Life sure is strange.

I have seen muscular six footers die either of cardiac arrest or of cancer in their middle years and those who survive ,suffer life long respiratory problems due to smoking like a chimney or puffing occasionally ,generally after meals ,like popping in a sweet beeda ,to round off the lunch or dinner.

A puny man in late 70's who has developed a permanent hunch , resides in the upper floor of my flat complex.

I have always seen him seated on a chair near his open doorway ,on my way up to the terrace,bent over a book ,thumbing it with one hand whilst the other holds a smouldering cigarette. That corridor unlike others that are filled with fragrance of agarbahthi's at twilight , is always clouded with the smoke and acrid smell [aroma to some] of cigarettes.

I see him occasionally crawl out of his armchair , on to the lift downwards only to buy cigarettes from nearby shops.

He puffs like a steam engine. And is as thin as a reed. Yet in all these 10 years that I have seen him , not once was he ever down nor was he ever without his smoking companion!

PS.It may seem odd as it is definitely to me to write about a social taboo --smoking on a blog sanctified by translations of hymns of seers and saints. I have no other go.Since I am unable to access asdf vidat-venkatesan.blogspot.com , a blog that Google had graciously revived and restored for my use on their volition and being a serial blogger I am forced to let off my observations on life ,in here.