Scoring from the Chief

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Before my story begins I should first qualify myself.
Much of my life is repetitive, dull and quite unremarkable but when I do actually get out there and get going then something strange seems to happen and quite independently of any apparent input from me, adventure seems to find its way to me, beating down my door, quite unhindered by the usual vines, thickets and brambles of most adventures. To put it more simply...shit just seems to happen to me. This is not a work of fiction. Everything you read actually happened although some of the finer details may have been changed for the usual reasons and also because of poor my memory when relating to events so long ago.

My Grandmother and my Grandfather had been Methodist missionaries in Africa and India for nearly thirty years. I remember from a very early age a story of Grandma being stung by a scorpion whilst she was outside knitting, under a tree, and another story when she was the first white person to have an Indian bride's maid at her wedding. That was back in the days of the British Raj. I still recall the early impressions made by those and other stories.
However, another and more immediate inspiration, came by way of my wild pot smoking friends, Bobby and Mark who had just returned from yet another trip, overland from India, through Afghanistan, in the days when such a trip was possible. From then on I did everything possible to get to India myself, as fast as I could. I handed in my notice at work, sold my motor bike, applied for a passport, bought a plane ticket, and over the next two months had raised just enough money for an open- ended plane ticket.
Without time to talk myself out of the trip I had already set down at New Delhi airport.
On leaving the arrivals hall and, pushing my way out into the heat of the day, I was immediately thrust into a vast heaving throng of the downtrodden and outcast. The very first person to proposition me was a leaper who thrust out his nubby fingers towards me.
At the tender age of seventeen my own first impression of India was quite sobering.
The day I left England, I had met an older traveller at the departure lounge in Heathrow and now we seemed, at least for the present, to have teamed up and become travel buddies. His name was John.
Previously, back in England, Bobby and Mark had recommended I visit a friend of theirs. They explained that he owned a small travel agency in Connaught Place, in the business sector in central Delhi.
John and I discussed looking for some hashish to buy and of course I told him about my buddy Maulik, so on the second day of our trip we hailed an auto rickshaw and headed over to look for him.
The entrance to the agency was on the main street but the shop itself was tucked back, quietly out of the way from the bustling street. It had earlier been described to me as 'a small travel agency' but this was something out of Alice's Adventures. It was tiny.
Still, we introduced ourselves, explaining we had just arrived from England and had come bearing gifts, at the recommendation of our mutual friends. I handed Maulik a box, which I had sensibly been advised to give as a way of introduction, and with a huge smile he opened it, producing, to his delight (apparently) an old Indian favourite, a bottle of Teachers whiskey. Yuck!
The gift settled it. We were in!
Eventually having been afraid to broach the subject ourselves the conversation turned to hashish. And, more significantly, did we have any?
Having explained our position and our serious lack of supply Maulik smiled broadly and told us not to worry.
He had told us to come back the very next day, and as I could see no way of speeding up the delivery without risking offence we just had to wait patiently. Two days without a smoke. So far a record.
The next day, we arrived at the appointed hour, moving in to the back of the shop where it was dimmer and just a little cooler.
Around two of the walls was a bench upon on it sat several people, a feat in itself in such tight confines. One of them appeared to be a very officially dressed policeman. 'Oh my God!' I thought. How could my friends back home have got it so wrong. 'Jesus!'
My face remained calm as I shook hands, but everyone just nodded and smiled.
We discussed daily pleasantries and then all of a sudden Maulik held out his hand, offering me the huge chunk of hashish which I had ordered.
Needless to say I was surprised. I didn't know what to say. I certainly did not want to cause offence but at the same time could hardly accept the hashish, right in front of this cop.
'Thank you.' I blurted. Shocked. 'But what about him?' I just had to ask, pointing at the looming threat.
They all burst out laughing and I dare say would have rolled in the isles, if there had been sufficient room.
'No problem,' came the reply.
So I took the piece and examined it, shore that any moment out would come the handcuffs, putting a sudden end to our nice little holiday.
It was only the middle of the afternoon but Maulik explained to John and me that we, as the honoured guests had been invited to visit the police station.
'Super. How could we refuse? Tiffin, with the Chief of Police. How very kind.'
Back outside, in the blinding sunshine, and seeing no obvious avenue of escape, a taxi pulled up right to the curb. The four of us squeezed in and off we went.
We drove for a long time through the packed city streets until we began to approach the suburbs, eventually pulling up to our destination, a large unfriendly looking concrete building, where we all piled out.
Many people thronged outside, with a more formal queue snaking along the pavement and into the station. I recall briefly catching the eye of a young woman waiting in the line. She looked western and for just a moment I considered involving myself and perhaps trying to intercede on her behalf. I didn't though.
The Chief beckoned to us and we stepped across the pavement feeling like condemned men.
First we passed the check- in desk, except this was no hotel. It seemed particularly busy for a police station, not that I yet had personal experience of such places, in this or any other country.
We moved on past the cells which seemed just as crowded as everywhere else in India we had seen so far.
A door opened at the back, behind the cells, and we all entered the Chief's official office. Steel cabinets, with locking doors, lined the walls. A large desk sat in the middle and somebody bought in chairs for us. We sat down and the Chief ordered somebody to bring tea.
All this time I still had the lump of hash. I had considered somehow throwing it out of the taxi cab window on our journey over but hadn't and it was still firmly in my possession burning a hole in my bag. It must be pretty good shit as I hadn't rolled a single joint of it yet.
All the time various people were coming and going.
Our host opened some of the cabinets displaying, as he proudly announced, contraband. If I had known before of his supply of bottled spirits I could have saved myself the bother of bringing my own bottle for Maulik.
The Chief offered us some opium but after inquiring if we had taken it before thought twice and changed his mind.
He looked at me and invited me to roll a joint. I could not believe it. Roll up a joint in the office of the Chief of Police of one of the roughest sectors of New Delhi? 'Yeh! Sure Boss. Whatever you say!'
I did as I was told, well...you don't argue in those circumstances, do you? I lit up, taking a number of very large drags, and then passed it on. Apart from John I do not remember specifically who did and who did not smoke. All I know was it had now been three whole days since I had smoked anything and I began very rapidly to get immensely stoned.
For those readers who do not already know, smoking cannabis resin, at the best of times, can cause paranoia. Imagine then the extreme effect of these circumstances.
Suddenly I was blitzed!
It has been nearly thirty years since all this occurred but there is one particular even that occurred which is permanently seared into my memory.
After a while the Chief got up from behind his desk, politely excusing himself. He picked up a large stick propped in the corner, and left the room. After a few moments we heard a piercing and wild, agonised screaming. The terror transferred itself to me. I felt sick and my stomach churned. I could not believe what was happening all around me. All this was seriously playing with my head. In one single afternoon everything about my safe little world up until then had been turned brutally upside down. A few minutes later in walked the Chief, happy as Larry. He replaced his beating stick safely in its corner, took up his position behind his desk and joined in the conversation as if nothing had happened.
How John and I managed to continue with the polite small talk I shall never know.
Much later the Chief asked us if we would like to stay the night. That was enough! We had to get the fuck out of there. I can't remember what we said but made some pathetic excuse, probably something like it was a school day the next day and so would have to be up early in the morning, or we would love to but, sorry I had to look after my ailing Grandmother...all the way back in England.
It was simple as that, though. There were no threats. No reprisals. No attempts of distortion. No locking of cell doors. No nastiness whatsoever, at least not any directed at us. It seemed as if the hypnotist had clicked his fingers, said the magic word and we had been suddenly released from his influence.
A taxi was summoned for us, we bid our hosts farewell and got the hell out of dodge.
The journey through into the city seemed considerably shorter than the previous one and before too long we were returned close to our hotel. We figured it would be wise not go there directly as it still seemed to us that this was one almighty set- up and of course we did not welcome the police beating down the door at four in the morning.
Once back in our room, we were still very shaken, still incredulous of the chain of events and still completely convinced that we were about to be busted and carried away for good.

John was pretty angry at me and somehow held me responsible for the whole series of events.
I guess he wouldn't want to smoke any more of my hash then.

This was my first solo experience abroad and have had a great many, no less traumatic adventures, since.

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