Subhojit Das stood waiting at the murky bus station situated near Gariahat Road, in the dense, busy city called Kolkata. The battered old Government bus, marked with a no. 10, arrived; Subhojit boarded it. He was headed towards Sealdah, where he worked in a local Jeweller's shop.
Subhojit sat down, the bus was almost empty. He looked around, and saw a man of around his age sitting ahead of him, an old man a few seats ahead, a woman seated opposite to him, and a college girl behind him. "No Smoking", said a sign right next him; He smirked inside his mind. He pulled out a pack, drawing out one of the white sticks of pleasure. Lighting it with a match, he took a mighty puff.
Debashish Ghosh looked at the man seated behind him. He was traveling towards a market situated near J.C. Bose Road. He was new to the city, felt that it was larger than life. When he saw a cigarette being pulled out, he couldn't resist. Fishing for one in his pocket, he felt the longing for the thing he always felt. He found one and lit it.
Subhojit felt good that he wasn't the only one. He felt that he and the man ahead belonged together. It wasn't a bond of habits, he knew that the person ahead of him was as desperate as he was. It was a bond of personalities. Somehow, his action seemed justified. However, he soon became aware of a pair of eyes gazing him. Debashish was in a world of his own, but knew that he couldn't be satisfied by a single one. He had just lit his first, but knew that it wouldn't be sufficient. However, amidst his reverie, he felt a sharp gaze pointed at him and the man behind him.
Both of them looked at the lady seated across them. She had a contemplative look in her eyes as she was glancing at the men. Something about her face made the men suddenly aware of what they were doing.
Subhojit was used to stares, but this one was different, he didn't know why. He felt contempt against people who judged against people who smoked. They could never know how it saved him from the agony of life, he thought. He remembered the time when he began smoking. All of his friends did, and it felt soothing. It felt great to be under the influence of something so powerful. It provided salvation from pain. It was the only thing left in his life. He had progressed to two packets a day, smoking whenever he felt like: under stress, without stress, with friends, alone.... But somehow, today, the feeling of remorse got better of the usual comfort he found in smoking.
Debashish couldn't help but feel a certain twinge of pity. He knew that what he was doing was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't now. He knew smoking made him appear stronger, like a man of convictions, a man who nobody can mess with. But he felt this to be a mere pretense today more than anything else. He felt that he was weaker than most people; that he had no convictions. He felt a huge blank in his life, felt a need for friends, for someone who could understand him.
Both men looked at the woman once again, not knowing what to feel: hatred or gratitude, anger or respect, pain or hope.
The woman looked at the men once again, and feeling comfortable enough, drew a Beedi from her purse, lit it and began puffing.
P.S. Thanks to my great friend Shishupal for this one. Based on a real life incident as told to me by him.