Crucifixion

By Keya Pothen

“Psykovsky LIVE IN KERALA!” Kokeyshi said, reading the flyer out loud.

“Looks good, macha!” he says, turning to his friend.

Kokeyshi was a young man of average height, built with good proportions and sharp features; he wasn't a bad-looking guy.

Hardworking but aloof, he spent years trying to build a reputation in the Malayalam film industry. Mixing and networking with various producers and directors.

A stoner like almost 90% of the current film industry generation, what started as a favour became his calling card. A packet of weed for his friend became a couple of packets for a couple of friends. And then he became ‘The guy’. 

Apart from his fervour for acting, he was an ardent admirer of the music of the psychedelic electronic kind. Psytrance, they called it.

Now, Psytrance was the new evolving underground music scene mostly associated with raves. To the world, it was just an excuse for teenagers to “Party” and “Do drugs”.

But for its cult following, it was a place of solace, a place to escape their lives.

Of course, the psychedelic evolution went hand in hand with the drugs, quite like the new-age Woodstock. The music now expands across the world with independent labels with multiple artists with hundreds of tracks; it's a huge pulsating throbbing musical neural network. You probably connect it with Goa.

Since ‘the scene’ was evolving so fast, its subscribers were forced to catch up. What was initially an absence of ego haven slowly evolved into becoming just like any other nightclub. And it is human nature to want to feed the ego.

Inherently conditioned from birth, who wouldn't want to be the coolest one there with all the respect and all the attention?

Fame, which was once restricted to the performers of their art, was now easily available in any sphere.

Kokeyshi’s inadequacies and insecurities with himself made him fall victim to the power of the ego. He wanted fame. And this kind of fame was easy.

As long as he was the guy with the drugs or the one throwing the parties, he was showered with admiration and acceptance and respect.

He knew this, and he just happened to apply it to the other side of his life; his attempt at his movie career; his chase to fame.

Now, Kokeyshi was a kind human being.

So kind and trusting, and that was exactly the cause of his downfall.

Never one to steal, cheat, or intentionally inflict darkness on anyone, his helpful, naive personality was manipulated and used through and through by consumers. Turning him into what he had no intention of becoming, their source.

I remember seeing an update of his on my Facebook feed once.

He was with a bunch of girls in Goa, from Kerala.

He looked happy; they looked for peace on the beach.

It was only later that I found out he had travelled there to help these girls get access to their drugs, as he was the safest and far from the creep that a lot of other people in “the scene” were.

They could trust him to get him the drugs and, at the same time, be a good, safe guide through it. Keeping their female safety in mind and all that.

I think that says a great deal about a man. If women feel comfortable around him in their most vulnerable states. Another trait of his to be admired.

But he was dispensable to everybody he helped.

Because at the end of the day, he was the guy they called when they wanted to party.

A famous and very politically influential film producer befriended him under the pretext of “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Kokeyshi was his access to the best of the substances, minus the hassle of being involved. To Kokeyshi, it was a chance discovery of his talents.

He believed in the false friendship this producer had created, holding on to the faith that slowly his dreams would manifest into reality. So, over time, Kokeyshi becomes the known guy in the industry, getting a few side roles here and there, and miscellaneous Assistant Director jobs as well. But he was never known for his work, just his involvement in “the scene”.

So, Kokeyshi becomes big in his own way, in the movie industry scene, and in the party circuit. From DJ’ing for the underground psy scenes, he moved on to organising them.

Man, Kokeyshi was at his peak, a peak that he had not intended to reach this way.

Naive as he was, he failed to be aware enough of the conversations circling him.

Envy was high, and he was walking a thin thread.

With dishevelled hair and puffy eyes clad in a hip green shirt and jeans, an anxious Kokeyshi hurries out of the station to another holding area, a camera pointing in his face, whilst an aggressive policeman follows. He doesn't look up. It’s what looks like afternoon, the news anchor drones in the background, misinformed clearly, about the usage and consumption of drugs. That’s where the maligning started.

All it took was one party in a hotel, not even intended to be a rave, but just an opportunity to listen to one of the biggest artists in the psychedelic scene.

Where did it all go wrong? TIMING!

Misinformed policemen and a couple of big drug busts led to the clamping down of the CPI-controlled state of Kerala. Kids in Bob Marley t-shirts were being picked up left, right and centre. Another misinformed journalist writes an ignorant article about how Bob Marley is a peddler in Kerala, a big drug kingpin, and the police are on the lookout for him.

It didn't help that a month preluding the ‘Psykovsky bust’, there was another huge bust involving a renowned TV actor, four girls, and large amounts of Cocaine.

All this should have been reason enough not to even try to agitate the already simmering danger.

But Kokeyshi, naive as he was, believed that he was doing no wrong.

His friends were throwing the party, so officially, he wasn't connected to anything.

All they wanted to do was celebrate the music. In their eyes, they weren't breaking the law. A legal party in a five-star hotel. He was not carrying, consuming, or selling any drugs. Security was tight, and the only intent was to give the kids of Kerala an outlet to dance. Sounds like history repeating itself, remember Disco? Remember Hip-Hop?

Remember House and Techno? So, why would the cops have a problem?

Wrong, it was the perfect net for the cops; they had been watching for a while, possibly tipped off by some non-well-wishers.

One can always speculate, but I guess it was a long time coming. The poor guy who had never scammed a person in his life, this naive, aloof fool who wholeheartedly still believed in his pure intentions.

The shoes clonking on the marble floor, a faint heavy bassline in the distance, a group of khaki-clad policemen storm into the hotel.

Disturbing the calm regalia, the guests and staff in the lobby watch on, some stunned, some curious. The on-duty manager runs up to them, asking them their reasons. They shove him aside aggressively as they accuse him with their words, teasing him about the situation.

“Oh, you think you can throw a drug party here and we would let you? Watch! Watch!” yelled the Head Inspector as he walked towards the resonating bassline.

The bassline and his footsteps seemed more aggressive as they approached closer.

They slammed the doors of the hall open and made their way to the DJ console, while a few waited guarding the door.

The flashing strobe lights and incredible artsy neon atmosphere turn into a harsh yellow light and silence.

The inspector has pulled the plug on the music. The cops storm in and start checking everybody.

A friend of Kokeyshi stands beside the console, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He begins to argue with him and his four other organiser friends.

They cuff the DJ and begin to search his belongings while being exceedingly careless about the lakhs of audio equipment surrounding them.

Meanwhile, another cop addresses the kids,

“We are aware of what you all are doing here! And now you will pay!”

He bellowed.

Female cops begin to frisk the girls.

Some of them start to cry from fear.

“You are all going to jail. Cocaine! Cocaine! Acid geecid! We know it all!” he continues.

The cop frisking the DJ finds a big packet with powder in it, and a label across it that reads ‘Adventure On! Organic energy drink.’

He holds it up.“ Sir, we’ve got something!”

The inspector picks it up and looks at one of the organisers and says, “You bring Russians for this dirty drug business, and you try to hide it from us! But we’ve caught you now. This powder is what you mix in the drinks to give you a high. I know. Watch! Watch! Watch!”

The cops begin to cuff them, whilst the organisers and the DJ plead, “Sir, Sir, it's an energy drink, like Red Bull, it’s not a drug, it is completely organic.”

“AAYY!” he yells, smacking them across the faces. “ JUST SHUT UP AND COME.” 

Now, here's where the fun starts.

Kokeyshi wasn't even at the party.

But his reputation preceded him, and he was on their list.

A couple of packets of weed and some other substances were recovered from various kids. But mostly a lot of weed and charas. The party was shut down.

The ones found with substances, the organiser and the DJ were taken to the station, a couple of beatings later.

Kokeyshi gets a call; news of the bust has already reached him. He’s been informed that the cops were coming for him; somebody had said something.

He rushes home to do a final check for any irregularities that could get him in trouble,

A stray bud of weed, a ziplock, he discards them all.

The cops make their way to his house the next day, warrant in hand.

Kokeyshi sits anxiously on his sofa, loud knocks on the door fill the room, he walks towards it, his stomach in his chest, and slowly opens the door.

They greet him with a smack across his face.

Shoving him aside, they begin to raid his house.

Throwing things aside, with no care, damaging most of the stuff in his house.

They find an empty ziplock packet and some traces of weed in a drawer and a vape.

That was all they needed. They handcuffed him and took him to the station.

Poor Kokeyshi, it was purely his reputation that caught up to him.

A small squeal by a terrified kid, probably, or a bigger complaint by a more powerful, influential person with a grudge.

Who knows?

They frame him and book him with possession of cocaine and weed.

And blame him for peddling the drugs at the party.

They beat him for more answers; they want more, and they want him to rat.

Who had he ever given anything to?

Who were all these people in the movie industry that were consuming?

They had to know, or they would make it worse for him.

He had no choice, physically and emotionally exhausted, his face plastered across newspapers and channels in the state.

They called him names, a plague to the country and the state. They made him the enemy, this bad drug dealer, corrupting all the children.

Kokeyshi was a nice guy; he wasn't built for all this negativity and violence.

In all honesty, he was a peace-loving freak.

The ignorant Journalists and the ignorant Cops tore him down, piece by piece, trying to destroy him. What was it to them? This was a big case and a big story for their careers.

They also wanted fame.

Kokeyshi was thrown in jail for a couple of months.

The big-budget Producer, the small-time actors, those rich party girls, they had all disappeared. Leaving Kokeyshi to face his ultimate trial and testament on his own.

He wasn't rich or powerful; he was just a young boy from a middle-class family trying to climb up the ladder to live a better life. His desperation to follow his passion caught up with him, and now he was finished.

A few months later, he was let out. I still wonder who helped.

But it was too late.

All the hard work and effort he had put into building his life was ruined in a moment by powerful people and their childish and maligning games.

A new darkness was forced onto him.

Kokeyshi, the scapegoat. Nobody wanted to touch him. He paid and was still paying for their sins. 

A classic story of crucifixion. 

By Keya Pothen