I got it all wrong :)

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