Towards the end of the 'peaceful' era in CCpur, there was a pop
song which caught, all and sundry alike esp. the young minds, by storm.
"Beri (Bidi) chep chep gollhang ahi; Khaini mom mom nungah ahi". In
short, let's say 'smoking makes you cool'. By that time, the rebel in me was in
its nascent stage and who knows, my hormones must have been raging rapidly with
each passing day. To be labelled as 'gollhang' was what every boy of my age were after
and 'curiosity' and 'breaking the rules' got the better off me and my peers. I
got into bad company I wasn't good either even before that (smirk).
While fathers in our village were hanging out in the hotel talking
nonsense me and my peers would eavesdrop
outside following closely what they were bragging. They would speak at length
about how much the PM of India is paid ( not 'earned' as it is even today with
most Babus & netas ), some boasting about their hunting adventure which
would put Corbett to shame, some 'Khan Azham Khan' in the group talking about
his glorious past and long gone wealth. We were not there just for the 'made-up
stories' but we were, in the true sense of the term, posted to
undertake a mission. Whenever one throws bidi/cigarette stub away we would look
left and right and pick up the stub in a jiffy provided it is 'all clear' (no
one looking). This modus operandi was mostly undertaken in the cover of
darkness at night. Each one of us would be posted at different hotel and we
would meet up after sometime at our 'rendezvous' point… the bushes by the Koite
river which flows along Salbung coastline.
The leader of our group was never impressed with me as I can't
smoke at all. I would cough as soon as the glowing match-stick lits the 'second
hand' bidi. I recalled there were many occasion where I tried to control myself
not to cough but always ended up coughing. Forget about coughing any
movement (noise) in the bushes were believed to invite suspicion and trouble if
anyone happens to pass by. I was amazed at seeing my peers puffing away
effortlessly and making a misty cloud over their head. I was attracted
especially to the skill they have in inhaling the smoke and exhaling it through
their nose and ears. Some even knows how to let the smoke comes out of their
eyes...amazing isn't it? I always wanted to create one of my own, a ring of
clouds, hovering above me like a
guardian angel and as a personal body guard.
After rewarding and pampering ourselves with our hard earned
'second hand bidi stub' we would pluck leaves of a certain bush and chewed it until we think that the bidi odour had gone. To make sure the smell had
vanished, we would smell each other’s breath to be in the safer zone. We were a
born scientist! (lol) I remembered we often take bath stark naked in full glory
under the moonlight and it was all the more fun with the glittering stars far
and away staring at us. (lol)
However, no matter how discreet and stealth 'protocol' we adhered
to in our mission words were buzzing around that we were involved in illegal
activities and to make matter worse, it was rumored that we were undergoing
'recruitment spree' and inducting as young as a 5 year old boy into our fold. It was baseless accusations to malign our secret organisation. (lol)
As a matter of fact, in one or two
occasion we made a mistake, in one drizzly afternoon my friend stole his
father's WIN cigarette and we were smoking inside the bushes. Unluckily, his
younger brother caught us red-handed, I was to blame; I coughed. We made an offer
he can't refuse… we offered him my cigarette and in return he has to keep his
mouth shut… he sealed the deal without batting an eyelid. I was taken aback at how
this imp puff away like a pro and in a way he humiliated me. After he gets the
kick, he told us he would go to their house and steal three sticks for the
three of us. We can't refuse his offer either. Smoking with two of the most
feared 'don' in the neighbourhood must have been too irresistible for this
kiddo to zipped his mouth. The cat was out of the bag!!!
CWA (Citizens Welfare Association) was at the helm in disciplining
unruly kids in Ccpur and its neighbouring village so was Salbung. After dinner
a messenger knocks at our door and told me I'm being summoned to appear before
the CWA court. I knew what was in store for me so I wear two pants… a pyjama inside a trouser. All familiar faces crowded the
corridor of Salbung haosapu's (chief) house. We were separated into two groups… junior and senior. I fall in the latter. Juniors were first
called into the Anganwadi centre while we waited in the haosapu's corridor with
one member of CWA as guard. Nobody knows what goes behind closed doors of
Anganwadi Centre but I'm convinced that they were grilled to unearth the inside
story of our activities and closely guarded modus operandi. They were let off
after an hour with a warning.
As soon as the six of us entered the 'grilling room' we were
whacked. That was very unbecoming of CWA to greet us this way atleast that was what I thought. I was the third
guy standing in a line. When the guy before me was whack I gave out a loud cry
'aanaa!!!' for this mischief I got double the beating my friends got.
The first question was "will you be able to quit
smoking?" my predecessors both answered "yes, I can". "If
you can quit, why did you ever start smoking?" was what they were told and
they got a good thrashing. I was working on that question very meticulously now
in my head to avoid the beating even if i've to choose the road less travelled.
"Will you be able to quit smoking?"
"No, I won't be able to".
That was not only a wrong answer but an arrogant one; it irked
every member present in the room, each pick up the one thing I dreaded the most
that instant and beat me like a boxer does to a punching bag. Two trousers
didn't help. Neither did 'acting smart'. Upto 10 whacks I groaned in pain but
after that I could feel nothing; I just turned numb. I could hardly remain
standing erect.
Next based on whatever evidence and facts they could gather from
the junior we were put into a gruelling session of interrogation. One word
going astray from what the junior said about us begot us one whack. Stick made
from a special and tough bamboo known in the local dialect as 'sanaibi' breaks
into splinters after it pounce upon our butts and thighs. While grilling if we
didn't answer their questions asap 'sanaibi' stick will kiss our asses so our
confession becomes a lie; a bigger lie in the process. Our confession was like
memorising a poem and reciting it, within a stipulated time, in a competition.
To someone, who overheard what we said and what we got, from a distant would
sound like a firing automatic assault rifle. The scars from my butt to my
ankle lasted for a week. I'm flattered now as if I remember correctly someone
praised me for my bravery the following day. (lol)
After the entire 'fling with the stick' we signed an undertaking
never to smoke again. Our story especially mine spread like a wild fire.
"Here comes the one who can't quit smoking" was what I hear wherever
I go and people jeered at me. I can't take that in easily and inside I wept and
vowed not to kiss the butt end of the bidi or cigarette and never let 'sanaibi'
kiss my butt ever again.
Looking back, I'm filled with a mixed feeling. I'm happy that I
got beaten black and blue for smoking (learning to smoke) if not I won't be
able to give up smoking now and amused at my poor 'acting smart'
moments which landed me in a bigger soup than the previous one which forced me to
take the road less travelled. I'm sad as a lot has changed… waist-deep Koite river is now no better than a drainage, the
bushes all gone but few friends still remain unchanged: they still make clouds
hovering over their head and I'm afraid I'll never make one by my own mouth,
nose, ears or eyes :D
