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The original was posted on /r/eldertrees by /u/DMTrott on 2023-06-29 14:45:34+00:00.
I’m the author of the harm reduction tome, The Drug Users Bible (download your free PDF copy via this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/harmreduction/comments/14ldqyp/download_the_drug_users_bible_from_here/ )
You might think, therefore that I should know better. However, complacency is a thing, and as I found my way to the lassi shop in Varanasi, I arrogantly thought that I’d seen it all as far as cannabis was concerned. I was wrong.
I’ll hopefully be back to India (which I love) soon, but next time I’ll practice what I preach and take it a little easier.
My story, copied word-for-word from the book, is below:
EDIBLES: BHANG LASSI
Whilst my trip to sample bhang lassi didn’t go according to plan, it perhaps serves as a cautionary note regarding complacency with respect to edibles. With the best of intentions, and with significant experience, I made a number of wholly avoidable errors…
Lost In Varanasi
Within any study of the historical use of cannabis an Indian preparation known as bhang will be prominently listed. As an intrinsic part of the ancient Hindu tradition it has been used in food and drink dating back to at least 1000 BC.
The epicentre of its spiritual use is widely considered to be Varanasi. Sitting on the banks of the Ganges this is a place of spectacular classical beauty and for many westerners, a culture shock; a step back in time.
To this day bhang is openly available there, being sold through lassi shops as bhang lassi, a smooth and creamy milk-shake type drink. Prior to embarkation, I had identified three particular dispensaries, and of these, fate delivered me to The Green Lassi Shop shortly after 12 noon on a warm balmy afternoon.
It was small, almost tucked away, but sitting on a busy street. Approaching the counter I specifically asked for bhang lassi light: I didn’t really want to find myself entirely out of mind, as the day was still young.
In truth my expectations were not particularly high. During the 10 year period in which I wrote this book, it is fair to say that I consumed my fair share of cannabis edibles. I therefore approached this expedition with what turned out to be an entirely misplaced degree of complacency.
Let The Stoning Commence
The owner prepared the drink, pouring a heavy green fluid into the milky white contents of an earth coloured bowl. Plopping a dollop of cream on top he then handed it over, and I parted with a grand total of 150 rupees (about £1.50, or $2).
There was no interior to this place, just a bench in front of the counter, and he indicated that I should face inwards whilst drinking. A couple of others were milling around doing the same, but I sat down on the bench itself.
The taste was smooth and pleasant, and not cannabis-like at all. I sipped slowly, taking a few photographs as I relaxed. Finishing off, I dropped the empty bowl into the bin and continued my walk around the noisy, bustling and typically colourful Indian streets.
For perhaps the best part of an hour this remained a pleasant stroll. A mild buzz was emerging, and I slipped in and out of a gentle cannabis ambience. Soon, however, a somewhat sinister edge began to manifest with almost every passing thought.
From Groovy To Gruesome
Recognising the potential for a difficult ride I headed back to the ghats, by the water, where I hoped for some relative quiet. On arrival I encountered a Hindu burial ceremony, which under normal circumstances would have been a fascinating spectacle to witness. I edged around the periphery and found an inconspicuous place to sit and contemplate.
Although it now seems obvious, watching bodies being burned in my deteriorating condition was not the best idea. As might be expected, it was an extremely intense experience, but one which was increasingly disturbing to my stoned mind. Soon it was full-on gruesome.
The Journey From Hell
Eventually I decided that I had to make an exit and head for the tranquillity of my hotel bedroom. This was easier said than done. The hotel was 40 minutes away, via the only tenable form of transport, tuk-tuk. I didn’t relish the journey but had little choice, so rejecting an offer from a driver who appeared to be about 12 years old I grabbed a more mature sensible looking chap. So began the journey from hell.
My normal contented acceptance of the craziness of Indian roads quickly evaporated. This was traumatic. With traffic attacking at speed from every direction, the noise and bedlam was now completely off the scale. I was literally hanging on with white knuckles, as the vehicle ducked and weaved. The drama seemed to continue forever, as I sought and failed to recognise anything which might indicate that I was close to base. When would it end? Would I survive it? Had I really done it this time?
Throughout this ordeal my mouth was so dry that I could hardly speak. I desperately needed water, but even more acutely I needed this horror show to stop. Eventually, after an eternity, it did.
Sanctuary & Slumber
I had survived, and I reached the sanctuary of my room with a feeling of almost overwhelming relief. I glugged a bottle of water, turned on the TV, lay on the bed, and reflected upon my folly. Still anxious, and seeking refuge through slumber, I closed my eyes and drifted.
I occasionally awoke, again with a parched dry mouth, to view the Indian version of MTV, which was astonishingly raunchy. This was India, and I couldn’t comprehend how moves which would not beat the censor’s cut in the US or UK were apparently routine here.
Some hours later I began to emerge from the morass and managed to eat a hearty vegetarian meal before bedtime proper. I slept like a log.
In the morning I was back to my usual self, albeit with a bit of heady strangeness. I felt a little drained, but generally sober, and was good to go again. I headed back to the ghats, this time as a regular tourist.
Lesson Learned
Clearly, the cannabis strain itself was not entirely one for me. The mix of THC and CBD is of course a defining factor of the cannabis experience, and under normal circumstances I am able to select a strain which will deliver what I am looking for. Here, this luxury was absent, and I had to take what was available. This was clearly high in THC and a high dose, creating the anxious edge which persisted throughout.
One thought that occurred after the event was: if this was lassi light, what on earth must the full-Monty be like? Perhaps the guy at the shop had misunderstood and served a heavy version, but regardless, this was an accident waiting to happen.
If you are going to bhang lassi anytime soon, take it easy. Start low, and double check that you are really starting low. Equally, be very aware of your set and setting, taking full cognisance of where you are. Make sure that a safe haven is in close proximity, and always be ready to remind yourself that you are under the influence of a drug and that it will end in due course.
Perhaps my story serves as an example of how not to do it, but I am profoundly aware that this is provided in Varanasi to aid a spiritual journey, rather than to pique the curiosity of an ageing European psychonaut.
Yes, I would do it again, as this could have been a rich and rewarding experience, but next time I would learn from these mistakes. Or perhaps I would adhere to the motto: when in India don’t necessarily do as the Indians do.