that was being played. Without a doubt I looked like a complete fool, swaying with a big-ole dopey smile on my face, but it didn't matter. I was completely embalmed in the moment.
The second time I played with Bhang Lassi was much more eventful. Instead of consuming it at the end of the evening, some friends and I took it mid-day as a sweet little post lunch dessert. After allowing ourselves to be taken away by the music for sometime (like the first time), we then decided to switch into adventure mode. We hopped on our scootys and just drove, taking in the extreme onslaught of stimulation that Rishikesh pulsated with. We drove and drove and drove until we were high above the city (pun intended). Finally, after having been in India for about a month or so, we all had our first moment of real silence. No noise, no mooing cows, no honking of cars or scootys, no chaos - no nothing. The silence hit like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. Only it was completely sobering. In silence, we all took in the moment for all that it was. There was four of us. All from different parts of the world with different life experiences, traumas, successes, all with unique stories. At this moment though, at this junction of space and time, we were completely in synch. Or so it seemed. Maybe I was just flying...
On our way back into town we decided to use the last hours of the "high" to meditate along the Ganges river (also known as "Mother Ganga"). After first having taken an invigorating swim, we each found our own spot on a rock to just "be". I couldn't tell you how long each of us were in our individual meditations since we were all disconnected from our own sense time. Time works differently when you delve into your internal world, especially when Bhang Lassi is in the mix. One of my friends from Australia stayed meditating for so long that he suffered a brutal sunburn for the following days. Little by little he sat and simmered. We couldn't help but laugh at him every time we saw him for the next week. Red like the skin of a Granny Smith apple.
***If you're interested in the exact process and a bit more information about Bhang Lassi, here's a website to checkout: https://vaya.in/recipes/details/bhaang-lassi/
Holi Festival
Have you ever seen those 5k runs that are marketed all over the world called "Color Runs"? Normally it involves running a 5k event, usually for charity, and is distinguished by the fact that runners are constantly being bombarded with a colored powder of some sort. It's more of a "for fun" type of thing than it is to show off one's running prowess. Anyways. I can't be certain, but I'd take a guess that these "Color Runs" are inspired by the "Holi Day" celebration in India. "Holi" is known as the festival of colors and celebrates the victory of good over evil and the transition from winter to spring. Luckily for me, "Holi" was happening during the time of my stay. A once in a lifetime experience that I accidentally stumbled upon. I'll take it.
Upon my first thought, I imagined I'd peacefully walk through the city observing the festival as if I were a fly on the wall. In fact many of us foreigners from the Yoga teacher training imagined the same thing. How naive we were. There was absolutely no way to avoid being assaulted with explosions of color from any and all directions. There was no safe place in the whole city besides behind a locked door in your private room. There was no hiding, and there was absolutely no mercy from anyone, even if you begged to not be targeted by a color bomb. It was best to surrender and cover your mouth and nose as best as you could manage. If you objected and didn't prepare, you'd inhale the colored dust straight into your lungs. It was a "shoot first ask questions later" mentality. It was wild. Mob mentally was certainly taking place.
What at first was thrilling and exciting quickly became, "let's get the fuck outta here!". My friends and I could no longer handle the craziness. Furthermore, my female friends were overtly being targeted and it was bordering the line of harassment. It was time to go. We all retreated to our individual quarters to pass the day in peace. I remember the shower water twirling down the drain as I cleansed myself from the day. All colors of the rainbow were swirling, swirling, and then gone down the drain - just like the excitement of the day. For the next days I had colored powder falling out of my nose, ears, and all the other hidden crevices that one has on their body. In retrospect, "Holi Day" was an experience that I was happy to have, but don't ever want to partake in again.
By the way, "Holi Day" is just one of the holidays celebrated in India. Each region has different days, celebrations, and their own version of various holidays. Apart from the color bombs mentioned above, there was always tons of chanting and more "spiritual" things happening within the day.
Angry Baba
Baba ("father, grandfather, wise old man, sir") is an honorific term, of Persian origin, used in several West Asian and South Asian cultures. It is used as a mark of respect to refer to Hindu ascetics (sannyasis) and Sikh gurus, as a suffix or prefix to their names, e.g. Sai Baba of Shirdi, Baba Ramdevji, etc. (Defined by Google)
In India there are orange robed "babas" everywhere. Typically they were people filled with "wisdom" - living an aesthetic life, partaking in different spiritual practices, who possessed almost nothing but the clothes on their back and a container that they'd carry around to accept offerings of food in. Also, there was a portion of them (I can't say how much) who smoked an insane amount of weed all day every day. It was their tool for meditation. Many times I sat along Mother Ganga and shared wonderful moments with these teachers. They taught me words in Hindi (which I don't remember), shared a toke with me, and even taught me how to make a Mango Chutney with the base of the recipe being water from Mother Ganga, which I ingested many times. Surprsingly, I had no ill side effects from the water. All this to say that most of the babas were wonderful people to connect with. But just like in everything, there are charlatans. Sometimes I ran into imposture babas who were trying to sell snake oil, hustle me for money, or who would try to lure people into practicing Tantra Yoga, which was a manipulative excuse at trying to have sex (Tantra Yoga isn't explicitly about sex, rather about sensuality, something that is vastly misunderstood).
Personally, my only negative (but comical) encounter with one of these fake babas was with the man who everyone knew as the "Angry Baba". My friend and I were dancing like the fools that we were (not under the influence of Bhang Lassi) at one of our most frequented beaches. We always went for a dip in the water to cool ourselves since the summer heat was always beating us down. We were having the time of our lives, allowing ourselves to move freely with a childlike joy. Then, out of nowhere, we noticed rocks flying past our heads. We stopped and immediately began to scan our surroundings. Following the first wave of rocks, we heard angry incomprehensible shouting coming from a hut that was on the street above us. Apparently, though I can only speculate, our new friend "Angry Baba" had claimed the beach as his own and didn't want to share. Or maybe we were just THAT bad at dancing. He was fuming and it was obvious there was no conversation to be had. He was past talking and already at the rock throwing stage. Not being so attached to staying at the beach, I assumed we'd just move on and not make a deal out of something so silly. I was wrong. My friend Cole had other ideas. In retaliation, Cole shouted, "Fuck that, I'm returning fire!" and began throwing rocks back at the orange robed "holy" man. Before I knew it, rocks were being thrown in all directions. From joyous dancing to aggressive territorial monkey-like behavior. We humans are so fragile. Fortunately, no one got hurt. I think it was more of a show for both sides, but once the first rock was thrown it was hard to go back. We would encounter the "Angry Baba" many more times while in Rishikesh, but never again did he throw rocks at us. To defeat an angry baba, you must become an angry baba.
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