Coils of Smoke

BY PROF. N. S. PHADKE, M.A.

(Rajaram College, Kolhapur)

If I was asked to write down the successive stages of human civilisation I would write: "Man discovered how to cook, he began to wear clothes, he knew how to sing, he learnt how to smoke……"

I do not of course wish to suggest that a man is not sufficiently civilised unless he smokes: but I must confess that personally I do not much enjoy talking to a man who doesn’t smoke. It is a little humiliating to know that the person with whom you talk regards the cigarette in your mouth with disapproval. I feel pleased when a visitor readily accepts the cigarette I offer him, and I then talk to him freely and heartily. If, however, he says, ‘No, thank you,’ I become conscious of a distance between him and me. And then rather than talk to him I like to watch the coils of smoke rising from the end of my cigarette in silence.

You often come across people who tell you with an air of superiority that they are teetotal. You may call them virtuous; but for me they are not very welcome visitors. Because they baffle you. You don’t know how to receive and entertain them. A gentleman once called upon me. He belonged to a far off place, and had come all the way to Kolhapur just to see me. He began, "It had long been my wish to see you some day. Your novels and your books…..

Practice has made me an adept in checking such flattering talk. I asked him, "What will you have? Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?" But he abstained from all such drinks. "Then milk?" No. It didn’t suit him. "Then soda….? "Please no….." "Then at least have a smoke." But no. He was such a perfect ‘teetotaller’ that he didn’t even touch a betel nut. I made a very respectful face and said, "O, I see." He was obviously delighted by my exclamation, but I was inwardly annoyed. Our talk must have then lost all its intimacy. The world might adore him for his ideal purity; but his extreme virtuosity pained me. How could I entertain this gentleman? He might not need a demonstration of my hospitality, but would it not please me if I could in some way show how I wanted to entertain him? But he was not prepared to understand my point of view. Of course I smoked my cigarette all right, although he didn’t accept one. But our talk flopped.

I dread having to travel with a man who doesn’t smoke. When you are on a journey there’s no end of things of which you talk, and yet now and then the talk comes to a halt, and you have to sit silent. It’s a very queer feeling to know that you are sitting close to another fellow, but there’s nothing you or he can talk about. You become conscious of a great gulf rising between you and him. The close physical proximity of a person from whom you are mentally miles away is very very disturbing. But supposing your companion is a smoker? Then there’s no trouble whatever. For, the moment your conversation slackens you can both light up your cigarettes and draw heartily at them. You may not exchange a word, but there’s not the slightest break in your mutual intimacy. As though smoking was a kind of wordless conversation.

If the cigarette can thus lend charm to the silent pauses in your talk, imagine how enjoyable it must be to smoke when conversation flows freely. If you ask me, I cannot talk with friends unless I have a cigarette in my hand. When I am alone in my room driving my quill I forget the cigarette for hours together. But when somebody comes to see me, the first thing I would do after having greeted him is to offer him a cigarette. I do not believe in the common notion that the cigarette stimulates the author’s inspiration, or that your imagination works better when you smoke. I have never had such an experience. On the contrary, I am happier without the cigarette at the moment of writing. But the moment a friend calls, and I have to talk with him, I must take out a cigarette. I haven’t tried to decide whether conversation enhances the delight of smoking, or the cigarette makes the conversation more charming. But I have got into the habit of enjoying both together, and I’ll never leave this habit.

There is certainly pleasure in smoking alone. But you mustn’t do it in the solitude of your room. You ought to go far away from the madding crowd to some quiet spot in the woods, sit on the top of a hill covered with virgin green grass, gaze at the vast open spaces and the trees and the mountains draping themselves in the changing tints of the evening light, and when Nature throws off the last silken garment of fading light, you must watch her nude dark body, and smoke quietly. You then forget all space and time, you cease to be aware of all the worries of everyday life; all susceptibility to common pleasure and pain vanishes, and a strange intoxicating tranquility fills you.

The cigarette which thus puts us in tune with Nature’s infinity also serves us in practical life in a thousand ways. We have adopted many a Western etiquette, and we regard it as bad form to talk to anybody to whom we haven’t been properly introduced. There are moments when we chafe at these restrictions. We want to talk to somebody, but we cannot. The cigarette is of admirable help on such occasions.

I was once travelling in a train. I soon became aware that a young man, seated a few benches away, was staring at me. But I didn’t show him that I was aware of him. I pretended to be engrossed in my book. But after a little while the young man came near me and said, "Excuse me, but do you have matches?" I gave him my box of matches. He held a packet of cigarettes before me. I took out a cigarette, and as I put it between my lips he hastened to light it. He put the match to his own cigarette, and, as he returned my matches, he asked, "Excuse me, but aren’t you Mr……?" Of course I was. He said, "I so much wanted to talk to you." I smiled and pointed to the bench in front of me, and then we both talked so merrily and long of this and that. Whenever I remember this incident I can’t help feeling that to have a packet of cigarettes in your pocket is like having a permit to pick up conversation with anyone you fancy. Only you mustn’t have matches with you, or if you have them you must know how to pretend not having them.

The cigarette comes very handy when you want to feign superiority and nonchalance. I have a very humorous friend in Bombay. He once asked me, Do you know how to ride in a tramcar without a ticket?" I didn’t. He explained. " It’s easy. When you see the conductor coming towards you, keep a cigarette in your mouth and look either out of the window or at the picture on some poster in the car. The conductor is convinced that you have a ticket, and passes on." He showed how this trick also works on a railway train. Once we got down from a local train at the Victoria Terminus. When we came near the gate my friend brushed past the ticket collector without showing a ticket. The cigarette in his mouth and the look of defiance on his face seemed enough to convince the railway official that he was far too big a man for his usual demand, ‘Ticket, please.’ When you feel a little nervous, but know in your mind of minds that the best policy is not to let the other man suspect your nervousness, the fire arm of the cigarette is your best friend. You must have noticed on the screen how every time the villain or the hero is in a tight corner he takes out a cigarette from his pocket and does all his talking while tapping or lighting it.

Apart from the major disasters and miseries of life, aren’t there a hundred little things which prick and pain you like thorns in your daily routine? You might, for instance, run down to the railway station to meet a guest and the train might be late. Or you might have to wait for the bus. Or you might go to the dentist only to find the waiting room already filled with visitors. These are small worries indeed, but they are so annoying, aren’t they? There’s nothing like the cigarette on such occasions to soothe your impatience and to help you pass the time. At least these are the moments when I am specially grateful to my cigarette.

Once a friend of mine gave me a lift in his car. But he had some business at the bank on the way. He went in, and I preferred to wait outside in the car. When he returned he apologised, "Sorry to have kept you waiting so long. Are you angry?" I showed him my cigarette, and said, "Would have been. But I forgot all time with this." Don’t you think that the cigarette which saves me from the sin of quarelling with a dear friend deserves all my gratitude? Our poets have sung the praises of the sandal wood tree which allows itself to be burnt so that people might enjoy its fragrance. Why not write a perfect elegy on the cigarette which burns itself to ashes so that time may not hang heavily on you? I simply cannot imagine how those who do not smoke face the calamity of having to wait for things.

To look on a first-class cricket match is a rare delight, but to enjoy your smoke while watching a Naidu or an Amarnath pile runs upon runs is simply exquisite. Music thrills me, but I always like to mix its delight with the pleasures of the cigarette. It often happens that I feel so enraptured by the music that I forget my cigarette and keep it quietly burning between my fingers. But I see the coils of its smoke, and I smell its aroma, and this fills me with happiness. It is as enjoyable to let the cigarette burn as to smoke it. There’s nothing to compare with the loveliness of the thin bluish coils of smoke that rise from the cigarette, and float with sweet leisureliness, making countless patterns. Even those who eschew the cigarette must admit this!