On global warming & Smoking

Why is it still hot in Dubai? Agree that things have cooled down a bit and it is warm and early mornings are slightly cool, but it is still not cold and it is November. There is a reason why it is called 'November' and not 'March' or 'April'. November is supposed to be cold and romantic not dusty and warm. Guess it is that phenomenon - Global Warming? The buzzword of the era...

If that is the case, global warming seems to take a toll on my smoking comfort as well. Having a fag on a hot afternoon gives me a sore throat reminiscent of instant throat cancer and an overall discomfort owing to the heat outside. But like Chandler said, it still makes me look sick and happy.

My take on the harmful effect of smoking and global warming are the same and I hold both in the same light of observation. Inevitable side affect to a bit of pleasure that can't be truly avoided.

I am not excusing the science of global warming nor am I discounting its adverse effect on our earth including the observation that man made causes do aid in global climate change. But to what extent? My ignorance in the science of this scheme prevents me from offering any useful info.

But from my very limited scope of understanding, all said and done, it is still inevitable. I do not think that global climate can be made to stay the same for as long as we wish to, considering that we have enough empirical evidence to know that it has continuously changed through out the history of our planet. With or without human intervention changes do happen in our universe. New stars are born, Dinosaurs were asked to leave, things move further apart, come closer, collide etc. etc. We cannot prevent this but we can prolong it, for a future generation.

Then how much into the future is future enough? Which generation do we call as future generation? Based on the Domesdayers predictions, my son would face droughts, heat and possible extinction. A more optimistic estimate would allow my son to raise children in a livable world. Fuel may be scarce. Fossil fuel may be extinct. So is that the future generation we try and save for? If it is, what about their children, and then their children. Based on our present set of remedies, which proactively serves the monetary interest of a few large green companies and the mental incapacity of a few green washed extremists, it does very little to counter the affects and adversities for more than fifty years, which is hardly enough time for a generation.

So how long can we really prolong this? There are many brilliant minds at work; scientist, engineers, medical professionals, or any one who understands the science behind the issues, all of whom are working on identifying possible solutions to these issues.

Smoking on the other hand is harmful and there is no denying this. It is worse than fat, cholesterol and sugar and as a threat to dear life, it is comparable with alcohol. It is less dangerous than speed, which they say, can kill you instantly, but then so does stupidity, which can get you killed instantly given the right circumstances.

Why do I smoke? Some do it for the kick or the feel good factor or to appear cool, like a show-off.

I do it for all these reasons and then some more. I like every aspect of smoking, from opening the new packet, pulling out a cigarette, the taste of filter against my lips, the perceived coolness of lighting it, which can be made super cool by using a match box. The apparent warmth from the tiny glow at the end. Holding it away for a while while trying to appear serious or as though you are trying to comprehend all the philosophies of this universe in that randomly chosen interval. Blowing a smooth cloud of smoke. Tapping out the ash to reveal a glow made brighter as you suck in more smoke to fill your bitter self and a final display of dominance as you kill the smoldering butt and crush it under your feet. Less appealing though is the smoky bits that get in my eyes and the terrible dry after taste it leaves in my mouth.

The stage where I perform this act holds relevance too. A cold rainy day, the kind you get in Kerala is most suitable. A chilly night on a deserted highway is a beautiful alternative. Less appealing though is the hot dry afternoon outside my office. Smoking with dear friends is so much more pleasurable than smoking with your weirdo boss whom you dislike with all your heart.

The memory of some of my dearest friends have an aroma of nicotine. Some of the most pleasurable conversations I have had were often accompanied by an overfilled ashtray which was stuffed with half burnt butts. These conversations lasted until the excitement of the conversation ended or someone had to really leave or as had happened most often, when we ran out of cigarettes. The last cigarette was often shared and there was more sorrow in the room than there would be at a college farewell.

Smoking is also a great way of killing time. Girls flip out their Black Berries every time they have to wait for someone or something or are stuck in an uncomfortable social situation. Guys do it too, hell I have done that too, not on a freaking Black Berry though. Cell phone thus act as an odd friend through whom you stay connected, if you have credit or flip through the images or old SMS as it takes you back to that good old time which might have been only a few weeks back.

Smoking is a suitable alternative to this because instead of looking awkward as you have very little to do, you engage in an activity that lets you be with yourself, like a low budget philosophical path to self discovery. In that, smoking is like a good friend. The kind who make you feel good, listens to you, and does not advice you.

My sister counters this argument by saying that my lungs, the large airbags inside me, the dark ugly things I saw at medical exhibitions should be my more intimate friend and that every time I light a cigarette I hurt his feelings. They say that it suffers with every smoke I blow and gets even darker and uglier as I finish a packet.

As much as I appreciate the metaphor and would like to see an anthropomorphic version of my lungs crying out loud and asking me to stop in the next anti-smoking campaign, I apply a different analogy to justify my case. Lungs, I feel, is like god. I can't see it, not without a scan at least nor does it answer my prayers and most importantly, like the one true god, it is within me, literally. But I can feel its presence just as believers feel god, only more obvious and much more effective in  life.

Then, just like divinity and mankind, where after every sin you make a confessions and god presses a giant reset switch to set you back on the path to righteousness and the ultimate thrills of afterlife, after every fag, I should ask my lungs to forgive me, and it should wipe out the tar in a jiffy. I could even say a million thanks to my lungs for keeping me alive every second of my life. That should keep it happy just like the jealous gods in heaven who get terribly upset and puts you through a lot of misery if you fail to praise them first thing on a Sunday morning. That was what the vicar said when I confessed.

If I get a lung infection or cancer, I could make an offering to set things right or go the Bollywood way and abuse my lungs so much that it finally saw some logic in my request and I would make a remarkable recovery just as the camera zooms in on a close up of my dark ugly lungs.

I know that things do not work that way and my life is so full of happiness that I do not appreciate even a suggestion from anyone to pack up and go heavens, no, at least not until I am old and irritating enough that someone decided to put me to sleep like they would to an old useless dog. Until then I will try to cut down on smoking or quit, which is a sad thing because it is something I like doing, and keep the ball rolling in the most exciting way possible. As for global warming, I don't have a bloody clue.

Shenanigans of Divinity II

This is another feeble attempt to translate a beautiful and brilliant song/poetry by Prof. Madhusoodhanan Nair from the movie Daivathinte Vikrithikal (Gods mischief’s), based on a book of the same title by M. Mukundan. The post title ‘Shenanigans of Divinity’ seemed a suitable alternate expression for the movie name.

From the deep slumbers of darkness you wake me to the colors of life

You gave a sky for my wings, and on a branch in your soul, you gave me a nest.

Wherever but here could you smell so sweet; in every little flower, in the softest breeze?

Where also can I find you as this river; which brims with every drop of my life as I melt in?

Wherever but here can I find this sky that blooms when you spread as a petal of dreams?

When the little nightingale cries; when the narrow stream stops her lullaby

Where mercy is lost, when time trembles,

I bind my heart in yours; and it is in you that I seek refuge

Can’t part from your heart, May paradise call…

Cant part from your soul, let heaven seek...

To melt in the depth of your soul…as I perish,  is my paradise

To remain in you... is eternal truth

The protagonist in the movie, Alphonse (played brilliantly by the versatile and charming actor Raghuvaran), is a French native and a successful magician living in Mayyazhi (French Mahe) in Kerala. The French colonial influence ends and the settlers leave for their homeland.

As the siren for the last ship to France sounds, his wife Maggie (Srividhya) tries to persuade Alphonse to leave for France, where they belong. The siren acts a final call from destiny for all success and prosperity that awaits them in France. However, Alphonse refuses to leave Mayyazhi.

The end of colonial rule also marks a new dawn for an oppressed, unjust and yet vibrant society that burgeons with madness. While Alphonse and his family stay back in Mayyazhi, failure and poverty adorn their life as they try in vain to be part of a reclassified society which disowns them with derision, much to the dismay of Father Alphonse. In his angst he develops a deep sense of resentment towards his self and refuses to accept the reality, which in his case, is that he is no longer the much admired French man in Mayyazhi, but an impecunious vagrant who is no longer required in this society. He seeks refuge in alcohol and leads a secluded life confining himself to his world of magic which he holds dear to life.

The song is about his unrequited love for the beautiful sea cost of Mayyazhi; the love for which he had to forsake every reason, every virtue of happiness and all that he ever was.

Someone with a better understanding of both languages should do a better translation of this song.

Shenanigans of Divinity

Every once in a while a huge tide comes along and washes away his castle of dreams. It leaves him shattered and depressed. In a state of confusion he loses all interest in self and in the reasons of his existence. On times like these one could cling on to divinity to be consoled through those dreary moments. But he did not do this because he knew that unlike divinity, the tides are a reality. Over time, he got back to the shores and builds his dreams in sand all over again. This time it may be a new design but the entities still remained the same. 

But worse still were the waves; ripples of desperation that crashed on his castles nearly destroying them but not entirely. These waves always left him in a swarm of agony and fear as he lost hope in his virtues. When he was a little boy, in vain he used to express his frustration by crushing down what remained of his castles. The anger did not subdue as he kept crushing others hopes. Out of egotistic desperation he trampled on the little girls garden which had tiny blue flowers as he smeared sand on her teary face. 

As he grew older, the wisdom of age reflected on his appreciation of beauty. And now every thing around him, every thing he had, was so beautiful that there was nothing for him to crush or trample. All of them were to him more beautiful than his castle of dreams. And they were so beautiful that it was worth building a castle of dreams around them. Yet there were those times when his selfishness made up for the lack of divinity and ripples of agony crushed his sand castles.

Why does he still build it on the beach where it gets washed away by the tides? Because the sea was beautiful, like his life it was blue and bubbling. It may be dark, dangerous and deep, but the shores are safe and there was solitude in its depth.  And that was reason enough for him to keep building those castles of dream at the beautiful sea shore where it may yet again be washed away by the tides or crushed by a white foamy wave.