9. Quest for Ganja

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With no sleep but the excitement of being somewhere new I packed my bag and headed into the heat. I wanted to walk around, get a gauge of Panaji. But my main intention was to get my hands on some choof. I had read online that it is easy! its everywhere in Goa, just walk down the beach, ask anyone. Go to a restaurant and ask them. Walk into the streets, sit down and it will fall into your lap.

I was staying in Panaji cause this is where I booked it. I quickly found out I'm about 40 minutes away from the hot spot. This was the capital of Goa.

The weather was different and at first more kind. The air wasn’t so heavy and the contrast from sun and shade was similar to that of home. Nice in the shade with a breeze. Yet after walking towards the middle of the day, then into the afternoon. I covered my cream shirt with sweat. My back dripping to the floor.

It took me some time to get my confidence up. I was pacing, smiling at everyone politely. I walked along the beach. Each person had their own 10km long strip. Walked along the the road. Into what I think is the main area. The fear within me grew. I started to see signs to stop. The first ATM I went to didn’t accept my card. The second was under maintenance. By the time I got to the third, it worked. I checked the receipt and its reference number was 666. As I walked over the dirt covered road I saw a raven. For a time I could see a third eye. As I got closer it only had two. The animals were speaking to me and painting their pictures with the colours of my anxiety.

I walked past a man, then back past him again. I stop… Then held the air bubble in my throat down to approach him.

“Excuse me, do you know anyone that can get weed? Smoke?”

“Huh”

“Uhhh, ganja”

“Hindi”

“You don’t speak English?”

He shakes his head. Well at least I got the monkey off the back, but the signs were still written on the face of reality.

I found a bar and ordered a beer that was warm. The fan hit the sweat on my back and was nice. After I had my drink, I asked the waiter.

“No sir”

On the way out of the bar I asked two rough looking men,“Excuse me, do you speak English?”,

One-man points at the other.

“Do you know where I can get weed around here?” I asked, with a fragile and vulnerable demeanour.

“What?”

“Ganja… smoke”

“oh no”

As I walk off the man sitting opposite him speaks in a different language.

“Ganja” he answers and they both laugh.

I was hellbent on getting the stuff. I had organised that afternoon I will sit and smoke and just take the pace off for a night.

I keep walking down the streets, through the roads, over the cows, past the dogs. Looking at men and wondering if that would be a good bet. Going to ask then not. A man tried to sell me silk, I asked him too. His eyes were light brown on his darker brown skin. He looked as if he was going to say yes, then decided against it.

“We don’t do that here” he said, I kept walking.

I changed my game plan, as a good coach needed to. From now I would ask for a place to buy a smoking pipe, and then ask them. I asked a man in a wine shop, a man in a restaurant, a man selling chips and I didn’t ask the men on the tuk-tuk cause they would take me anywhere and I was not feeling like doing that. They all said no. I changed my plan again. I will ask for rolling papers. They all said no. I gave up. As I walked home I hated everyone. I wanted to write on the blogs online, ‘Guess what dickheads, its actually impossible. Travelling is nothing but constant disappointment!’, But I didn’t.

I walked home along the beach. Got to my room. I will have a break and try again tonight. My friend told me to go to a hostel and try them, they will be able to get you whatever you want. I set back on my feet, watched the sun fall down and shine red through the haze. Walked into a bar that had rooms and sat down to a nice warm Kingfisher. The dogs transporting fleas walk around. In comparison the western dogs at home are dumb, because they would get hit by a scooter straight away. Great obvious proof that comfort and coddling prevents the growth of survival. But what a great survival technique; giving in, being cute, being born somewhere special.

An Indian lady who sat beside me said,

“India will break your heart. Its all shit just different shades. Look at the poor dogs”

I told her how we take the strays in cause it’s a bad look, we put them up for adoption to blame the world then murder them.

She said, “Maybe the strays are a little luckier here”.

She told me all about India, she had been studying history herself. As she drank her passion grew.

“Its fucked, this place, its just so fucked that its funny”

It was nice to listen to her be honest. Without the blindness of pride. I told her about Australia. I was a real political activist. I said we have two parties, one is run by the unions and the other by Gina Rhineheart. But the one run by the unions get to pedal a reputation that they’re for the people. But they aren’t. Only the ones that work for them, constantly putting their hand out. Tradesmen on the union get every three days off and cant work when its over 23 degrees or under 24. The other one, the liberals, well they’re funded by a bunch of business’ that want tax cuts. And if that’s their motive at least its obvious. Trickle down to the young electrician trying to start his business. Who has to employ a full-time accountant and live in the constant fear he is missing something and it going to be ruined for it. Getting your own insurance that will rip you off.

The hostel had a dog that sat behind a cage fence. I was trying to keep up my appearance of sharing her passion for betterment and this dog kept barking. The man who owned the place, he had a kind smile and a nice laugh. A good outlook on life. But he wouldn’t shut the dog up. That’s the main thing I remember from that place. The lady finished her plastic bottle of vodka and drove home on her two-wheeler. She was mad, I thought to myself, I'm scared to drive those things sober!

I walked off and ate dinner on my own. Few more drinks. Listened to a man sing softly to music he played through the speakers. It was kind. I headed home. I felt good, I didn’t get what I wanted but that’s what its all about. Accepting things that don’t go your way. There was a kiosk and the torso of Jesus was lit divinely behind glass. I spoke with him. Not with words, because that’s not how me and Jesus talk. The average person, after having walked 30k in 36-degree weather to try and find marijuana. Would have asked Jesus to help him get marijuana. So, I guess that’s what separates me from most.

“Keep doing what you are doing man, I respect you”, I said to Jesus.

I walk home feeling humble. Not only have I shared my wisdom and knowledge of politics to the Indian people, I have passed the test of greed.

A man on a scooter sits in the well-lit carpark by the beach.

“Where you from?” he said,

“Australia”

“Ohhhhh, Ricky Ponting!”

“Yeah haha” I said as I walk towards him, “Can you help me get Ganja?”

He smiled,

“Yes, give me your WhatsApp. Message me tomorrow I get you some”

I did and said, “Good man”

I walked home with a smile, I had tricked Jesus. Then the thought furthered with my steps,

‘No, Jesus, no… I'm sorry, I didn’t mean that. Thank you for rewarding me but that is not what I intended, I do not want to die in my sleep’

I got into bed and entered the dreamland like a king.

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