Smoker’s club

When I was a smoker, I blew smoke rings in the air. Actually that is not strictly true. Let me start again. When I was a smoker, which was a period that lasted for a good 20 years, I tried to blow smoke rings in the air. It was one of those tricks that all smokers tried to perfect. Most of the time I did not succeed, I am sad to report. But occasionally I did and when that happened, I was suffused with joy. Yes, there is nothing to beat the simple pleasures of life.

It was not easy to learn and many cigarettes got wasted while struggling to master it. One needed patience, persistence and learning to pucker the mouth in a particular perfect pout. While exhaling, that is. My older brother and my spouse were the instructors and we would sit in one line and try to outshine each other.

I was also assigned the thankless task of watching out for elders, especially my Mom. In our culture it was disrespectful to smoke in front of parents. In fact it was impolite to even acknowledge that we were smokers. And so whenever our mother came into my room and sniffed the air suspiciously for nicotine smells, we denied it. Or in a worst-case scenario, pointed to one another while trying to confuse her. She was far too smart to be thus deceived and we would get an earful from her. “Smoking thrills but kills,” she would announce, misquoting the road warning signs for speeding. “That caveat is for reckless drivers,” I tried to correct her once. “And foolish smokers too,” she asserted. 

But in those days, some 30 years ago, smokers were not treated as social pariah. One generally was careful not to smoke in front of small children but that was about it. There were no designated smoking areas at the airports, malls or hotels. Public places were a free for all. Actually, even in airplanes people could light up as and when they felt like. No smoke alarm would go off and there was no question of even being asked to pay a penalty for smoking. 

Visitors to Jordan might feel that time has stood still, at least where the smoking laws apply. Unlike the rest of the world, here one can smoke as frequently as one wants, and pretty much wherever one wants to. None of the restaurants shoo the smokers away. On the contrary, ashtrays are very thoughtfully provided along with the dinner plates in case someone feels like smoking during a meal. People are happily tolerant towards smokers and no one feels the need to ostracise them. 

I was on a flight from London to Amman recently and was seated next to a charming gentleman who insisted on sharing his bag of goodies with me. I could not understand why he was carrying so much junk food till he sheepishly confessed that he was a chain smoker. Being locked up in a plane for five hours without being allowed to smoke was his worst nightmare. So he munched constantly on popcorn, chocolates, crisps, jellybeans and so on. Being the generous sorts, he kept passing the packets to me also.

“Did you ever blow smoke rings,” he asked me suddenly.

“Perfect concentric circles,” I boasted.

“Really? Why did you give it up,” he was curious.

“Smoking thrills but kills,” I said solemnly.

“Speeding does that,” he corrected.

“Same difference,” I smiled.