Fact no. One: I am not a smoker nor am I
fan of smoking.
Fact no. Two: It’s got nothing to do
with morality issues.
There was once a time when I really wanted
to try smoking – just for the heck of it. And while I wasn’t consciously
obsessed with the idea, unconscious obsession was a different thing altogether.
Everyone was doing it around me so I thought, why not add myself to that
ever-growing list and brag about it, if given a chance.
After having settled the fact that I wanted
to explore the avenues of smoking; the next hurdle that stood before me was –
how to go on about it? For a girl who was brought up strictly on religious
values and orthodoxy, it was unconceivable even to think about going to a local
kiosk and asking for a cigarette. Also, I had no idea about the best brand that
existed though I was fairly cognizant with the name of the brands per se, which
made it even more difficult to march up to a store and ask for a cigarette.
Luck by chance – note that this is purely
an Indian terminology – I happened to go for an outing to a beach with my
college colleagues and there it appeared the perfect solution; people were
smoking and I had no qualms about asking one guy – don’t remember his name –
his cigarette. Holding it in my hand, the way I had seen scores of people at
public places do, gave me a semblance of power. Inhaling a puff felt like
taking a whiff of something different; air with a flavour and texture unique to
its own. And a single puff was what I had permitted my self-control. Handing
back the cigarette to the guy, my fingers felt bereft and for a moment, I even
contemplated going for seconds. But, conscience and guilt had intervened and
for the rest of the picnic, I felt like I was Eve who had tasted the forbidden
fruit.
This innate sense of crippling guilt made
me confess to my best friend. And looking at her stony face – which grew
stonier and stonier, as the cliché goes – the sense of guilt gutted my insides
even further. And when I decided to reply, I was half-afraid that she would
decide to cut all ties with me there and then. Fortunately, she didn’t do that
and unfortunately (or fortunately, if I were to look at things today) she told
me to choose – between her and the offending object. I chose and there came
down the curtains to my potential addiction with nicotine rolled in a piece of
paper.
I
haven’t smoked after that episode. And now have come to a point where I can’t
even stand beside a person smoking – the fumes irritate my throat and send me
into a fit of hacking coughs. Looking at this sudden transformation to acute
intolerability, I wonder where what changed and how. Did my sub-conscious start
to play tricks on me or did I recess into a prude of my own unknown volition?
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