Got a Light?

Preamble

While on his death bed, when asked about his last wish, Wolf Von Goethe, the celebrated German poet said: “Light, more light” - his last words.

In the Beginning

My first puff was when I was about three. Some boast that they began in class eight and all. Not me. In my case history goes back to when I was three and in my mother’s lap. Father gave me a puff and all hell broke loose. I remember coughing unendingly, mother shouting her head off and father laughing his heart out. Father was a smoker. That attracted me to smoke. He used to take long puffs so artistically, slowly and with half closed eyes, I was certain that there was something heavenly about it. Somewhere then I must have decided that I would smoke when my day arrived.

Thrill of a Steal

Cut to when I was eight or so. Those days I was growing up in Kerala (while my parents were in Madras). My grandfather never smoked, but all my uncles smoked. So did most of the elderly men in the extended family. A particular uncle used to have a cigarette tin that held 50 cigarettes! That was style, carrying it around in hand. I was often asked to fetch the cigarette packet and match box from their ‘storing places’. I wanted to try a cigarette. So there was heavy planning, study of environment, enemy activities, and enemy intelligence, going over the strategy and then the method, time and place of execution of the act of smoking after the great steal of the vital cigarette has been successfully carried out and so on.

One day on one of this fetching errand, at an opportune moment I removed one cigarette, put it in my pocket and prayed like hell that the cigarettes in the packet won’t be counted. Fortunately it wasn’t and so I had this pleasure stick with me safely hidden. I had to wait for an opportunity to light it. In a couple of day’s time the opportunity came. However my mother had come from Madras on a visit of a few days during that time. Like in every plan howsoever thought out, there is likely to be a flaw.

A Starry Day

One particular day except for my mother and grandmother there was nobody in the naalukettu house. Mother was in the kolam for her bath and grandmother was somewhere far inside. Now, ever since I remember, grandmother’s one knee used to make a clicking sound when she walked. It never pained or bothered her, so no treatment was done for it. Nobody had any explanation for it either. So whenever she approached there was this warning signal. I took out the cigarette from its hidden place, went to the kitchen (the maid was absent from there at that time) and lit the stick. Being more worried about mother, I came out to a spot from where I could see mother if she walked out of the kolam. I puffed away. A few puffs down my throat that filled my chest with pride and I suddenly felt my right ear being pulled and twisted violently! I was startled. Stars swam in my eyes. I didn’t know how grandmother reached behind me and caught me in the act. What happened to her famous clicking sound, I never knew. She held me right there and called out to my mother. I am embarrassed to narrate the aftermath. Suffice to say, mother was the disciplinarian in our house, not the father.

Dum Street

Our School in Madras, a boys’ school had a street behind, which was known a “dum street”. This street was completely covered by canopied trees. I never knew the name given to that street by the boys. In school I never thought of smoking and all. I never had such company either. In fact I did not know who smoked and who did not. I was told about this street and chided for not knowing about such a popular street much, much later by another Army Officer who was my junior in school. Dum in Tamil means a cigarette. May be such a lonely camouflaged street provided the right location and ambience for a stolen dum in the evenings, after school hours! If they were caught, hell was a foregone conclusion.

All Quiet on the Toilet Front

Now let’s leap frog to the time when I was in Pre-University in Brennen College in Tellichery, when I was fifteen. We stayed in a rented house, the kakkoos of which was a little away as was common in all Kerala houses those days and was not en suite to the bedroom. Come to think of it. It was such a hygienic thing. In that luxurious kakkoos, I discovered that due to the high ventilated construction, there were good hiding places for a small packet of cigarette at lofty locations. I managed to buy one packet (those days even shop keepers could scold you) of Charminar and smuggle it into the house, and along with a match box stored it. It lasted for a very long time and I enjoyed every puff I must say. I never got caught during this secret activity. But there was a flip side to it. I didn’t really praise myself for this adventure. In fact I found this clandestine activity quite stressful, loathsome, stealing money and all and so did not continue it. It just did not jell. This must have been the time when I decided that I would smoke only when I would earn my own living, for I did make such a decision, I remember. I never wanted to use father’s money and then all that secrecy! When I would earn, I would be grown up enough to be bold enough.

Grooming of the Gallant

A year down from there I was back in Madras, in College for the Bachelor’s Degree. Those were the days of NCC parades and evening strolls in the Marina beach. So after the strenuous parade, a cigarette with some cadets happened once in a way. Perched on the cycle in NCC Uniform and with one foot resting on a stone or on the footpath, having a chit-chat with cigarette fumes swirling about, was something. At other times, while at the beach, an odd cigarette added to the flavour. After the parade, it was mostly “Kool” cigarettes which were mentholated.  This cooled the insides.  At the beach, it used to be a “Billiard” (or was it Billiards, can’t remember. Logically it should be the singular as the plural is a cue sport) or a Marco Polo. The former was interestingly about half a foot long! One could not finish it and so we shared it! The latter was scented pleasantly. Smoking was not yet a habit. Just for some fun, once in a way. But blowing smoke rings was nicely learnt; a small little stunt. Nowadays it has been taken to incredible professional levels by the crazy.

By the way, perish the thought, in case you did think, that our smoking had anything to do with impressing girls, which is an age old clichéd excuse, made up by the jealous. That species never figured in our scheme of things. Ours was a boys’ college and we had no girl friends, rather we were not interested, though we had a girls’ college in the immediate neighbourhood. We never had the time to chase girls as we were the active kinds, spending time on games fields or NCC parades. We were not the run of the mill college boys, Okay?

Let there be Light

On completion of the degree and landing in the Officers’ Training School, I took to Panama cigarettes a little more frequently. We had some pocket money. “Panama is a good cigarette” they advertised and it seemed so. It seemed relaxing after a full day of extreme physical activity and class room drudgery. Many indulged in smoking there and for the irregulars like me, the smoking time was just before going to sleep. One day, I must have slept off with the burning unfinished cigarette. I woke up feeling extreme heat and found that my bed had caught fire and the cotton was simmering with the sheet burnt in the middle. I jumped out of the bed, took out the regulation issue water bottle (which always kept full) and sprinkled the water on the bed and doused the fire. None of the other cadets came to know. Not that their being aware would have been a problem. On the other hand it would have been a help perhaps.

And then there was Light

Now the problem was something else. As we go out for training every day, some instructor would come around the barracks for inspection. Everything is supposed to be neatly and properly laid out in their respective places. That is, the layout should be as we had been told and taught, including inside the cupboard, which was to be kept open. We had to make our beds ourselves with the sheet neatly tucked in and all that. I had only one more bed sheet, as we were issued with only a pair. All such things issued to us and had the same colour and design - for everybody. Uniform, as it were. I spread the second sheet and had to get one post-haste before the dhobi collected the items for wash. We never had time to go to the store from the gruelling schedule and I could not wait till the next Sunday. I managed to make a panic phone call to my father the next day. I could not tell him the truth and so made up some hogwash story. Without much questioning he bought a bed sheet from the Academy store. He, with an odd look, just told me “be careful”, in an all knowing manner. He was like that, friendly like. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

Pride and Pleasure

Those who were commissioned like me into the Corps of Electrical (which later was termed as Electronic) and Mechanical Engineers (EME for short), landed up in EME School, Baroda for our Young Officers Course. Now we were entitled to our pay but that would take another three more months to reach the bank. But what do I find in the Officers Mess Bar there! Wills cigarette packet in 20s, a flat thin pack and not the bulky unwieldy ones as found now, with our EME School emblem printed on it in silver and black! Wow, I said. Now to carry such a packet with you was style, I said. With such packets of cigarettes available and the pay assured I decided to become a regular smoker. At what cost? Just about one rupee for a packet!

Love for a Firm

I loved this Wills Company – in fact WD & HO Wills (ironically the brothers who owned the company were non smokers!) – for one reason then. One smart aleck Officer found, on opening a packet, a cigarette with the filter missing. Not being one to take things lying down, he found out their address in India and wrote to them a complaint and lo and behold, the company sent him a full carton with a profusely apologetic letter, in no time. Those days the companies had ethics, as you can see. They valued themselves. Later I learnt that the company did very many good things to their employees and society. CSR now mandated, does not need any such mandate by law to right thinking and humane company owners. To them it is innate. Such breeds have vanished, alas.

Rebelling for a Cause

Well, from a Young Officer, I became a Junior Officer and as a Capt and was posted to a field station. Few youngsters there were smokers and enjoyed our fags. Our Second in Command of the Battalion regularly borrowed cigarettes from each one of us, both in the Office and in the Officers’ Mess. The fishiness of it struck one youngster and he decided to investigate. He did an oh oh seven act. Befriending the Mess Clerk, he checked the 2I/Cs mess bill and found out that he bought a packet every day! Further investigation revealed that he smoked the entire packet in the night while reading. He was a voracious reader, alright. But at other times he managed with borrowed ones. We didn’t know how to refuse him for he was miles senior to us. We could not rebel, lest it became nasty and unbecoming.

The only way we could, we thought, was by not having cigarettes with us. So we decided with heavy hearts to stop smoking entirely. The 2I/C and all other officers were surprised at our sudden collective act. But nobody caught on. This abstinence went on for a month with tremendous pain and agony. It was not easy to give up something pleasurable for such a stupid cause. But we kept a tab on the 2I/C and found that he was buying two packets every day. Since we could not be miserable as youngsters, we went back to our smoking ways. But surprisingly the 2I/C stopped bothering us. Perhaps he got the message, who knows!

Tough and Gruff

There is a story which says that the Cuban Cigars are so good because they are rolled on the thighs of Negro ladies! I did smoke cigars for the heck of it at times and found it rather tough, but not for Machado, Eric Jacob Machado, a course mate, a Konkani who used to smoke it regularly. Even in the class rooms of Army! He himself is a burly fellow, with a scar on his face. He used to proudly proclaim to the juniors in the Academy, while ragging them, that the he got it in a knife fight, to instill some supposed fear in their minds. As if! He would light up a cigar and keep it held between his teeth as the instructors went on in the class room. The ‘aroma’ of the cigar used to waft along the whole long corridors to linger on for hours! Mac as we called him was a good sportsman and a great musician, who could play a multitude of instruments as well as sing well in his gruff voice! Later, as a married man, his fridge used to be stacked with choicest of liquor and varieties of exotic meat! He was a great host to boot!

Done in Degrees

During the Degree Engineering course, we were together for three full years, some thoroughly married, some just newly married and some still bachelors. I always ensured that my stock of cigarettes never ran short as I was a regular smoker and never liked to borrow. Also king size ones never caught my fancy. There were some who survived on borrowed cigarettes alone. Once one such fellow asked me for a cigarette and when I offered my regular size, he rejected it saying he wanted a king size. Malladi, a good friend and a non-smoker standing around blew his top at this temerity and told him to have an emperor size! Another odd case was this other newly married kind. His new bride (is there anything like an old bride?) allowed him just three cigarettes during class hours that is from 8 AM till 1PM. So he used to make up the rest from me, every day, in a very honest manner. Subsequently he kicked smoking altogether! Had to, I suppose.

Panache in Public

Those days smoking was not a sin. One could smoke anywhere, even in an aero plane! One could declare himself as a smoker to get seated in the smokers’ area. In trains in the First Class compartments (with large space and large open windows you got the feel of the different lands as you pass through the length and breadth of the country), there used to be ashtrays next the berths, which were regularly cleaned by the concerned staff. Sadly they have done away with this class altogether. In old Military Hospitals, which were built with high ceiling and large airy rooms housed in tree lined compounds, in the Officers Ward, there would be kept a table with a small cute brass flower vase and a small cute ash tray! That was another world – a wonderful world, a relaxed world, a friendly world, a social world, a world with panache. No one had this paranoia about health. You see, this IT slavery had not yet begun and so people were genuinely active, healthier and happier. Swirling smokes in public spaces never killed anybody. In fact as John McCarthy, one of the founders of Artificial Intelligence said so beautifully; “Self righteousness has killed more people than smoking”. If something had gone on for centuries, it can’t be all that bad.

Put it in a Pipe

For quite a long while I smoked pipe. That was when I became senior enough to carry it off, or so I thought. It was a pipe gifted to me my friend Sridharan, who rose to be a General. He had to rise, obviously; he had taste! Anything you do should be done in style and you must be able to carry it off too. To carry a pipe and pouch wherever you go carried a lot of style and dignity, as endorsed by others, even non-smokers, to me. Pipe smoking goes with a lot of discipline. You got to clean the pipe regularly and hence the pouch carrying the tobacco and the cleaning instruments are necessities. In fact you have to have more than one pipe, which I did, and you are supposed to soak the bowl of each pipe in wine overnight, which I did not. I used our native water! And vigorous cleaning every now and then. In my Corps, only a General and I smoked pipe and so there was some camaraderie between us, much to the irritancy of those in between! Tobacco for pipe was very pleasantly aromatic.

Then the Bell Tolled

And then I swooned in the office. I was immediately admitted to the Military Hospital by my colleagues and there I was treated on the suspicion of a heart attack. After all the necessary tests and the drama and with all my well-wisher friends visiting me, the cardiologist finally declared; “your heart is healthy, you are healthy but STOP SMOKING”. He wrote that in capitals in the documents. By then I had been smoking pipe for about a decade and half. I was more worried about my chest, the X-ray of which showed nothing. Nothing to speak of!

Unturned Leaf

Okay, I thought I will give up smoking. No pipe, no cigarette. But as I abstained, my mind went foggy and I was a zombie. Whatever people told me in the office just got absorbed in the air. Even after repeated reading of the files, nothing stayed in the head. Now how could I proceed and give directions and decisions? After about a week, since I couldn’t discharge any of my duties, I went back to Wills, sadly avoiding the pipe. My old time friend from college, Balakrishnan, who smokes just two cigarettes a day, brought along his brother-in-law who was a smoker and who had undergone heart treatment, to educate me. That good fellow told me, “If you continue to smoke I will give you three months before you croak” That was in the year 2000, exactly. The millennium was turning over, but no new leaf turned over for me.

Lancelot Lanced

Another full decade passed, I retired and again one day I myself went to the Military Hospital, since I had the same choking feeling as I had a decade ago. This time I had to undergo the gamut of activities leading up to an open heart surgery. I went under the lance so to say or knife, if you like. By the time I reached home all the cigarettes I had stocked had been thrown out of the window. I tried to carry on without my omnipotent smoke. I tried all monkey tricks like vaping, chewing cardamom, gums like Nicotex and all, but to no avail. I went back to my old friend Wills. Wills is made for each other! Once a doctor had told me that cigarette for me is like a walking stick. I liked that analogy. But everybody needs something to pep himself up. For some it may be milk. For me it was my stamina stick.

Mocking Birds

During the second episode, my lungs were more seriously checked, not just by an X-ray. This time though the chest was found to be not as strong as it ought to have been, there still was no sign that should have shown up for a chronic smoker. That was glad news; screw the heart which was all due to some blocks. When I tom-tommed about my chest condition to all my enquiring good friends, this friend Arun, a retired General, told me: “Yeh lungs mujhe dede Thakur!” We used to smoke like chimneys together, used to drink like fish together and used to play Bridge like crazy together, in our days. Later he turned the leaf over and became a saint, if you can term it that, except for Bridge, in which he is almost a professional now, playing to some crazy conventions. He has to be, for he was a brilliant fellow and had topped quite a few courses.

A Revelation

Once in the early 80s, I happened to read an article in a medical journal about smoking. It clearly said why people smoke and as to why some get addicted. I had copied down that article but lost it sometime during my numerous packing and moving on postings. That article even explained the phenomena with a wonderful graph. It is all about the requirement of nicotine by the body. Now that, is known to everybody. But why is it that someone just shares a puff or two or someone else is happy with a cigarette once in a way or still some others smoke a limited number, say just two in a day? Why don’t they get addicted? Go to a packet and more?

Quiet Flows the Smoke

To tell you a bit on that from my recollection, initially nicotine is absorbed through the palate. If the body says that is enough, you will take a puff now and then, that’s all. Next level is the mucous areas inside. If that much nicotine is required, the body demands it and you provide it. Those who chew and use snuff are this type. They don’t need the smoke. Then it goes into the blood and hence to the brain and thus the dopamine effect takes place. Now the number of cigarettes required is determined by the level of dopamine requirement as also the body’s demand of nicotine level. So some stop at one cigarette a day, another at ten and still another at more. Last Prince of Monaco, who married Grace Kelly, smoked 60 cigarettes a day. He had tremendous talents, abilities and interests and he turned the country around to make it a heaven for the rich and famous. And he lived to be 80! I neither smoked to that level nor did I have a wife like Grace Kelly. But smokers are talented people. That is why I do not like the question “how many cigarettes do you smoke” as if the one asking knows the correct limit. Now suppose your body does not require nicotine? Then you won’t proceed after the first puff. Body will reject outright. The body does not ask for nicotine unless introduced to it. Keeping away from the oxygen stick is the best way, if you don’t want it as a habit. Chewing tobacco or nasal snuffing are worse and an anathema. Also there is a smoking skill. What you see is not what one smokes. It is quite well controlled and intake is only a fraction of the pull. I have been at it for half a century and so am what might be termed as an “expert”. You won’t get it, I know. So just leave it to us smokers.

Amazing Grace

All that said and done, there used to be lot of fun when people smoked. Asking “Got a light?” to a stranger and offering your pack duly opened for him to pull out one, instantly brought a smile on the other person and you became friends right then and there. The stick (solid) which gives out smoke (gas) is actually a social lubricant (liquid)!  Smoking is a damned good way to take a break from anything boring, like the speech of a politician. Why did army personnel smoke those days? Cigarette was even issued or cigarette allowance given. Because smoking is associated with risk taking. The bold do it. It was a manly thing and if you ask me, it still is. It does have a calming effect (when nervous or anxious), it improves the blood circulation (like in cold climates), it improves concentration (ask me) and it helps a lot while at an act of creativity (ask any poet, painter or writer). When one does not get sleep (at a serious level it is insomnia), there’s nothing like a fag. When you are waiting for something and it takes a long time, have a drag, it helps. Also, having a few peaceful pulls preferably on a pipe mean that you are actually in your own space! Solemn contemplation in solitude. So perfect in a maddening crowd. Lighting up is avoidance of laziness and aimless loitering. It helps camaraderie as can be seen from the various incidents mentioned above.

One need not fret while looking for a gift to a smoker. Cigarette cases, cigarette holders, cigar boxes, lighters of antique and exotic varieties, pipes artistically crafted and what not. Smoking creates an identity and an image! Sam Manekshaw said; “He who neither drinks, nor smokes, nor dances is...more likely a humbug but he certainly won’t make a leader or for that matter a good soldier”. Amazing fellows smoke. Smoking is full of grace.

Many Flew Over the Nest

The Cubans’ life span is over 70 years. 80% of them smoke. In war movies and westerns when a man is about to die, he is given a drag. The Red Indians smoked a peace pipe, which nowadays politicians try! Cowboys had a cigar dangling from their mouths. Think about Humphrey Bogart. Think about Sherlock Holmes. Think about Alfred Hitchcock. Think about Winston Churchill.  Think about me. Me, unsung, with no name, fame or money but still harbouring the Marlboro man in the heart. All my friends turned out to be quitters. I am the Lone Ranger. If I could keep all the cigarettes I smoked one on top of the other, I could climb up and reach the Moon. Another feat.

Going with the Wind

There has started a movement by anti-smokers, who have put the heebie jeebies among the gullible about an array of diseases that are probable due to smoking.  I am sure there is something sinister in the plot which will come to light some day. Notice that they are making smoking marijuana legal again. Want any more proof about the sinister intention? The manner in which tobacco smokers are being persecuted as outcasts, as obnoxious and as a danger to humanity in general, I am afraid lynching is not far off. I only hope that by the time lynching of smokers take off I would have kicked the bucket off to the nether world. Watching from there the goings on down below, I might be prompted to say, “Holy smoke!”