Story of My Grandma

I never had any questions from my life except one: I never got the chance to see my grandmother. To feel her touch over my head and to see her eyes full of love for her grand-kids.

I never hated anything in my life except this one: Smoking.

It was a hot summer afternoon. Kind of when the sun is out on raging fire and everything is yellow to the color of gold. My grandma, she was out in the forest for collecting woods and similar works with other village folks. There was a man who was smoking beedi nearby. When he finished it off, he threw the remaining butt on the ground. All of sudden, the butt which still had a little spark on it spread on the grass caught fire and it started a big fire. There are certain times in a year when grasses are too fluffy and dry that it needs just a little spark to turn it into the blazing forest. So, everyone started running watching the fire moving high, even the man who caused it ran away.

My grandma, who was quite off at a distance from others on a tree couldn't run so fast. And she lost her life there in that fire. Alone. Even today just mere mention of it makes me shudder. She was quite young at that time as I know my father was barely in his early twenties. From the day, I heard about her, I hate smoking. But you know what, I could never convince even my own father to stop smoking. Not that I like to force anyone much, it's their choice. But as I see perhaps, humans are the only species on this earth whom I have seen eating poison even when they know it's poison.

Still today when I find some of my classmates smoking a cigarette or something, I pray silently for them. Maybe they don't know of this but I wish they put it off sooner the better. Because we all know smoking kills but it takes time to realise whom it is killing actually and sometimes they are those who never smoke.