The Lost Orator.

Chapter 1 : THE STEP

A lot of time people tend to feel a hard choice to take. A decision on a bar shall a tossing coin resolve, a conflict in the court has a judge to solve, a conflict with knowledge does a teacher debate about, the conflict of a contaminated religion sees its fate over the holy water of well-dressed men, But a conflict with the self bears no judge. A pirate in his see with no crew to dress his commands. He shall serve the master and the slave. And so was I.

They tell I was too little when I discovered my stars mend me to be a wanderer, yet I never saw them shine over the night sky. I never fled my home, I just broke the walls that confined me. I promise to stay a king and only a king and shall see that world not as scattered ball of lands, But maah empire. I may not own a penny but made sure people spend a lot listening to my tales... I had no gun, no muscle, no man.. but possessed a weapon too powerful to move mass. And now was I aware of its presence. I was an Orator.

At 19, while the world still ran around with duplicate birth certificates to extend their service of slavery; they called it job though, I decided to corrupt the system they worked for. The society needed a new lawmaker. The old ones had their time to retire.

I ran away from the sounds of my mother weeping, My dad's frequent visit to the police station in search of a boy lost in his own wish. They told I fled in fear. Fear of being labeled a failure. Only to know that I was gone to return as a symbol of success.

If you ever plan to flee, a piece of advice on the subject. Carry the least possible, its a journey not a tour to return back to you warm beds. I ended up in a small hotel. Three pairs of shirts, a couple of pants, shoes for formals, chappals for regular and a notebook to trace back my roots. I was not a beggar, Just a rebel. I never served to earn, rather prefer to learn. And then itself I figured how little in reality do we need to survive yet dream to conquer so big. For nothing other than dream keeps us working. And me? Well, I could afford to dream not big but huge.

They gave me 250 rupees and the days meal. Pairs of clothes per year and a multi-holed roof to sleep under. Mumbai is filled with raw labor... But the worst part is I was not to use them, but a competition. But we had a common master- Ganja (m*******a). Mary Jane is love. During my stay, I used to smoke up at least 40-50 grams of Hashish every month. My owner had three local dhabas. One near the station and two inside the market beside Bansal Classes. I used to have an Interaction with a lot of boys every day. I knew everyone's custom orders, I knew every couple, I knew the singles, I knew Dada’s. I knew sluts… too much to learn in just three months. The owner had made me the receptionist and paid me 800 rupees. I learned mind pays much more than muscles.

My lucky lottery was Mary Jane. I lived in the slum just behind my shop with another worker from Murshidabad. And trust me... be a Muslim or Hindu, ever encounter a bangali in any part of the world and they are your family. Salim was my right hand. We meet Aslam chacha. We couldn’t afford to buy stuff so we crushed weeds for him and he let us have some puff. Aslam chacha was the sole weed dealer in the entire basti. I proposed a deal. I promised him a sale of 300 grams.

Now if you are not a stoner, You don’t have an idea of how the business works. For 10 grams approx., you pay 100 bucks. And the hole is no-one f*****g weighs. I used to take 300 grams from Chacha. So 30 packets to be made and sold and Chacha took 2700 rupees for that.

I was earning my 1st monthly salary in a day. 30 packets sold like hot pancakes. And demands increased constantly. I tried 60 packets and by afternoon it was all gone. f**k I had hit the jackpot. I was selling 160 packets per days.

And I had varieties. 100 was for 10 grams which were hardly 8 grams of the actual stuff. I had 30 grams packet and 70 grams packet. Throughout the night I and Salim would make these packets and smoke stuff. We used battery water to charge the weed. And my side business was paying me almost five times my job. We earned 2000 per day. Now we had started drinking out in local bars and went out roaming. He had to send money back home, so I never asked him to pay much... we Kinna made a family. And when you are a supplier, you have a f*****g garden to smoke and why fear cops when he is your landowner. Marry brought me 30k per month. Festive seasons were a lot. By the time next Diwali sparkled, I would afford a low budget MacBook. And guess what I did just that. The f*****g dhaba had turned into a cafe. Even now the owner had interests in my effort. He bought speakers and we introduced offer deals. By another year we had Air-conditioning and my regular earning was easily putting government slaves to shame.