Rajiv Gandhi, the erstwhile prime minister of India had been a good man, who didn’t deserve to die the way he did. Mr. Sins loved the former prime minister, like his father did. Growing up, still in school, Mr. Sins had idolised the man, developing fleeting interests in political science and history.
He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.
Sins hadn’t been born when it had happened, not arriving into the world until a further three years had passed. The man had been a ray of hope for the country mired in poverty and illiteracy. The man had introduced information technology into the country in cahoots with his friend, Sam Pitroda, a knowledge based technology which the country would go on to use as it’s base, to lift millions to a decent life.
The man was a liberal. He didn’t believe in religion or caste. He had been a man of the people, he was the hope, the knight in shining armour. He had been everyone’s friend, including both Russia and the United States, managing to bring in millions of dollars for the country’s aid.
In 1985, 6 years before he’d been killed, the United States, under the guise of a multi million dollar grant, had forced the man to pass the National Drugs and Psychotropic Act in the Indian parliament, clubbing marijuana with synthetic, man made drugs like Heroin and Cocaine.
The Act was modelled on the lines of the United States’ much publicized War on Drugs campaign, which turned out be a huge front for black money and gave birth to the modern phenomenon of Drug Cartels, brining with them arms and violence, fuelled by the States’ insatiable appetite for hard drugs.
Not that the episode mattered much to India, the country continued to run as it had before. The only difference being that, now marijuana was forced behind closed doors and frowned upon, to be spoken in hushed tones.
It became another front to make money for the very enforcers charged with enforcing it.
A modern generational resurrection is underway for marijuana. The millenial generation has embraced the plant like never before, creating a cult following and brining the plant to the notice of the mainstream. Perhaps the plant is moving out the closed doors.