The glowing tip.

How many times do we take time to appreciate the beauty of a glowing cigarette. Mostly we are too involved to even notice the brilliant glow of it. Before we lit, it's just another tobacco wrapped white paper with a speckled yellow filter at one end. But as soon as we lit it, it evolves into something which shouldn't go unnoticed. And here I should point out that serious smokers take a lot of care while lighting one, the way they hold it, particularly not to sooten the stick. Once lit the glowing ember is hypnotizing. The serpentine smoke slowly rising, parts reluctantly, leaving it's memoirs of ashes. Soon the tip is burdened with it's ashes and the luminance starts getting obscured. Then we jerk off the ash and give a drag, rejuvenating and revealing the glory of the tip, the smoky blue stream waving and swaying with the air. When the air is absolutely still and we hold the cigarette with a steady hand, the smoke will rise vertically, dignified to some distance before changing it's mind and starts flirting with the air. It's really amazing to see how the insignificant stick burns out with grace. We should really respect the fire at the tip of our fingers and stub it, not throwing it away carelessly to perish unnoticed, certainly our fag deserves this much attention.

Adieus to you my friend, my companion.


P.S. IRRESPECTIVE OF YOUR SUNSIGN SMOKING WILL EVENTUALLY TURN YOUR ZODIAC INTO A CRAB.

Let's have a fag...

I took my cigarette and took a long puff. The cauterizing air filled me and then I deeply inhaled, feeling the slow toxin coursing through and filling my lungs. The smoky thoughts started swirling as I pondered over a question one of my friend asked a couple of days back, “Why did you start smoking again?” Actually, it was not a conscious decision, rather an answer to my escapism and loneliness. I had abstained from smoking for 9 long years. The first time I started when I was a teenager, just to get the kick out of being macho; to try and impress others in some silly way, convinced that it'll make me appear older than my peers. Boyish fascination for attaining early manhood. Then after a few years I quit, for no reason in particular and now the old ghost is back.

A parable is coming to my mind which I heard from my friend D. It went like this, once Prophet Mohammed was walking through a dessert when he saw a snake dying. He picked up the snake and nursed it. As soon as the snake got better it asked Mohammed, why he had taken care of a venomous snake like him. Mohammed replied that it was in his nature to take care for any ailing life. Then the snake replied that as it was Mohammed's nature to take care of all living beings, the snake's nature was to bite anything that touched it. So, the snake asked the Prophet for permission to follow its nature. The Prophet agreed to it and the snake bit Him on His hand. The Prophet then sucked the blood out from there and spit it out on the ground. From that spit a plant grew which was the tobacco plant, and thus the tobacco has the venom of a snake and the soothing charm of Prophet.

Every time I pick up a fag, the first few drags are so wonderful, refreshing but after a while it gets boring. The smoke starts tasting bitter and then gradually the fire starts dying down leaving the last few puffs. Which is when I oddly realize that my companion is leaving me, maybe a little too early. I try to hold on to it a little longer and take the last puff, inhaling the smoke and holding my breath for those few seconds, bidding adieu until I lit my next one.