Walking on a thin layer of Ice: In the Midst of a Boat Ride

If we consider life as a journey, then it is better that we travel alone. Actually not alone in the way we conceive aloneness, but in a rather different way. This solitude is accompanied by longing, melody and the desire to be together again. All set to bring communion of the pain of separation and the joys of being together. And I must say this is a greater pleasure than any of the two. One should not travel alone to be alone in the end but to break the solitude which in turn will be rejuvenated on its own.

Now we come back to my farewell days in JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University) before I took that mesmerizing ride to Kadamtala in Andaman Islands. We say memories fade, but I would say they take a backseat looking at you from behind. Watching you all your life. You cannot see them but they are always looking at you from your back. If you want to see them, you will have to face them.

And when I look back I see myself sitting on a concrete slab smoking cigarette with tea which is neither tea nor hot water or both, and talking some nonsense to an equally endowed lady in wee hours. Smoking is best done in company of a close friend (preferably woman) who ideally should be a smoker. Then you don’t give a damn what others are doing around you, and you think only about three objects- the burning cigarette in your hand, the woman beside you and the all the rational-irrational nonsense in air. I must admit that women are the best listeners. Compared to men they have more patience for listening and only after listening to your view, they would bring forward their own. You can blame it on their subversion by men but I am well aware that they are equally ferocious if they are fooled around much.

And I think of how every morning after getting up I used to go straight to the balcony at the back of my hostel Room and stare at the green tress and the vast sky outside. I used to feel so good by beholding nature. There are some numbers which remain stuck in our memory forever. For me they are 4, 219, 102 and 230. Now I’m not going to write about them here as they have their own stories stringed to them.

Have you ever enjoyed the rains in the open by walking on the lonely roads? This is a pleasure you can seek only when you are free from the worldly woes that cling to us all the time. Have you ever thought that you can become an alarm clock for somebody? I believe this is called humanness. Doing things without thinking of any gains is purely human and we do it often.

There is something in JNU which makes it a real utopian territory. A place where you live away from the harsh realities of the world, enjoying the sweet nectar of life and thinking in a very bookish sense of life. But I also know it makes a very different individual inside you: a brick meant for making a house which stands only in dreams. An individual with above average sensibilities and concern for the preciousness of human life is born in almost every one who is touched by the life in JNU. This is place where a student can talk to all the big shots without bowing in front of them. This is also a place where young Indians jostle together whether they come from Bihar, Tamilnadu, Nagaland or Maharashtra. Life is a celebration for many us who have lived there because here you celebrate its dark side too. The unreality of the reality.

When I remember the winters, I wonder why the jackets turn into branches surrounded by the fog. You have to come back from a long walk in the wee hours after graveyard shifts to see this happening when you can walk only by holding hands. Winter is not always the time when nature goes into hibernation but it is also the time when tears are frozen and every thought just fogs. When you want to cry but you cannot. Winters have also been the beginning of new life for me. A time for unfolding of a new story. That is why I have started enjoying winters more now.

Coming back to the boat ride to Kadamatala. It was a usual hot and sunny day of February 2006 in Andamans when one of my university senior who came to Strait Island on an engine propelled dinghy boat to see us. When I was offered the ride to kadamtala, I could not resist it. We were going to visit the abode of Jarawas (one of the last survivors of Pre-Neolithic people on earth) at Kadamtala area in Middle Andamans. I had met Jarawas but only at District Hospital in Port Blair and not in their natural habitation. Our boat was small enough to accommodate just 5-6 people and thus could not brave the open sea. So we stick to the passage by sea shore inundated by mangroves. Sometimes we crossed between two mangroves separated like lost brothers. I was trying to touch the sea water when the boatman told me to stop doing it as the waters were infested by crocodiles.

After a 3 hours boat ride we finally reached Uttara jetty where I first saw some Jarawas standing at the embankment. We proceeded to Kadamtala village (a village of Bengali settlers) where I was introduced to a lean and thin Bengali guy who will take me to a very different world later. Next morning I was riding a Jeep which left us in the outskirts of the village. At the roadside we waited for another guy who was going to bring some medicine for the Jarawas. After waiting an hour or so, he finally arrived and after getting the medicines from him we embarked on a very special journey. We took a dust beaten path going inside the forest. The trees were becoming thicker and bolder as we were walking inside the forest. We came across two makeshift bridges made of fallen tree trunks spread over big ditches on which only an expert gymnast can walk. I managed somehow. I also noticed some human voices shouting nearby together with some small clear grounds on which some big leaves were spread. I was told that Jarawas use these clear areas to relax while hunting. After taking many turns and curves, I started feeling that we are reaching the habitation as I could see the sky more clearly now through the foliage.

But the destination was not that near. Finally after walking another half an hour we reached the Jarawa village. I could see some children and some women sitting under huts. My companion told me that most of them have gone for gathering (it was a honey season) and they will be coming back shortly. I was standing mesmerized by looking at the unique world looking back at me. One of the children asked about me from my guide. My Bengali friend told them that I have come from a very far place riding an airplane which they still see in awe. I was feeling thirsty so I took out the bottle of water from my bag. I took a sip. Soon all the women and children wanted sips from the bottle as if it is an elixir. Later more people returning from hunting and gathering expedition joined us. I was introduced to a man with marvelous physique. I was told that he was above 60 years in age. Here I and my Bengali friend were the only wearing clothes and representing the new civilization. I was living the past which our forefathers must have lived once. The charm of the grand old world was putting me in a transcendental world.

I told them in my half cooked Andamani Hindi and gestures that I met the Jarawa mother at Port Blair hospital whose 6 months old baby was injured by a bamboo stick at Port Blair hospital. They quickly recognized her and informed me that she belonged to a different Jarawa village. One child was touching my body to confirm my gender as he could not see what I could see clearly. He was new to our civilization. Though I was living with another group of indigenous and older group of Andamanese people (Great Andamanese), but I have seen them in a government sponsored model village (Strait Village) where there were concrete houses, electricity and indigenous people who depended on government doles for their day to day survival. On the contrary here I was standing in the midst of the last remains of Andamanese culture and society.

My Bengali friend gave some of them the medicines he brought along. They liked the way he applied some antiseptic lotion to their injuries and bandaged them. Medicine brought two warring civilization together. Jarawas who were hostile to all intruders in their territory till 1992, made peace only when the magic wand of modern medicine touched their lives. Time was running fast and we had to return to kadamtala village also. So we bid goodbye to the Jarawas and started the return trail. While coming back I was thinking as if I was sitting in a time-machine set to throw me back to the world I belonged.

To be continued.

Smoking: Indian Style

Every smoking society has its own lingo and culture associated with smoking. In the course of history Smoking has become an established ritual symbolizing manhood and patriarchal discourse. Indian society also displays a unique inventory of things related to smoking and the associated jargon. Thus it is not surprising to come across words akin to smoking which are commonly known to smokers and non -smokers alike. Though there are some which are exclusively used by the smokers only. In Northern part of India (the cow belt) smoking is performed through various means like age old Hukkaa (an old world tool consisting of two spherical parts one of which condenses tobacco smokes coming out of the other in water and which in turn is smoked using a pipe or stem), Biidii (dry tobacco rolled in Tendu leaf [Diospyros melonoxylon] and tied with a colored thread at the tip), Chilam (a earthen or metal bowl with stem to smoke tobacco mixed with Marijuana leaf (cannabis sativa) locally known as Gaanjaa and of course through cigarettes.

Hukkaa (Hookah) is on decline. Once considered a mark of bourgeoisie culture introduced by Arab travelers in India, it has now been restricted to rural and semi urban settings (so you can still find the good old Hukka smokers in the outskirts of Delhi and inside old Delhi). Hukkas used to be the instruments of social gathering in society where people practiced communal smoking around one Hukka. Thus we come across Hindi idioms such as Hukkaa-paanii band karnaa (meaning to outcaste someone).Today it has acquired a status of an antique piece to be displayed in the drawing rooms of the middle class.

Biidiis on the other hand are thriving despite having a tough competition by cigarettes. When you go to shop for Biidi you never ask by calling it Biidii but by calling Bandal (from English Bundle). Unlike cigarettes, you cannot buy them loose in India but you will have to buy the whole pack except you are taking it for free or you are in Kolkata where it is said even cigarettes cut in two halves are sold individually. In fact almost all famous Biidii brands are from West Bengal state of India and it is still the biggest manufacturer. Some of the famous Biidii brands are Pal, Tiin Pattaa, Shankar, Ganesh, 501 etc. Biidii smoking is also recognized with the Naxalbari movement of Bengal of 1970s and 1980s. Like the Cuban Cigars of Che Guerra, Biidiis used to enjoy the status of proletariat symbol of intoxication. Unlike cigarettes it would be improper to light a Biidii by holding it between your lips. Biidiis are going to stay in hinterlands for the days to come.

Cigarettes in India come in three sizes Kingsize, Regular and Micro. Out of these three micro-cigarettes are the most popular among masses as in other developing nations of Asia. Some of the popular brands are Classic, Wills Navy Cut, Goldflake, Capstan, Charminar , India kings, More etc owned mostly by two biggest manufactures viz ITC and Godfrey Phillips. People all over the country use different names for the same brand of cigarettes. For example in Delhi Gold Flake King-Size is known called Badi Gold Flake (as there is another micro version of the same brand known as Choti Gold Flake) whereas in South India (for example Bangalore) it is simply called King-Size. Similarly Wills Navy Cut is called Navy Cut in Delhi but in Mumbai it is known as Filter and in Kolkata it is called Wills. In the western world as cigarettes rhyme well with coffee, in North India they are usually accompanied by tea. Cigarette smoking is generally perceived to be a classy thing done mostly by rich or educated. Among the more passionate smokers, handmade cigarettes are used which are just rolled immediately for lighting by the smokers but without filters.

Walking on a thin layer of ice

Our life is made up of stories only we remember. We forget some of them and we keep some in our hearts forever. Why we forgot some of them, is a puzzling question? I guess our engaging life and work makes them go in oblivion. But can we just afford to lose them and let them die alone? I think they are like the kitchen gas (but without any odor) you have forgotten to put off, lurking around you. You just need to light a match to show it upon you. Then as you have seen them alive again, you want them to stay. You enjoy the pain and joys they give to you. You want to become its pet again. Suffering but still cherishing it. Sadness and loneliness give you the chance to think of brighter days ahead. It’s a necessary evil which you need to walk on and on. Changing your mindset never helps. Because you can change it all but you cannot change the ‘YOU’ in you. Someone said ‘writing is like shitting, you take out whatever you have inside’. So I’m writing but this is no shit.

When I ponder about my farewell days at JNU and at Andaman Islands in the year spanning 2005-2006, I miss those blue and lonely times. It is not that I’m overflowing with people here. But my sensibilities have changed a lot living and working here. That white dreamy smoke coming out of the cigarette in my fingers seems like a long forgotten past. The way I thought about Nao Junior, the uncrowned king of the last of the Great Andamanese at Strait Island. I used to feel sad about whether I would be able to see again that dark face with eyes like a cat peering in the dark. The day he came fully drunk looking for me at my rented house at Premnagar, Portblair and said that he is my elder brother in his charming Andamani Hindi (hum tumko bhai cota manta hai). I felt the same for him and shared a cigarette with him (though he detested it). I hated it when my neighbors called him ‘Jungli’ next morning while referring to him. Who is going to tell all the settlers living on the Andaman Islands that the land on which they all are living is Great Andamanese soil and they should show some respect for its real owners?

How I used to worry about Chachi (Boa senior, the last genuinely Great Andamanese woman) and whether I would ever help her in cooking food at her small hut and then share ‘Sukhaa paan’ (flavored tobacco leaves and lime) together. Sometimes I used to see her looking up in the sky and staring in the blank. Like a child, I wanted to know what she is thinking. Her eyes looked dreamy and lost in the past. When I showed her a photograph of her younger days, she quickly recognized every one in it. I felt good for showing her a slice of her lost and foregone past. I can never forget the way Chachi offered me her little provision of rice and dal, when I told her that I’m going back to Portblair from Strait Island to bring some provisions. She smilingly offered the little she had. I was lying as I was not going to the town to bring ration but to call my love at the other end of India. I felt guilty.

Andaman was lonesome for me as I was in love with loneliness and a woman. The solitary ride of the Andaman state transport bus, I took to Vandoor area in the evening to capture glimpses of Jarawas, cannot be forgotten too. Though by the time I reached Vandoor police outpost, It was already dark, I thoroughly enjoyed the sight from the bus all along the road. The driver of the bus also got off the wheel to share some tea at that ramshackle tea shop run by a Telugu speaking lady. I told him that I’m doing some journalistic writing on Andamans,Jarawas, Tsunami etc , so he let open all he knew about Andamans. He was a Pugga (turban) less Sardar born in Andamans. So despite his demeanors his lingo smacked of Andamani Hindi. He told me that to see Jarawas I’ll have go to the jungle outpost of Vandoor police station. Some policemen sitting at the tea shop informed me that Jarawas also watch TV at the police outpost inside the forest and they are very fussy especially about tobacco and liquor. We started back for the city soon afterwards. Andaman looks very dark in night so could not help looking at my watch all along the road. I was lonely again. Christopher McCandless : you were absolutely right.

To be continued.

Smoking Quotes !

 

To cease smoking is the easiest thing I ever did.  I ought to know because I’ve done it a thousand times.  ~Mark Twain

 

One thousand Americans stop smoking every day – by dying.  ~Author Unknown

 

It has always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake.  ~Mark Twain

 

Tobacco is a dirty weed.  I like it.
It satisfies no normal need.  I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean
It’s the worst darn stuff I’ve ever seen.
I like it.
~Graham Lee Hemminger, Tobacco

 

A nonsmoker is forced to find food, but for a smoker breakfast can be a cigarette and a cup of bad coffee.  ~Brock Fiant

 

He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, or refuseth himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from heaven.  ~Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, What Will He Do With It?

 

Please don’t throw your cigarette butts in the urinal.  It makes them soggy and hard to light.  ~Author Unknown

 

The best way to stop smoking is to carry wet matches.  ~Author Unknown

 

Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.
Emile Zola

 

If alcohol is queen, then tobacco is her consort. It’s a fond companion for all occasions, a loyal friend through fair weather and foul. People smoke to celebrate a happy moment, or to hide a bitter regret. Whether you’re alone or with friends, it’s a joy for all the senses. What lovelier sight is there than that double row of white cigarettes, lined up like soldiers on parade and wrapped in silver paper? I love to touch the pack in my pocket, open it, savor the feel of the cigarette between my fingers, the paper on my lips, the taste of tobacco on my tongue. I love to watch the flame spurt up, love to watch it come closer and closer, filling me with its warmth.”

Luis Buñuel

 

Never slap a man who chews tobacco

 Willard Scott quotes

 

Tobacco: Aromatic means of lining the pockets of the manufacturer, the lungs of the consumer and the boxes of the undertaker- Author Unknown

 

 

 

Why Tobacco Gives the Kick?

What is Tobacco?

Tobacco comes from the leaves of the tobacco plant (Nicotiana tabacum and Nicotiana rustica), which contain nicotine. Nicotine is a stimulant drug. Stimulant drugs act on the central nervous system to speed up the messages traveling between the brain and the body. The leaf of the tobacco plant is dried, cured and aged before having other ingredients added to manufacture a range of tobacco-based products. For example, cigarettes (including some herbal cigarettes), cigars, pipe tobacco, chewing tobacco, and wet and dry snuff.

 

What Tobacco Does?

Nicotine is highly addictive and acts as both a stimulant and a sedative to the central nervous system. The ingestion of nicotine results in an almost immediate “kick” because it causes a discharge of epinephrine from the adrenal cortex. This stimulates the central nervous system, and other endocrine glands, which causes a sudden release of glucose. Stimulation is then followed by depression and fatigue, leading the abuser to seek more nicotine.

 

Immediate Effects?

Soon after smoking, chewing or snuffing tobacco, the following effects may be experienced:

• initial stimulation, then reduction in brain and nervous system activity
• enhanced alertness and concentration
• mild euphoria
• feelings of relaxation
• increased blood pressure and heart rate
• decreased blood flow to body extremities like the fingers and toes
• dizziness, nausea, watery eyes and acid in the stomach
• decreased appetite, taste and smell.

Tobacco Dependence?

People who use tobacco tend to develop a tolerance to the effects of the nicotine in the tobacco very quickly. This means they need to smoke more and more in order to get the same effect.

With repeated use of tobacco, the risk of dependence on nicotine is high. Dependence on nicotine can be physiological, psychological or both.

People who are physically dependent on nicotine find their body has become used to functioning with the nicotine present and may experience withdrawal symptoms when they reduce their nicotine intake.

People who are psychologically dependent on nicotine may find they feel an urge to smoke/ Chew/ Snuff when they are in specific surroundings, such as at the pub, or in particular situations such as during their lunch break or socialising with friends.

Research has shown that smoking is often associated with different roles and meanings for smokers, including:

• social roles—such as enjoyment of the company of friends, the drinking of coffee or alcohol, and promoting social confidence and feelings of independence (particularly for young women)
• emotional roles—caring for the self, such as helping to deal with stress and anxiety, weight control and providing “companionship”
• temporal roles—such as connecting the flow of events or time in the smoker’s day, providing a break from work or activities and relieving boredom.

What’s in a Cigarette Smoke?

There are more than 4000 chemicals in tobacco smoke. Many of these chemicals are poisonous and at least 43 of them are carcinogenic (cause cancer). The three major chemicals in tobacco smoke are:

• Nicotine—the chemical on which smokers become dependent
• Tar—which is released when a cigarette burns
• Carbon monoxide (CO)—a colourless, odourless and very toxic gas that is taken up more readily by the lungs than oxygen. Smokers typically have high levels of CO in the blood.

This may be why smoking is sometimes referred to as the most difficult drug to give up !