No life is worth living without a
passion for at least one thing - a philosophy I always held close to my heart.
The more leisure pursuits one has, the richer his life is guaranteed to be is
the general notion that binds the heart strong. But, hold the breath, not all leisure
pursuits are healthy. Hobbies like smoking
and drinking could be costly. Drinks are usually laced with subtle poison that only
draws you closer to death. Every sip is a walk in that direction of the dark recess
of hell. I realized this, when I looked in the eye of death, which danced on my
friend’s face long time ago. The memories are still fresh in my mind.
Flash back – 2008 I was working for an
ad agency, where I met Benji who was an ace copywriter, I envied the way his
words formed sentences and the paragraphs, of course, literally blew me away. That’s
when I drew close to him to draw on some of his wisdom and replicate his magic
on the paper. But, he was genius who danced to a different beat - a man given
to too many whims and fancies. A few include women, drinks, smoking, and songs.
Married, yet, his eyes always ogled
around for more flesh. I hoped his scales on the eyes would drop and his inner
eyes would open, making him realize that there’s more to life than woman’s
flesh. But, he preferred to keep his scales on. And I was left with no choice
but ignore his wretched heart but hang on to his every word of writing. Of
course, his music collection was another thing he held close to his heart. That
only heightened our bond of friendship since music was my “love” too!
His taste in songs swung from one end
to the other, including remotest Spanish groups to hardcore rock bands. Gypsy
kings to Metallica he had a taste for heavenly as well as ungodly music. I
loved to talk to him when he was sober, which was extremely rare. This was
usually towards the end of the month, when he had philandered away his money
and had money only to buy food, not enough for smokes or drinks. That’s when
philosophy poured out of him unabated.
That’s also when he shared me what
books he liked to read, how he had come to craft copy that had the hearts of
the clients and customers with equal ease. He was boastful; I felt no offence,
because with writing skills as his, I thought he was entitled to! When he
spoke of writing he had a glaze in his eyes, he was lost in thought, and his
body acted strange. Anybody, looking at him would immediately scream he is on a
high. Yes, if it weren’t the smokes and drinks that couldn’t give him the high,
it was the writing he seemed to snort on to get that high. I once took his
works to a client; the client screamed in elation and said, “Damn, here’s
someone who can really write, someone who knows how to translate thoughts!”
I loved to stare at his work; in
fact, I stole his notebooks from him, so I knew how to draft copy that looked
like his but was actually mine. I would have given my arm and a leg to write
like that. If you think it’s too much, leg it! ;) Nevertheless, all was not
well in Benji’s camp. Once, in the dead of the night, I got a call. Benji’s voice whispered, “Dan, where are you
man?” I screamed, “Benji, its 2 am in the morning what the hell’s wrong with you?
Calling me at this unearthly hour?”
But, I could hear him breath hard and
heavy. “I am not feeling well, man. Can you take me to a hospital, he blurted
out. I scrambled out of bed. Put on something warm as it was in the middle of chilly
winter, drove to his place in a matter of minutes. Benji was lying on the bed
mourning with pain. One look at him told me he was in bad shape. We hired a car
and went to the nearest hospital.
But, as it was night, no facilities
were available, so we had to wait till morning to get the tests done. When the
results came out we hurried back to the doctor. The doctor looked at the
results and said, “Benji, You are in an awfully bad shape, one drop of whisky
or alcohol of any sort will kill you. Be careful. Be very careful. Don’t touch
alcohol.” Knowing Benji, I knew this would be impossible.
In fact, when I first joined the
agency, I had a dream that Benji was going to die, and in that dream, it may
sound strange, but God wanted me to warn him. It was quite scary. When I told
him that he was doing something wrong and god was not in synch, he instantly
put his finger on the weakness. He said, “I only drink, Dan. How can god be
offended at that? I am not harming anyone”, he explained.
I exchanged the Biblical gyan that
our body is the temple of god, one who destroys it, him will god destroy.” He
got scared, “He said, “Dan, you are scaring me, man. I am going home now, if
boss asks, tell him, I am not feeling well. He scooted out of the office,
hopped into an auto and disappeared into the crowds. The next day, he was usual
self, chirpy and slightly drunk. This
was all before our trip to the doctor when he was unwell.
However, as days passed, Benji stopped coming to the office, having a vague feeling, I scurried to his house, I could see him sleeping from the window, after I rang the bell a couple of times, I asked the servant, “Why isn’t he answering the doorbell?” He replied, “He does the same to me, sometimes, he answers, sometimes he doesn’t.”
I left the house, knowing he is drunk
stupid to open the door. After a couple of months, I got a call again from Benji.
Dan, I am not feeling well.
I scuttled to his house and could
make out that he was drunk as usual. Then, realizing that things are not in his
favour, I asked him where his family stays. He said, “My sister stays in Mumbai.”
I called her up, she was receptive, “we actually advised him not to go to
Hyderabad, since we would have no control of stopping him from drinking, but he
wouldn’t listen” she replied.
She then sent me an air ticket from
Hyderabad to Mumbai for Benji to my mail iddy, I dutifully handed it out to him
saying he might think of returning to Hyderabad once he gets alright, knowing
pretty clear it was a mammoth task. He agreed, next day, with a new zest, he swung
his bag of belongings over his shoulder and walked and got into the car waiting
for him to take him to the Hyderabad Airport. That was the last I saw of Benji.
Months passed, one day, I thought of
calling him. After a lot of rings, a voice came over, “Hello?” “Hi Benji,
this is Dan, you remember?” “Yeah, yeah.
How are you doing man?” he replied. His slur in the speech spoke clearly of his
unabated drinking. He was inebriated as
usual, I chit-chatted for some time and hung up. I was pretty cross at him for
not giving up his darned habit as could literally see the writing on the wall
that he is headed the wrong way at full throttle.
One afternoon, I was industriously caught
up in some church work, when the mobile rang, I said, “Hello?” The voice on the
other end answered, “Hi there! This is Benji’s sister, I have a bad news. Benji
is no more”. I stopped in my tracks. I knew this would happen, but not that
soon. “Oh, I am sorry”, I replied.
She then asked me for help. “Can you please settle Benji’s bills at
Hyderabad as he wouldn’t be coming back? Please sell off everything he owns (which
were bare necessities) and pay off the rent, the servant salary, etc.” I wholeheartedly
offered help out. After everything was put on the market, there was still the
music system and a good number of CDs. I asked Benji’s sister what I I should do
with them. She said, “Danny, I think you can keep the system and the CDs. That’s
the least I can do for all the assistance”. That came as a complete surprise as
he had an awesome collection of music CDs - at least a 100 and above. More than
the system, it was the CDs that drove me mad. It was a windfall of fortune. Nevertheless it was all a mixture of pain and happiness.
After all these years, I still miss Benji.
He had a gem of a talent but he couldn’t harness it to its full potential. The
bosses too, knowing him as a drunk, paid half of what he was worth. But, he
didn’t mind as he just needed money for drinks.
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