Posted on: Aug 26, '09
BACCHUS OH !
Disclaimer:
(i) This is not a confession to bootlegging.
(ii) If by chance you get motivated to have a drink I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE – this is just a fropper blog and not a motivation lecture.
(iii) Hic!
PRELUDE
"Bacchus, as Dionysos, is of Indian origin. Cicero mentions him as a son of Thyone and Nisus. Dionysos means the god Dis from Mount Nys in India.... Dionysos is pre-eminently the deity on whom were centered all the hopes for future life; in short, he was the god who was expected to liberate the souls of men from their prisons of flesh."
- M. P. Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled
"After dismembering him, the Titans first boiled the pieces in water and afterwards roasted them. Pallas [Athena] rescued the heart of the murdered god, and by this precaution Bacchus (Dionysos) was enabled to spring forth again in all his former glory. Jupiter, the Demiurgus, beholding the crime of the Titans, hurled his thunderbolts and slew them, burning their bodies to ashes with heavenly fire. Out of the ashes of the Titans - which also contained a portion of the flesh of Bacchus, whose body they had partly devoured - the human race was created. Thus the mundane life of every man was said to contain a portion of the Bacchic life."
- Manly P. Hall, Masonic, Hermetic, Quabbalistic & Rosicrucian Symbolical Philosophy
Bacchus must have celebrated when I was born. Perhaps the nurse (who strung me up by my legs to remove the fluid from my lungs and let in the breath of fresh air) blessed me with a finger dipped in wine. The age old custom is that a finger dipped in honey is put to a baby’s lips few moments after it’s born. Thus was I blessed.
RIGVEDA
a ápāma sómam amŕtā abhūmâganma jyótir ávidāma devân
c kíṃ nūnám asmân kṛṇavad árātiḥ kím u dhūrtír amṛta mártyasya
"We have drunk Soma and become immortal; we have attained the light, the Gods discovered.
Now what may foeman's malice do to harm us? What, O Immortal, mortal man's deception?"
In the Vedas, Soma is portrayed as sacred and as a god (deva). The god, the drink and the plant probably referred to the same entity, or at least the differentiation was ambiguous. Two holy drinks exist: Soma for the immortal soul and Amrita for the immortal body. In this aspect, Amrita is similar to the Greek ambrosia; both are what the gods drink, and what made them deities. Indra and Agni are portrayed as consuming Soma in copious quantities. The consumption of Soma by human beings is probably under the belief that it bestows divine qualities on them.
SLIP SLIDIN AWAY
Anyway coming to the point is my tryst with destiny (not the speech Nehru gave), my liquid destiny, the fluidity in life and the myriad instances of living life as it water-planed along.
Like I say it started some where that I do not have a conscious memory off. I did have a taste of it taking a sip from my father’s glass—it tingled
It mainly started with that movie called “Paint Your Wagon”. Remember Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin.
You’ve gotta see it. www.youtube.com/watch? v=2dEKDCwf9XU.
I was born under a wandrin' star"
Well ! So ? We went to the booze shop and asked for a quarter of Gin, “go away baccha”. Aww we are grown ups, MAN! - Shoo before I tell your principal. That was it, but not to be vanquished we bribed the ghora wallah in town to buy it for us.
It was dark and silent, the lights of the town shimmered to various lengths in the placid water of the lake adding to the romanticism of juvenile pursuits of the kind we were soon to partake in. We stood on the flats of Naini Tal, opened the bottle, a thumb to mark each his share-this is yours and what’s below is mine. Its was in quick – nothing - a few seconds later – it was smoke through the ears, tears through the eyes and a fire within going down slowly to the very fathoms of the body. Soon the spirits took to wings as we stumbled along the road to school singing “We were born....” We tramped along , with an effervescenced mind singing “The Bear Climbed Over The Mountain” We let our voices waft over the dale, the glen and the downs of Naini Tal. We even cacophonied “Old Lang Syne” to whom I dont know – maybe to innocence.
Well that “quarter” soon fell a wee bit short of the thirst of the effervescing mind and pecuniary status being on the ebb a bigger driblet of gin was unaffordable. Juvenile option was good Ol’ “Tharra” from the government (god bless the government) licensed booze shop. An “Adhia” a half as it was called in the local lingo. It came in two brands “Sonfia”, that was the fennel flavoured one and the other one was “Santra”. Orange flavoured, it was orange in colour and left an orange mark on your lips, they probably used clothes dye to colour it orange. Well the short of it was that we stuck to Sonfia(sounds nearly like Sophia). Those were heydays, flying high – well we thought so they were- so we missed movies, stopped sending chocolates to girlfriends, didn’t go for boat rides and all. Self denial for the sake of Bacchian pursuits. Wither Cambridge’s rosy cheeked, puritanical, innocent choir singing boys. Devils own elves under the shroud were abounding and merry making.
After school, OX-FORD – Apna Good ol’ Punjab, land of five rivers, actually there were seven; the five rivers that you know off and the other two were milk and booze. The country side was literally littered with “English Wine Shops”. Bet the Queen quivered at that. Even in the quaintest of quiet corners of the state the proverbial English Wine Shop was to be found. So it was adventure, fun and roguishness all round. I don’t know why but somehow we stuck to GIN! Neat in – a kick upstairs and be done.
Moonshine was at its best too those days. Distilled in the moons own aura it was blessed by the moon gods. It used to be dripped hot into bottles on cold foggy winters nights when we used to make Gur (jaggery ) on our farm. The molasses were converted to moonshine. Those that are saying YUCK ! What do you think FENI in Goa is? Try our moonbeam and you will forget FENI and be singing Bale’ Bale’. Well on those freezing cold smoggy wet wintry nights we sat around the still warming our hands on the fire that crackled below the vessel that contained the mush. The initial droplets were let off because they were water vapour and the again another bit was let off because that was the thing caused bad hangovers. Then the juice of mother earth would begin to flow. Well one collected it in a small earthen diya and put match to it; a blue glow “bottle it”! We would slowly sip the warm liquor from the diyas raising our spirits to the stars. All sleazy secrets were let slip, affairs, debauchery, idiocy and all else. Anecdotes laced with spice in Punjabi lent a boozy flavour to the slightly misty, moony ,cold night on the farm lands of Punjab.
The skidrow ended with my entry to the Military Academy the Hallowed Portals of Authoritian Rule and Iron Discipline. The first three months were spent in cleansing my body of the ravages and sins I had accumulated whilst educating myself. I was running around in the "Dales of D’Doon", spewing out the charcoal from my lungs and the hydrocarbons from my gut. I nearly forgot who I was, but you know I have this corny habit of talking to myself whilst looking into my eyes in the mirror (secret of my survival or success). For three months I had been devoid of the worldly pleasures till a course mate confided in me ... "I haven’t had a ____on for the last three months". That was reality. Hmmmmmm we will leave that there. The first opportunity we got to go to the town was after we cleared the obligatory drill test ( that’s where you learn to march and not walk around like a duck) . My salivary glands and Pavlovian instincts ensured that I cleared the test in the first chance and I was off to paint the town red or wet I should say. God Bless the quaint Queen – an English Wine Shop was just across the road. I slid into the shop (a well practiced manoeuvre perfected during my school days) slipped out with my booty and was back in the academy in a jiffy. I wasn’t interested in ogling at the ten odd bandy legged females the whole academy would be peering at in the town. If it’s not in hand it’s not worth wasting time with. The contents were poured into an army issue enamel mug (used for universal purpose) and LO’ behold we were back in civilisation. I called it Officer Like Pursuits, OLP. They have a yard stick called OLQ –Officer Like Qualities- to calibrate you as an OFFICER. If you don’t have OLP you can’t have OLQ – Quid Pro Quo.
Well I successfully sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ to the Military Academy and my adventurous instinct made me opt for the elite – jumping out of aircraft and playing with fire, it was my kind of world.
Oh did I miss out on Wine Women & Song......................................
Shucks that’s another story !!!!
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