I have been a smoker for longer than I care to remember, and of late, different parts of my body have started sending me Facebook messages, BBMs and tweets hinting that it’s time for me to quit.

I have finally decided to listen to them. But before I switch my loyalties altogether and move on to the ‘am sorry, I don’t smoke’ (spoken with the same disdain as when one would say ‘I am sorry, I do not share your juvenile fixation on Justin Bieber’) camp, I would like to get some things straight.

Being a smoker in today’s day and age is a taxing pursuit in more ways than one. It is as if society met up clandestinely some time back and unanimously voted in favor of making all smokers feel like ‘cute-cuddly-baby-killers’. Since then, the world has been divided into normal citizens with intrinsic rights, and then, smokers. All the ‘anti smoking’ propaganda in movies, magazines and TV is, by itself, enough to make anyone feel persecuted. The government too sees smokers as nothing more than a captive source of revenue. And add to that, the free license all non-smokers seem to think they have to pull up smokers at random and give them lectures on life, health and such like, and you have a fair idea of what Manmohan Singh feels in his cabinet meetings. 

Imagine this: One fine morning, you walk into the air-conditioned paradise that is your favourite burger joint, order a double-meat, double-cheese burger with French fries and a cola, take a table with a nice view, and just as you are about to sink your teeth into the juicy goodness, you hear:

‘Excuse me, sir. You’ll have to take this outside.’

‘Huh?’

‘Yes, am afraid, we have a strict no burger policy. Consumption of such unhealthy food disgusts our more discerning patrons (pointing toward a salad-munching bloke on the next table who is trying to shield his kid from the monstrous sight that is your meal, while shaking his head in equal measures of disbelief and disapproval). We do have a special burger zone though. If you would just walk out of the back-door, take a right, and then a left, walk across the parking lot and keep walking for another kilometer, you’ll see a tiny little board saying ‘Burger Zone’ in the corner where the sunlight is at its fiercest. You can’t miss it – it’s just beside garbage dumpster. In fact, what would probably be simpler is if you just follow the stink…’

You get the idea.

But as a smoker, what is more painful than being threatened with fines and treated like a different species at most public places, is the unending supply of good Samaritans that one have to deal with all the time, who’ve taken it upon themselves to eradicate smoking from the face of the planet, one smoker at a time. These crusaders come in all sizes, gender and varying degrees of ‘ability to take a hint.’ But they do follow somewhat similar intervention methods. I’ve never really learnt how to deal with this barrage of unsolicited advice, but every time I’ve pursed my lips and nodded my head, thoughts such as those below have been running through my mind:

Private Space

You see, smoking is not a mental pursuit; it’s a physical activity that requires physical space. I respect your choice not to smoke, and don’t want you to get unwell. Every time I felt like smoking, I would willingly step into some parallel universe, have my cigarette, and pop right back. But I can’t do that, which is why I am standing beside the main road, at noon, in the sweltering sun. So, you following me out here uninvited, standing right next to me and disapprovingly fanning the smoke off your face isn’t going to make me stop smoking. If at all, it will probably just give me a nice target to aim the smoke at.

You think you look cool smoking, don’t you?

No. This is the same as me asking you if you are annoying just to feel human. You have to understand that I am an addict, and I have as much choice about smoking as you do about being a jerk. I don’t smoke to look cool. Perhaps, as a kid, the first time one lights up a cigarette, images of John Travolta in Broken Arrow are swimming around somewhere in the deep sub-conscious recesses of the mind. But after that, every time I’ve smoked, I have done so to draw smoke, take in nicotine, and satisfy a craving. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s no Freudian psychology at play here. Besides, I have better pursuits than to try and look cool for the sweaty, pot-bellied, half-naked pan-wallah standing beside me.

These things will kill you!

Just because I tolerate your presence, and pretend to listen to your predictions about who’s going to win Masterchef Australia doesn’t give you the right to flick off my cigarette just as I’m about to light up because you do not approve of it. You have to be either family or friend to take such liberties. Your being a non-smoker doesn’t give you any special moral right to dictate terms. How would you like it if I slapped you on your wrists every day at lunch and said, ‘those dosas will kill you!’?

You stink!

Yes, I did notice you exaggeratedly sniffing and coughing when we were in the elevator together. I just pretended not to. I know you were just trying to point out that you could still smell the cigarette I had just had, and that it made you feel uncomfortable. But,

1. I don’t really give a damn. I’m not your guardian angel and it is not my job to make your life comfortable.

2. I don’t go all ‘ooh, ahh,’ every time you open your mouth near me and give me an olfactory tour of what you had for breakfast, do I? So, live with it. Or take the next elevator. And get some mint.

You know what I think?

I don’t want to. I don’t live under a rock; so, I know that cigarettes are harmful. But I don’t remember anyone designating you as my life coach; however, if you still feel compelled to, I have a deal for you: for every day that you give me unsolicited advice, I get to come over to your home in the evening and advise you and your spouse on ideal sexual positions. How about that? Erectile dysfunction? Let me help.

It’s an addiction. You should stop. NOW!

Dear idiot, what part of ADDICTION don’t you understand?

I can help you quit

Before you drown me with the epic tale of your cousin who stopped smoking by biting his toe-nails every time he felt a craving, please stop a consider: what if I don’t want to? Am sure you do a lot of things every day that you know are harmful. Speeding, eating junk food, holding back flatulence, drunken driving, thinking…?

But passive smoking is bad for me!

The thought of passive smoking harming my family and friends hasn’t deterred me from smoking. But now that you point out that I might be harming you, I will quit at this instant. And punch you in the face instead.

So there you have it – a typical day in the life of a smoker. Not a cake-walk, right? Don’t get me wrong. I do understand how bad smoking is, which is why I have taken the decision to quit. But do spare a thought for the smoker. If you are his best friend/ spouse/ sibling/ parent/ child, do your best to get him to quit. Else, stop being a self-absorbed, self-important jerk.

Note: I’d written this a while back. Thought I’d hold back till I’d decided to quit smoking. For good.

Photograph Courtesy: © Alex Eylar

Browse Timeline

• « Sikkim, Part 5 (Places of Interest)
• » Models Wanted (desperately)