I remember seeing a cigar for the first time in movies. I think it was one of those gangster flicks. Cigars, cigarettes, and almost anything that is smoked for recreation or habit has been with us since time immemorial. For men and women alike, a smoke is almost an act of catharsis – with every puff of smoke exhaled, the stress and rage is perceived to be exhaled too.

If you’ve known me till the time I was employed with Goldman Sachs; then you know me as much as you know my past-life. After I came back to Chennai, I saw lifestyle habits in a different light. Ever since I formed coherent sentences, I saw lifestyle habits (smoking, drinking, etc.) as unnecessary. I wondered, ‘what are they escaping from?’, ‘why waste so much money on a habit that is killing you from the inside?’, ‘how do you even get addicted when you know that this stuff is addicting in nature?’

Of course, at that time, the only thing worrying me was the grades and an occasional banter from my teacher when I talked during class. Those times were simpler. Of course, now I know why people indulge in lifestyle habits. For them, it’s a sweet release (albeit temporary). And, despite them knowing the dangers involved, they can’t help but go back and knock on the fabled doors made of tobacco leaves and fermented food items.

Fear of missing out and indirect peer pressure contributed to my acquaintance with cigarettes and alcohol. All my life I wanted to fit in; and here was a simple way to do so. Now, I’m as normal as any other human. Had I not had writing and reading as a way to vent out and acquiesce myself, I’d have become addicted. So, I partook on fermented products the same way a child inspects Broccoli – tasting a bit, feeling the juices, experiencing the after-taste and vowing never to eat it again only to try again after a year or so (in hopes that Broccoli has learnt to taste better).

I’ve always wanted to hold a cigar in my fingertips. It has a place of its own. A cigar is symbolic. A cigar is costly, and it takes time to be made. It’s not your regular joint that you can make at home, or a cigarette that you can buy from a store. Hence, a cigar in your fingertips gives a subliminal message about control, power, will, and wealth. Handled well, a cigar can make you smell the forests from where the leaves were sourced.

I’m forever grateful to the one who gave me a stick of cigar. It was made by Henri Wintermans, and was marketed as ‘Corona De Luxe’. To think of it, in these Covid-19 times, I smoked a stick of Corona De Luxe – an irony indeed.

Anyhow, I found a comfortable place to sit back, relax and light the stick. The sky was dark, and the wind was flirting with my hair. I inhaled the smoke emanating from the stick, and let it swirl in my mouth. I could smell and taste the dry leaves. I exhaled the smoke as I emptied my lungs. The feeling was ephemeral, and strangely ubiquitous. At that moment, all I could sense around me was the stick and the smoke and the taste of the smoke.

They’re right, you know. A cigar in your fingertips is indeed symbolic. With each puff inhaled, I could see the stick coming to life and withering away – little by little. In a way, I was seeing a personification of life between my fingertips. This makes me death incarnate. As time passed, I saw the ashes clinging to the stick. It seemed like they are trying to replace the stick by offering themselves. I sensed inertia when I saw the porous ashes, as if the ashes aren’t aware that they aren’t leave crumbs anymore. Here I am, sitting on a ledge on my rooftop. I wonder what someone would see from a distance – possibly a silhouette of a figure, with embers shining hazily.

Indeed, smoking a stick is everything and nothing at once. If your family doesn’t like smoking and intoxication, then smoking becomes an act of rebellion. If you’re stressed and imagine the stick to be the source of all your woes, then you can smoke your woes away. If you’re yearning for someone or something and perceive the stick as a passageway, then you can inhale the smoke and feel nearer the source of your longing. How different is smoking from consuming tea or coffee? The manner of intake is different, the purpose remains the same.

As if on cue, the ashes that clung to the stick for so long fell on my lap. I was startled for a moment, but then sat back at ease. I picked the ashen stick, slowly crumbled it and watched the wind whisk it away. In the end, I inhaled the stick and let the smoke linger in my mouth a bit longer. I exhaled the smoke, and flicked the stick away. I emptied my lungs and inhaled the air around me slowly and surely. I let the air rejuvenate me, and jerk me back to reality. Feeling satisfied, I went for a long walk.

I knew that my beard could cover my neck, cheeks and jawline was when I went for a second shave. Before my first shave, a humble streak of beard hair covered my jawline and there was a slithery moustache. I looked awful to say the least. In my cousin brother’s wedding, I was persuaded to get my beard and moustache shaved off. It was my first time, and it felt good. It felt as good as getting my hair trimmed after they had grown longer than a shrub.

After that, I got my beard shaved in a salon. Soon, I was encouraged to take care of my beard business at home. I got myself a kit – which had all the items a man could ask for. I love shaving my beard, and I love growing my beard. I love the sensation of my fingers getting lost in my beard. Of course, for that to happen, my beard should be at least an inch long. Alas, that happens quite rarely.

When folks see me with a lush beard, they question my religious affiliation. I want to tell them that the folks in my religion tend to grow their beard beyond a foot’s length, but I refrain. On other days, I get told that my beard is unkempt and wild. Frankly, I see that as a compliment. Off late, my bearded look is discouraged because it reminds folks of my glory days. So, overall, I don’t have an issue shaving my beard but I do, someday, want to grow a beard so magnificent that monks would see me as one of their kind.

Recently, I shaved my reasonably lush beard after letting it grow for a month. This time, strangely, I was able to see how beard and identity is connected. I mean, imagine this. Shape the beard and get rid of the beard on my neck; you’ll get a rich brat look. Let it grow untamed, and you get a Sikh look. Remove just the moustache and retain the beard, and you’re a de-facto Muslim.

No no, whatever you know or whatever you say doesn’t make a difference. We associate items with identities so much. Imagine if I removed my moustache, retained my beard and applied sandalwood paste on my forehead. The sandalwood paste smeared on my forehead says that I’m a Hindu; but the beard says that I’m a Muslim. The imagery would be so jarring that your mind would crash and perform a hard-reset.

Going on, keep just the moustache and remove all semblance of a beard; you get a middle-class working-man look. Now, remove the moustache and keep just a part of it like Hitler used to; now you’re a parody or a tragedy (depending on who watches you).

Beards, like clothes, define us. And this is intentional, not in a demeaning way. Back then, when religion was not even there, tribes had their own way of identifying themselves. They used totems, tattoos, scars, and any other accessory that would help set them apart. No human is an island; every human thrives in a tribe or society. And a society needs an identifier. Let me take India’s history as a case-study. The ones who believe in Shiva smear their forehead with ashes. The ones who believe in Narayana smear their forehead with sandalwood paste or turmeric paste (yellow is what they’re going for). The ones who believe in Devi (Mother Goddess) smear their forehead with vermilion powder or paste. So, if any of them cross each other’s paths, all the concerned parties will be aware of each other’s religious affiliations. The same applies to Jains, Buddhists, Muslims, Christians, Jews, and any other religious groups I have missed mentioning.

Fly a bit higher to get a bird’s eye view on how countries identify themselves with their flags and uniforms. The pattern is seen everywhere. So, it is only natural that a controllable natural attribute should be used as an identifier – like hair, nails, skin, and teeth among others.

So, in the course of half hour, I changed my identities multiple times. I was a Hindu, a new-found Sikh, a spoilt brat, a Muslim, a working-class man, and a parody of Chaplin. I came out as another version of myself – with no moustache and beard. Maybe this is how spies work. They mimic identifying characteristics of the tribe they want to infiltrate, know their ways, and believe that they are part of the tribe already. Bah, I’m happy the way I am – with beard, or without beard. Technically, I’m happy with beard. But, both have their own virtues that I don’t want to miss out on. So yeah, I’m happy with or without it. That way, I’m living the best of both worlds.