Fumes of Folly

It is a pleasure to hear people, telling me, to write more. It has been a real source of encouragement and fun, reaching out to your minds and hearts and winning over them indeed. So I thought upon writing something. This one is a on request from one of my dear friends, who wanted me to deliver a piece of my writing on something that is nothing new, and still has got its hold equally on people of all times. I know you can’t guess it, so let me give you some hint.

The two ‘victory’ fingers, a pair of lips and some spark. I can bet smiles on some faces that got me right.

Yet another hint for others- the taxi rule. Let me be clearer with the 3 puff rule. To those with wise heads who have dedicated worthy songs to it, to those who know how much deadly it can get, who still don’t care if it nears them to death, with every breath they draw through it, who rather find pleasure in hitting themselves right in the heads and finding life in that bit of moment- Yes this article is dedicated to all the cigarette smokers who lovingly call it Sutta or Chirot.

It is a saying that one never buys his own cig at first. There are friends, seniors, big brothers that make the first gurus, to teach the art. Talking about it as an art, lightening a cigarette is itself one as is puffing it. No matter you do it with a gas lighter or electric lighter, the matchstick always comes handy, correct me if I am wrong!

Holding the end of the cigarette butt or the fag end in between your lips, carefully, without wetting it, and letting the dry tobacco leaves catch fire, a sense of style hovers in those hands that hold it, as the leaves burn its way out into the open air.

The warm smoke is drawn in, reaching the dead end of the throat, making its way down, from the lungs into the blood stream. The nicotine, radon, propylene glycol, licorise and some other lesser known compounds all travel through the roller coaster of your blood stream. The best part comes when the ingredients reach out to the kernel i.e. the Brain. A gentle hit that is what people claim to experience and that is where the beauty seems to lie. 

Take it literally, the beauty of sutta, though promises a style statement, a hit in the head, a spin for a split second and a curtain of peace for some time, it disguises all through this time. Behind the circles of smoke, lies an irreversible damage to your lungs. The air filters in your lungs gets covered by something which you see around every day, TAR. Something made to be laid on roads doesn't seem apt upon the very source of Life. The chemicals and chemistry above, all sound lame to the regulars and so does the cancer threat.

 Never mind, you draw the second time, inhaling the smoke, sucking it through the fag end. You pull it in and release, and feel your head spin. Before it can stop, you take another, then another and so on.

There is silence in the air, nobody talks. The smoke is coming out of every head that has a mouth. Chunks of smoke, in rings, waterfalls, or simple fumes, disappear in the same air, leaving its essence on the breath and fingers of the smoker and yet again an urge have another puff.