One day at a time
Damn...it's been long since the St. Michael's day...and I am afraid that even the rarest few, who showed any interest in Michael Marquis would have lost it by now. I know, because I myself hardly give him any thought now. Pardon me, but I am as self-centered as any of you and out of sight-out of mind theory fits me as beautifully as anyone around. I got out ...he was still 'in' and once you are 'out', you don't give a damn about who's 'in'. Infact, most of us don't even want to know that such places exist...in real. Fair enough...most of us are white-collared, law-abiding citizens and there's no reason other than the movies we watch, for us to know what a prison cell looks like...or a mental asylum for that matter.
I am not complaining and I would suggest that sometimes it's best to just learn or watch from a third person perspective. There are always enough madcap cowboys like Michael around, to tell you by example, what not to do. , last I saw him was at Pune, days before I packed up my life in Mumbai and moved on to search for someplace more cheerful. I told him, that I'd keep in touch...off course I didn't keep my word and obviously, my search didn't take me anywhere cheerful enough. But, I haven't given up. I am still looking for my ‘peace' in this world...I am going to look out for Michael too, whenever materially possible...though most probably I am already too late. Anyone, with the slightest of experience in stuff like detox, slip or relapse... would tell you, that there are only three options for modern-day cowboys like him...jail, asylum or death. The fourth option is to stay ‘clean', but that's a rare feat, with approximately only 2 out of every 100 who try, surviving. I think, one of those two is me, and there has been too much competition for that second spot. There's not much of a chance that an easy-going, lackadaisical, dog don't eat dog kind of a guy, like him would've made it. To tell you the truth, I am not so sure about myself too. I look at myself, and I look around and I feel at times, like I am not one of you...coz even now, I don't pray for a better job, bigger car or a naughtier chick to ride along. I just pray to God, to let me survive...
Just One day at a time.
Saint Michael's day
Saint Michael's day
"So..what's your poison?" enquired Michael, with a squinted look, tilted head and scrutinising tone of voice. That's the kind of body language, only real cops can manage or the criminal kinds. In
Cut back..to Michael and me!!!
I had my last hit about an hour before this introduction, on the train, on my way here from Mumbai, and didn't want to waste my trip on idle talk. But, this was an important question, considering the place I was at.
"Heroin...I do heroin" I mumbled, barely audible to anyone except myself and taking care to replicate the same menacing, nothing-ruffles-me look. I was no muck myself, and there are things that are best conveyed, without troubling your vocab.
"You shoot?" Michael continued with his questionnaire, this time with a slightly-thawed intent.
"No..chase" I continued mumbling.
"O brown!!"
"ya right... Brown" I added a wry smile ..."you?"
"Brownie, here too" and he leaned forward, offering me a hand to shake, something we had just done at the start of this conversation.
But I knew this time it was different. Suddenly, I didn't mind wasting a penny or two of my trip. So I got up, for a firmer grip and we shook hands, nodding heads in mutual respect.
Perfect strangers, about five minutes back but brothers now on...bound together by a common first love. Love of the most intense kinds... mental, physical, spiritual...360 fuckin degrees complete and all-consuming...A love that very few ever suffer from, and fewer still ever live to tell...the rare ones who manage to ever break-up.
Gesturewise..I offered him a cigarette. He paid for it with an advice.
"Watch out for your things...there are lots of bummers around."
"hmmmm" I nodded Mr. know-it-all-ically. I already knew. The whole world is full of them. People, who read a good book and congratulate themselves for having a great taste. The writer just did what he was paid for, they believe.
By then I myself was almost down to the Navy Cut's filter, so I pulled out another.
"Fuck", my hands were as shaky as in the train...too much stuff.. not enough time.
"So..how long... K ?" Mike asked noticing the tremor...
"Three years..no four..no three I think", and I couldn't help smiling at my own ever-the-vain self. "You ??"...
"O, silver-jubilee plus.." he said, with more pain than pride and suddenly he looked much more philosophical and five times wiser than me. Twenty-five fuckin years...I knew I could never last that long.
And so it went. Michael was around forty-five years...'twas his fourth stint at a rehab..not much of a family...jobless..homeless...and as I saw it..hopeless. I, myself was hardly any better and we both knew it.
...
Rest of the day was like a usual first day at office. Michael showed me around and took special care to convey the individual designations.
Basically, there were two type of inmates. ‘A' patient, meant the substance abusers - alcoholics, addicts and all.. "C" types were the crackheads-nutcases..loonies..mentally sick. Nothing too shocking...just exaggerated samples of the usual mad-caps whom we tolerate everyday as neighbors, colleagues and comrade in arms. Nothing, I would seriously mind..I had seen worse and I was not alone. Plus, I had enough dopamine floating within my veins and not a worry in the world. Not that day at least.
For the next three months and more, we were almost inseparable. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, nights included. The rehab was our home and we did watch out for each other. For, in this world of junkies, dope heads and nut cases, we were the chosen ones. In this barbed and fenced sanctum sanitarium, which was the last hope for most of us, Michael and I were the ones who had the least hope.
Almost Zilch. And we had to live with this fact. Begin to live, actually.
Evening came and I don't remember much thereafter. Reason says, dinner would have followed. And the welcome pharmaceutical mix.
It didn't matter.
I was comfortably high and smart enough to understand that however bad tomorrow seemed, it was going to be tomorrow.
And it was already too late to reconsider the options. I still retained a healthy kick and it would last me the night.
I silently thanked Lakshmi akka for dealing in such pedigreed stuff in such mongrel times and for extending me credit, for such a high-risk commodity.
Saintly peddler, blessed stuff.