IT'S MY LIFE AND IT'S NOW OR NEVER

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving
hysterical naked, Dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix, Angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient
heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night..."

So begins Howl, one of 20th century's most celebrated poems. From the 1950s
through the '60s American poet Allen Ginsberg (1926-97) doped frequently to
induce visionary awareness in the company of his legendary friends - Lucien
Carr, William S Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, and young novelist John Clellon
Holmes.

They came to be known as the "Beat Generation" writers because of their
shared sense of spiritual exhaustion and diffused feelings of rebellion
against what they experienced as the general conformity, hypocrisy, and
materialism of the larger society around them.

Chances are that Anupama (named changed) never read Ginsberg. Probably, she
never will.

Till the other day she was what the crowd at Delhi's Atma Ram Sanatan Dharm
College called a behenji; rigorously into Maths Hons. Beer (sic), to her,
was a woolly mammal. But, that was yesterday.

Today, Anupama is the Crowd. The modbods at Mojo at the Metropolitan swear
by her gyrations so long as Anupama's on a roll. And beer to her is a
beverage that's opened the gateway to alternative reality. That's how she
identifies herself with today's beat generation.

Anupama's been on a roll for eight months now. Doing late hours on the line
hooked on to mid-west America in her acquired drawl. Night after night
after night: "Hi, this is Ann, can I help you?"

Ann, you've come a long way baby, on the help desk. Now, you need help!
Recently, Ann's been flashed on www, stripped down to her ankles, doing the
bear-hug with Garry a.k.a. Gaurav.

They cursed the hidden webcam for that. Given a choice, Ann would love to
blame it on drugs. Sadly, Anupama had no choice.

It was the monotony of the call centre job, night after night, when mom and
dad were in bed, that led Ann to her fix. And thank God for that...Thank
Bob Marley too ...Marley's God!

"Excuse me while I light my spiff. Good God, I gotta take a lift. From
reality I just can't drift; That's why I am staying with this riff."

For Rastafarians, as with our yogis, the Holy Herb has been the key to
nirvana. It loosens up the mind. Helps understand the self, the universe
and even God.

It also gives them the highest insight of all mysticism - that man is
basically God. Small wonder then, our ancient texts sanctify the chillum as
a tunnel to eternity.

For Ann and Garry, however, the urge for reality altering substances came
from the need to bust after-work stress, not Krishna Consciousness the
least. So, dope became their only hope. It's illusion. It's delusion.

It's tough to put a number, but call centre bosses agree that the cross
identities of long-distance telephone talkers from as diverse places as
Jhandewala to Jorhat working off-hours in the pigeon holes of Gurgaon are
forcing alternate life choices on GeNext.

To keep their body clocks ticking. And for them - the actual numbers could
be nearly 50% for all call centre execs across the country - dope is the
way to cope.

It's the same story with other jobs as well. Ill-paid medicos putting in
long hours in government hospitals are prone to the temptation. So
ketanine, an anaesthetic used intravenously on patients, comes as timely
deliverance.

Says Dr Jitendra Nagpal, consultant psychiatrist at New Delhi's Vimhans,
"Substance abuse is rampant among marketing professionals, doctors and
technical people. The most aware people are also the most prone to drugs."

People craving for alternative reality succumb to drugs to escape the
drudgery of life. People also do it for recreation. To feel good. To
enhance sensitivity. To achieve a social comfort zone. Often leading to
addiction.

Substances such as caffeine, speed and cocaine not only create an illusion
of more energy, they also make you more confident. Drugs of choice reflect
generations and social strata.

Alcohol seems to span the decades. Marijuana, a favourite of the Beat
poets, acquired cult status in the '60s and '70s, along with psychedelics,
which suited the spiritual seekers wanting to transcend the mundane world,
discover cosmic truths and live on an elevated plane.

Early psychedelic writers such as Aldous Huxley elucidated their experience
with LSD; these trip reports formed the basis of the public perception of
psychedelic effects.

The speedy, affluent '80s gave legitimacy to cocaine. The '90s brought
Ecstasy and crack.

Alternative reality? Forget Marley, who wants to be a Huxley or a Ginsberg?
Not you.You just wanna get on with life. That 9 to 5 routine. And you ain't
Sno fringe element, boy.

But even while you dismiss substance abuse as a fixation of the fixed,
buddy it's time to go take a look around your home. Mummy, Papa, Chintu,
Pintu and Guddi, are all doing with a fix. In everyday life. Just to carry on.

Coffee, tea, cigarettes, sodas, aerated drinks, alcohol make it to the same
"fun category" as marijuana, which probably without your knowing, is
getting administered in seriously ill patients.

When was it the last time that our collective consciousness was so royally f*?