On Quitting Smoking

Hehehe, well I won’t bore you with the cliches you hear on this topic. But what’s making me laugh is the specific incident which caused my quitting. Wish I could say that it was something trite as a parent’s scold or a girlfriend’s emotional blackmail. It was the police, and no, I wasn’t caught per se…well almost.
I was at the pragati maidan in delhi during the India International Trade Fair this winter’s start. For the last 3 months, I had forgotten what a weekend was, so standing there at my company’s stall watching families, friends and couples enjoy the atmosphere was beginning to tell on me. To say that I was pissed off was to say the Bay of Bengal is damp.
So, taking a cigarette break at every possible excuse to leave the stall, I would stroll to a convenient, private corner while listening to the continuous announcement – this is a no plastic and no smoking zone…like I gave a damn. Well it turns out I should have – given a damn.
This particular constable is slim for a change. God damn it, he is fitter than Me! This must be a new joinee, untouched by the system and ready to change the world. And here I am, unexcercised since, well, forever. And I have smoke in my lungs. With less than fifty feet between us, I ran. Didn’t see where I was heading, didn’t see who I was bumping, just made Forrest gump proud. When I finally merged into the crowd and started panting, my thought train started chugging. If it wasn’t for the cigarette, I could have excercised and be fitter, and run better without feeling nauseated and pukish. To hell, if it wasn’t for the ciggy, I wouldn’t BE running.
Chuck the damn thing, along with any thing that makes me move my a.., ahem, feet at such a rapid pace. Laziness is too great a feeling to be wasted on any damn thing.

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