Sixth Finger - A dedication to the fraternity of Bitsian Smokers

"Now wasn’t that like Maddy? Had u missed that one, here it goes again”. R, in a swift flick of his fist transferred the matchbox from one had to another; so fast that it is hardly visible and lo! Within a jiffy a matchstick burns. V watched it in amazement, for he knew not a matchstick had held in that hand at the first place. Before the smile of achievement, which had suffused R’s face vanished, R lit the CIGERETTE he held in his mouth. “Now wasn’t that like Minnale Maddy? Mech na oru fire vaenum”. That explained the innumerable burnt out matchsticks at R’s room. He had been practicing. V was now curious to try the trick. Much to his surprise and R’s shock, the very first attempt was successful. “It is hard to be consistent at it” says R. How can it be that V can get it right so easily while R had to practice a lot? Ok.. but the second and third attempts were successful too. That is it; R couldn’t stand it any more. “Enough don’t waste the sticks” said R as he wrested the matchbox from V’s hands and walked away.
‘Man that was koool trick’ thought V. On an aimless stroll across P’s room, v saw him trying to conquer ‘Rajni style’. “hey superstar” said V. “as if you could have done any better” was P’s repartee. “hmm, you are obsolete, come let me show u maddy style”. Wow, fourth consecutive success. And so he lit the ‘energy stick’ that P had held. “Mech na oru fire vaenum”. WHY did V do that? He had strongly objected smoking. As a matter of fact he didn’t elect Mr P.C rao for the post of N.V secretary for K.G mess just because Rao was a smoker. V used to wonder as to how people could fail to possess a little bit of self restraint? He had advised P several times to quit smoking. But now he lit a cig for him!!! Things were changing.
Within a span of 2 weeks, the style was perverse. Everybody had tried their hands at it. C from Ram bhawan was so successful that he was now the lord of the “rings” too. Hence the large female fans of his. The single slogan “Mech na oru fire vaenum” had spawned several smokers at Krishna bhawan. No no, it didn’t have anything to do with Thermodynamics; Maddy had said that in movie Minnale. Among V’s friend circle, SR, SB, M, P and R have taken to smoking. At the same time V had managed to more invent more tricks. He needs only one hand to do the same trick and he is ambidextrous as well. “Tricks are not the challenge. The real challenge for a man is to smoke. You aint proving nothing with those vain tricks” said P and SR. “How dare you insult me, bring it on, get me a cig” said V. Oops, what has he done. What could he have done? They had questioned his masculinity. A cavalier remark off the tongue. But there is not going back now. V went to his room flipped a coin hoping to make God speak on this forbidden trial. The coin showed him green side! So began the story. The first puff wasn’t followed by a cough. The smoke had comfortable done a tour-de- lung and had chosen the mouth to exit. “Dude.. you didn’t cough, you didn’t hold it in your mouth but took it in and didn’t let it out through your nose either. You are a born smoker” said SR. V was flattered. By the ‘compliment’?? “I have proved myself for the sake of it ok? But don’t bring this thing near me henceforth” said V and ran to his room to limn the achievement into his journal.
Pretty soon, V’s fame has spread among the smoking circles. He had to perform times where able men gathered. Wait, V wasn’t trying to enter your fraternity but the fraternity had acknowledged him as a member. As the situation demanded, the classification of smoking as bad shifted a bit. It wasn’t wrong at trying. As long as V does not start pursuing it as a habit, he is still morally spotless.
But that too was to change. The smoke was all over the campus. Batch 2k had already possessed the largest number of smokers, many of whom had started out to prove their masculinity or to taster for once and once alone. But now each of them has become a master of certain trick. Dum is now a common word. Both the word and the thing it represented filled everyone’s conversation and breathe. It was there everywhere every time. While in deep thought, while alone at night, in a boisterous gathering, over the numerous night-outs, during last minute ‘ghoting’, distress, despair, tension, anger, stress, rest and at hostel rooms, bogs, lawns, sky, behind IC, institute terrace, C’not, inside 2214, ANC, GYM- G.
V had succumbed to the habit. The dum was his preferred partner always all the time. Cold winter and stress over a night out were V’s preferred excuses. He even managed to coin a new word, “Koltheit”, meaning ‘light it’, which later came to be commonly used among his “Dum partners”. What he derived out of it he doesn’t know. May be he is sending out a signal that he can be against set norms? That he is macho? That he is a thinker and the dum would be among his identities? Nicotine in his blood stream he believes to be an analgesic. After all it is not all that bad coz he made a lot of friends in the esteemed fraternity. He wouldn’t have gotten to know this many nice guys otherwise. Nice guys!!? A total reversal of stands over a span of 2 years. Yet he held the highest regard for those who stood strong against the smoke. He can even measure time and distance with dum. The railway station from his office he proudly says is 2 Dums away. Isn’t that a feat?
After the 4 year trail of ash & having invested a staggering Rs 18000 to expedite his peaceful settlement at the grave, V looks back shocked at his patronage to ITC simply through Wills navy cut, which costs only Rs 2.5. Chief warden had earlier caught him for smoking inside campus. V had already prepared himself for the likely retribution and hence said “My father knows that I smoke and he had asked me not to tell my mom”. Perplexed by this kind of unexpected audacious lie from an inveterate psenti-semite smoker, Chief Warden washed his hands off V. It has been a year since his parents came to know about it, or he confessed rather. Now he has actually gotten more discretion to pursue than to quit. After all parents know him for the habits he pursued, why fear now? Yet the pressing necessity to quit hasn’t risen! How can that be? V has promised his parent s that he would quit. But smarty hasn’t specified the time. Of course had been saying that he would could if his parents asked him to. But 22 years old dude has rights to choose right? Why not consult his wife instead thought he. If incase he was to get married in another 8 years from now. Till then? Obviously, have fun is the motto. Some non smokers called it procrastination. V contented the contextual definition of procrastination.
How can he quit? How can he do that when he has joined orkut Navy cut and Cancer Inc. communities? He still hasn’t decided on what to choose between life and cigarette. But what is life without dum? Boy it is a tricky question. In a dark room, under confined solitude, he thinks, ponders over the pros and cons of quitting, but not without his ally of thought, the DUM itself. The ring of smoke raised splendidly through the still air, taking with it, its share of his life span. His conscience laughs at the irony. “This guy is a reprobate. Only time can bring across a chance, even its potency in this regard remains dubious.”

The politics of terrorism

Global terrorism assumes the headlines of every daily sporadically. Asserting its existence through the unscrupulous attack on the WTC, it has manifested itself round the globe. Though the ‘global’ tag to terrorism itself is debatable, for they aim only at American allies and the anti-Islam communities in general, India nevertheless has its share of threat to tackle.
But unlike anywhere else, the reaction to terrorism in India has been really disappointing. While the entire world expressed its solidarity with the US during the 9/11 attacks, the same kind of attacks on Indian soil give rise to myriad and mixed, if not contradicting emotions. Thanks to our so called infallible democracy and the factional politics. Segmenting the society to aggrandize votes and breaching India’s secular ideology has been the modus operandi of Indian political parties.
The attack on Ayodhya is an apposite example to elucidate this revelation. The Indian political structure is so precarious perched on the religious prejudice, that even the slightest provocation of any form would foment a nation wide distraught among the people. The rapacious politicians fritter not a second to instigate a nation wide decry. Haplessly, the strident decry would not condemn the terrorists, but would be guised and guided at rankling the existing government.
The entire nation falls into a state of anarchy and chaos all too soon. For days after such attacks the government appears meek and at the mercy of the fickle minded coalition. Headlines everywhere, urgent meetings get convened and the denouement; yesterday’s friends who have become today’s foes slaughter the government for its apathy and remiss. All the while they are the part of the government, but never took responsibility. Support from outside is what they call it as. The media finds this as lucrative fallout; the epicures find this a hot topic for discussion at their favorite restaurants and tea stalls; slew of political parties witness the exodus of renowned apostates, ironically mutually among parties, which give an onlooker a feel of exchange program supporting synergy; the rabid followers of political parties rise to new heights by being on hunger strikes between their regular meals, stall traffic on roads and in extreme cases resort to self immolation for reasons unknown to themselves; canards insinuating at a renewed aerial attacks on BSE begets the plummeting of stock prices to record low; the regular static obese police pieces get positioned at cramped markets to add to the crowd; the slew of omnipotent gods are guarded by mortals against attacks by mortals; the eminent educational institutions pick this topic for group discussions and essay writing competitions; the topic remains a hot until a new hook up between Bollywood stars come to light or till Sachin injures his elbow, which ever happens first. Meanwhile paramilitary force and the forensic scientists examine the crime scene only to reinstate the already established facts; then a group of unemployed debauched youth would assume a terrifying name for themselves and claim to have caused the attack and get caught only to find that they eventually get complete a life term in prison even before the case reaches its third hearing; the CBI, after a span of four five year plans would promulgate a report fraught with authentic information on the nexus of eminent politicians with the accused. But sadly the prime accused and the politician would die a natural death by the time the first copy of the charge sheet gets printed. It is only during the first year anniversary that the topic would come up and live for a day. By that time the Bollywood would come up with a movie portraying a poignant love story, where in a couple of NRIs (the hero and heroine) get separated by the blast. The next time one would get reminded about such a national crisis is after 50 years in the “this day that year” column in a newspaper.
What else do the terrorists want? We provide them with such internal support. One small RDX blast will resonate in parliament, stock market, Siachin glacier, railway stations, bus terminals, cinema theatres, RSS meet; VHP beat and at each and every street where the opposition holds a rally. Any blast anywhere in India, even if a household gas cylinder burst the initial suspicions have the potential to rattle the high seats at New Delhi. Why don’t we people think? Why do the majority get manipulated by the maneuvering few at the top? Why are we too hasty in blaming each other? Why don’t we empathize with the dead? Why don’t we condemn such deed? Why don’t we let our cry sound in unison in order to achieve some common good? Why are we oblivious of our duty to express solidarity as a state as a whole? When will such a situation change at all? What is that each individual is supposed to do, thus changing the system as a whole? Probably thinking is the means and thinking is the solution.

The third leg

The phone rang at 2 in the afternoon, and I happened to pick it inadvertently without having snapped out of my siesta. It was a call from my friends from Bangalore and I jabber through the span of the call yet managed to get the instructions clear; to collect a caliper form Prithesh’s place and take it along with me to Bangalore, since Collins had had a foot injury. It took me an average Indian masala movie’s time to collect the caliper because I needed to drive through the whole of Chennai city and back. That wasn’t a big problem. A little stretch for a friend, that is all. But I hadn’t foreseen the things to follow.
I was all set to leave for Bangalore. As a usual practice, I was to use the local sub-urban trains to commute to Chennai central. But unlike the previous trips, this time I have an extra item to carry; the caliper. A lean, coffee colored, light weight aluminum reinforced rod, with a conveniently protruding grip and an aesthetically pleasing curve on to the top with a strap that wraps around the forearm; Or simply, the thing in the Arjun’s movie Karna. Things were normal expect for the caliper never blended with my pompous strut. Once on the road, I was immediately a cynosure. Almost everybody’s eyes were riveted upon the caliper. The first question that might have flashed in their minds is “what is thing?” followed by “why is this guy carrying it when he can walk properly?” The answers to these questions are left to their assumptions. All this is evident from the way they stare the stick. Initially they keenly observe the rod, heedless of the fact that the guy carrying the caliper is watching you watching it. Once the object under examination is recognized, the next observation is on the fellow who is carrying it. And the third part left for assumption is the inappropriate manner in which it is held, that too by a normal guy. I never walked across a single soul, who missed any of these expressions in that order. Once I was at the railway platform, I stood waiting right under the board which read ‘first class’. Standing beside me was an average Indian malcontent. “Too much rushuu.. these days.. whaaat is the government up to? Why cant they increase frequency. For normal people only big problem.. then how big problem for old people and other people??”. Though I wished he had spoken in Tamil, what disturbed me more was his reference to “other people” and followed by the look at my caliper. I wanted to ask him what made him assume that I am partially lame. But I dint. I just smiled away his presumptions. Then there was this inquisitive infant that tugged at the caliper from behind. This man next to me was prompt in frightening the child away by shouting in a his grumpy voice “hey hey.. hmm.. anna vizhunthuduvaaru”. The frightened child ran to its parents not before if fell twice and hurt its teeth. No longer could I tolerate my “savior”, but just before I uttered a word, he walked a bit closer with a smile of contempt suffusing across his face. Now I could smell the illicit liquor he had drunk.
God saved me as the train came in soon. I boarded the compartment, went and stood at the cross-sectional opposite door. The person who was complaining about the rush, pulled out a rag from under his shirt, spread it on the floor and lay supine while singing an old moral song from MGR’s movie. The compartments had been partitioned into ladies and the first class category. Apart from the regular glances, the aunties also exhibited sympathy and empathy. Thanks to mega serials, which had thrown some lights on the trauma the disabled undergo in public. Besides the very response they showed, I would argue, was conditioned by such serials, for a “kudumbap penn” that they were, they better pretend possessing sympathy. I wouldn’t have guessed it if not for a few poor actors there in. How do the heroes in the movie, who pretend blind, always get good looking girls to help them cross the road I wonder? The only two girls had examined me completely and had tagged me “ineligible bachelor”. The men were natural. They never pretended; they simply were indifferent. Only a few who cared, dared to ask me how to adjust the length of the rod for which I could answer. I am a mechanical engineer you see. After all, tool of use is for boys to muse. There was this rather eligible kind of bachelor, who had held his seat for quite sometime now, offered his seat to me. I am sure that he must have been in a quandary, to choose between the comfortable seat and gratifying good deed, because he relinquished his seat only after a long time, long enough for the internal debate to be settled. He was the only person to whom I told that I was perfectly normal and was carrying the stick for my friend. He then repented the generous offered he made, much to be attributed to his assumptions, because there were other passengers willing to play musical chair, to whom he had lost his seat. I had grown some kind of morbid liking towards this newly acquired attention, despite it being negative in intent.
I detrained at the destination, walked a few yards into the subway. There I found a slew of beggars, most of them crippled by polio I presume. I suddenly felt uneasy. Why was I feeling good about the attention? Why were those people paying me such attention, while they were indifferent to these genuinely crippled mendicants? What were they looking at; the aesthetically designed caliper alone? What feeling could they have had while they ogled at me, sympathy or mere curiosity? Was I by any means responsible for the attention I got, though I am sure I never feigned being injured leave alone being partially lame? Too many questions and too little a time to assimilate. To be honest I still don’t have the answer to these questions. Never the less, at that moment I realized that it is not enough to have not pretended. It is my responsibility to let others know that I am normal, they happen to look at me. This is not a kind of attention to get when even imagining me at the beggar’s position is dreadful. To atone for my sin, I paid them all two rupees each. Then I managed to attach the caliper to my shoulder bag in such a manner that it is easily understood as a static luggage than an instrument at use. That was the only thing I could do. The rest of my journey, I tried to answer the questions that intrigued me but in vain. I only hope I get a better picture soon.