The Most Expensive Cigarette I Never Bought!

Among my many NDA memories, one stands out more vividly than most. Every NDA cadet acquires a few skills that are not part of the syllabus.

Some learn how to shine shoes to a mirror finish.

Others master the art of sleeping through a class with eyes wide open!

I learnt how to smoke.

The irony is that the first cigarette I ever smoked wasn’t even mine.

One of My Most Unforgettable NDA Memories

Towards the end of my third term at NDA, I returned to the squadron after a practice session at the Western Music Club. Around me, cadets were trickling back from a particularly brutal drill practice under the Pune sun.

The corridors echoed with the usual soundtrack of NDA life—a brace of cadets in starched cotton shorts comparing blisters as if they were battle wounds.

Not wishing to be drawn into a symposium on foot injuries, I slipped into my coursemate JSS’s cabin.

It proved to be a costly decision.

Without ceremony, JSS pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a puff, and handed it to me.

I accepted it with what I hoped was the casual confidence of a seasoned smoker. In reality, my entire knowledge of smoking came from James Hadley Chase novels.

Unfortunately, novels do not teach technique.

“You don’t hold a cigarette like a pencil,” JSS said, looking horrified. “You hold it between your forefinger and middle finger.”

I adjusted my grip immediately, hoping to look less like a schoolboy holding a geometry instrument.

Then I took my first puff.

The effect was immediate.

My brain departed for destinations unknown while the rest of me remained seated in the cabin. The room began rotating gently like a merry-go-round that had escaped from a village fair.

I coughed.

Violently.

“Don’t cough so loudly!” hissed JSS. “You’ll get us both into trouble.”

I nodded obediently while trying to remember how to breathe normally.

Attempting to conceal the evidence, I held the cigarette awkwardly behind my back.

“You’re going to burn your clothes,” JSS groaned.

He rescued the cigarette from my fingers and proceeded to demonstrate the finer points of smoking with the patience of a senior instructor teaching drill movements to a hopeless recruit.

To my young eyes, his performance appeared flawless and sophisticated—rather like a diplomat executing a perfect handshake.

That night, however, confidence gave way to paranoia.

I became convinced that somewhere within NDA there existed a secret committee of senior officers with gout in their knees who met weekly to decide the fate of cadets caught smoking.

My imagination ran wild.

In my nightmare, my Divisional Officer calmly filled my trouser pockets with petrol from his motorcycle and set me on fire as punishment.

I woke up deeply relieved to discover that both my trousers and I remained intact.

Unfortunately, my smoking career did.

In my next term, I was transferred to Golf Squadron, where a fellow cadet known as “Smokey” introduced me to what he described as the joys of smoking during games periods.

The name should have been a warning.

Instead, I found myself following him around with the loyalty of a Labrador, hoping to secure a few puffs whenever opportunity presented itself.

What began as curiosity slowly became a habit.

By the late seventies, a packet of 555 on board INS Mysore or INS Brahmaputra cost around five rupees, while India Kings were fifty paise more expensive.

Neither price nor common sense proved to be a deterrent.

The habit stayed.

For nearly twenty years.

Then, in 1996, my daughter ended the debate with a single observation.

She pointed out, quite simply, that I should stop before I killed myself—and everyone around me.

There was no lecture.

No emotional drama.

Just a wall of common sense delivered with the clarity only children possess.

And that was that.

I quit.

Not gradually.

Not reluctantly.

Not temporarily.

I simply stopped.

Looking back, I have forgotten many things from those years.

I cannot remember the brand of every cigarette I smoked.

I cannot remember how many packets I bought.

But I remember my first puff in JSS’s cabin.

And I remember my daughter’s words.

One started the habit.

The other ended it.

These days, I am more likely to choke on my morning coffee than on cigarette smoke.

And that makes me very happy indeed.

Looking back, this remains one of my most enduring NDA memories. Every officer carries a collection of NDA memories. Some are about drill, some about punishment, some about friendship. This one is about a cigarette I never bought.

Acknowledgement

Fauji Tales is thankful to Capt (Indian Navy) Anil Gonsalves (Retired) for contributing this article. More about him below.

About the Author

Anil Gonsalves studied at St Francis De Sales Nagpur, and St Vincent’s School Pune. He joined the 54th Course at the National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla, Pune and passed out from the hallowed portals of this Institution in June 1978. He was commissioned in the Indian Navy on 01 July 1979 and served on various Indian Naval Ships ranging from Landing Craft Utility, Landing Ship Tank, Missile boats, ASW Patrol Vessels and ASW Frigates and completed his Staff College Course in 1994. He commanded CGS Rajshree and INS Mahish. He specialised in Anti-Submarine Warfare and was Instructor and Chief Instructor of ASW School, Kochi. He also served as Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare Officer, Eastern Fleet and Staff Officer ASW at Maritime Warfare Centre in Mumbai, before leaving Service in 2005, in the rank of Captain.

Thereafter, he joined the Offshore Shipping Fleet of Shipping Corporation of India and commanded some of the frontline Dynamic Positioning vessels before finally calling it a day at sea in Nov 2016. 

He regularly contributes articles to fauji magazines like Salute, Seagull, Quarterdeck and other maritime publications. He is presently settled in Pune and does a lot of travelling worldwide. Some of his articles are published in his blogpost anilgonsalves@wordpress.com

Note

The images in this article are AI-generated and used for illustrative purposes. They are symbolic and do not depict real events or individuals.

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Drill Square Diaries is a collection of memories, misadventures, lessons, and laughter from life at military academies and training establishments. If you enjoy stories from the parade ground, squadron lines, cadets’ cabins, and the unique experiences that shape military life, explore more articles in the Drill Square Diaries series.

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