To stub it out or not?

Even though about two decades have elapsed, I remember the incident so vividly as if it happened only yesterday. I had singed my nephew Maneesh's fingers unintentionally, rather because of my over-enthusiasm.

At that time he was and continues to be a highly-placed officer in the federal government.

Maneesh (I would call him M) was a kid when I along with my wife had holidayed with his family. His father, a cousin of mine, and his mother were a lovely jovial couple with a very amiable disposition. If our families were so close it was because we shared common beliefs, values and relished similar cuisine.

Quite naturally, our deep bonding had a deep impact on their children who gave us due respect and love. And we returned it in full measure, lacing it with what all kids like most — chocolates and other confectionery. The sweets further cemented our ties with the children. The youngest of them nicknamed me Chocolate-waley Chacha (Chocolate Uncle). After we returned home, my cousin told us that we were often remembered by the kids because of the confectionery.

After completing his education, M became a highly-placed federal government officer.

Nevertheless, M, I was told, continued to respect and follow faithfully the values and pleasant mannerism he had inherited from his parents. Perhaps the only vice he had acquired was smoking. From a casual smoker he had become a chain smoker. So much so, he would light a cigarette while going to another officer's room nearby only to stub it out moments later, partly consumed.

One day I happened to visit the building housing his office when I saw him coming from the opposite direction. He was clutching a couple of files in one hand and a lighted cigarette in the other. As I was seeing M after a pretty long time, I was emotionally overwhelmed. For a few moments I was transported to M's chocolate days.

Caught in the act

Forty-year-old M seemed to have been surprised to find me in front of him. He was almost dumbfounded. Tradition has it that youngsters do not smoke before their elders out of respect. M would not do it either. But he had been caught in the act by his Chocolate Uncle.

If he threw away the burning cigarette, he would be noticed by me. If he did not, the cigarette would singe his fingers. The dilemma was real.

In any case, I had already noticed him holding the cigarette, but my joy on seeing M virtually after ages was far stronger than other things. Moreover, I could not have asked him to discard the cigarette for obvious reasons. I kept inquiring about the welfare of others in his family even as the cigarette was slowly singeing his skin. While I was bubbling with enthusiasm, M's face was tense, reflected his burning dilemma.

I was faced with my own dilemma. Should I cut the conversation with M, who I had met after so many years — only because of that little wretched cigarette? Perhaps M would also have been equally happy to have met me, but for the nasty cigarette that had burnt his enthusiasm. To stub it out or not? That was the big question ringing in M's head.

Somehow, wisdom dawned on me at the right moment. Sensing that he would singe his fingers all because of me, I decided to end the conversation right there. I shook hands, blessed him and left.

Even today I am obsessed with guilt. But who should take the blame for whatever happened? I think the li'l' cigarette.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.