Q - Of Cigarettes and Smoking - no sermons simple tell-tale

Another page from my Diary, October 2, 2004.

I think I am caught on the wrong foot with this title. Believe me it
has nothing to do with sermonizing, preaching, teaching, or advising.
It is a simple tell-tale thingamajig. My 'Code of Conduct' does not
allow me to make fun of others, calling names, belittle anyone; I think
everyone should get a breathing space. Don't glare I have so much to
tell you in this short journal.

It all started this morning. I noticed this suspicious looking
character standing just outside my bedroom window smoking a cigarette
and the tobacco smell spreading around to catch my sense of smell. I
hate the idea of being victimized as a passive smoker. The cigarette
manufacturers have the statutory warning on the packets written in
clear letters, "Cigarette smoking is injurious to health". People in
millions have the habit of smoking.

My Baba was a chain smoker. He was fond of smoking cheroot, I think an
aristocracy maintained by the bureaucrats of his time. The cheroots
came in beautiful slim and trim wooden boxes, I am not sure maybe
twenty or something close to this number came in a single packed box.
We siblings waited for the last cheroot to be out of the box and then
the simple box became the prized possession of one of us. At times my
small brother and I would place a cheroot between our lips and try the
art of smoking without lighting it. Once we were caught red handed by
Ma, she said, "the cheroot is very strong and once you drag in the
smoke you won't be able to bear the strong taste of the tobacco and
faint. Better stay away from it". With this warning we stayed away from
the cheroot but liked the way Baba drew in the breath with the lighted
cheroot caught between his lips and how handsomely he blew out the
smoke after removing it from the lip hold.

With this the smoking story does not end. Baba gave up smoking cheroot
and started with cigarettes. I think he puffed away a lot of money in
cigarettes. With his cigarette smoking we waited for the empty packets.
We tore the side strips of the packets and collected the two bigger
rectangular pieces, which looked like playing-cards, added them in big
numbers to our prized possession. The outer side, colourful with the
name of the brand prominently printed and the blank inside had a
handwritten number we wrote, the numbers from 1 to 25 on twenty five
blank sides. We made two sets of the empty cigarette packet playing
cards to play our special game ? 50 cards and our special game. We
added the two sets, shuffled the cards and distributed among the
players, sometimes two and at times even five or six players enjoyed
this game. A simple game of piling cards one on top of the other, the
cards falling from the tiny hands on the playing table one after the
other. When the number of a card matched with the card lying face up on
the table from the next playing hand the cards on the playing table was
collected by the player whose number matched with the previous one.
There was cheating and crying and fighting in the game and at times
torn bits lay scattered all around. It seems so funny at this time of
life. I think we youngsters had the brain to innovate such games but it
sounds so silly now.

That day was so special when we saw a giant walking the street of the
market place. A man about seven feet tall, wearing giant sized long
pants with dark blue stripes running down the length against the white
background. The man wore a clown's hat, colourfully decorated and held
a cone shaped speaker close to his mouth. He shouted at the top of his
voice saying something we children were not interested in. We were more
interested in this tall man and the secret of his height. It was Raju,
the rickshaw puller who told us that the man had added extra legs. "But
How" was the childish question. All that he could tell us was; the man
had attached wooden legs to get the abnormal height. "What is he doing
in this funny attire" we asked Raju. He told us he was advertising for
"Cavenders Cigarette". From that day whenever we saw anyone in striped
trousers, we called him "Cavenders". This giant of a man was
accompanied with a band of musicians, drum players and a flutist
playing a tune as they moved along the street. Street urchins ran after
this troupe and they distributed free cigarettes. Raju was lucky to get
a cigarette and puffed away the smoke in the form of rings from his
mouth. We stared in amazement at Raju's tricky puff. We went to see
this giant man at the market place during the holidays and enjoyed the
special show put up by the cigarette company. Advertising has moved a
long way and sitting in our drawing rooms the telly brings us the ads.
at home. What should I call this; Advancement with Time.

The last week of September had so much to 'give' and 'take' from the
world of Indian music and literature. I love to hear soft music when I
am working on my computer. And now I am humming a favourite tune of a
song sung by the melody queen of India, Lata Mangeshkar. This queen of
melody has just celebrated her birthday; she is 75, still at the helm.
I like light music but Indian classical music? I have put in a few
years learning classical music. How can I forget those early morning
hour of riyaz (practice) everyday. I think learning music builds
confidence and concentration. The Thumri (a branch of Indian classical
music) Queen Shobha Gurtu died on Monday (27 Sep.). A great loss to the
music world. Another sad news; Mulk Raj Anand, one of the most
outstanding figures among Indian writers in English and described as
the father of Indo-Anglican Literature died on Tuesday at the age of
99. I had Indo-Anglican Literature as my special paper in M.A. Some of
his novels are; Untouchable, Coolie, Two Leaves and a Bud, The Sword
and the Sickle, Across the Black Waters, The Private Life of an Indian.
This is human life ? a span of life covered on this earth, to come and
go, only to be remembered as 'once lived such and such a person'.

Narsamma was the helping hand in our house. She washed dishes and
clothes, swept and swabbed the floor and at times exercised on the
grinding stone to make paste of the different masalas (spices) used for
the curries. As kids we were stunned when Narsamma would put in the
lighted Peenka in her mouth and bring it out. It seemed so magical but
later on we came to know it was her way of smoking. You must be
wondering what is Peenka ?the tobacco leaf rolled up like a cheerot ?
cheap, gives pleasure to some with the smoking habit.

Hey, let me tell you something about Beedis. Some of the economically
weaker sections of the people take pleasure in smoking Beedis. Beedi
making is an art. I have seen beedi makers at work as a child. There
was a long dark corridor in the far side of the main market buiding of
our city. Beedis makers in large numbers sat crossed legged on the
floor with a basket resting on their lap, the raw materials in the
basket - beedi leaves - cut and sized, tobacco, a reel of thread and
the pointed metal. They rolled the leaves, tying the lower end with
thread and the top end opening filled with tobacco and closed with the
help of a pointed metal. These men swayed back and forth in rhythmic
movement as they went on making beedis. They worked for hours and
elders said these beedi makers suffered from T.B. working long hours
with the tendu leaves and tobacco.

You must be thinking how I know so much about smoking. Simple ? my
sense of sight caught them, my recollection transferred in words.

Smoking is banned in many public places. When someone likes the taste
of tobacco and finds smoking refreshing why should he/she care for the
hazard that is looming under the guise of smoking ? be it passive or
active.

Did you find any smoke in this Smoky journal? After a shower I will get
drunk in sleep under the blanket of darkness.