The ‘incorrect’ Nana meets the woke squad

Everyone should be able to withdraw into their own private place when life becomes too much for them.

- K.C. VERMA

Mine is what I grandly call ‘the study,’ where I slump into an easy chair and watch old Hindi movies on our ancient television set—the one that has knobs.

My fortress, however, is far from impregnable. One day, I was blissfully immersed in a Dev Anand starrer when Ekya stormed in unannounced. On screen, Dev sahib appeared in his signature style—collar turned up rakishly, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. My granddaughter let out a scream, as if witnessing a crime in progress.

“Why are you watching this filthy film, Nana?” she exclaimed. “That horrible man is smoking. Smoking!”

“Yes, dear,” I replied calmly. “He is smoking. My generation did it quite a lot. It was practically a personality statement for actors like Ashok Kumar, K.N. Singh and Humphrey Bogart. Smoking added a certain suave charm.”

“I wish you wouldn’t socialise with these dirty people,” she said, implying that I expected Bogart to drop by in the evening for a drink.

In a moment of fatal candour, I confessed: “You know, I used to smoke, too.”

Suddenly, there was pin-drop silence. Ekya stared at me in horror as if I had just admitted to being a regular on Epstein’s island.

Sheepishly, I tried explaining the context of our era. Film stars made smoking glamorous. ‘Kool’ cigarettes made smoking appear cool. Even the prime minister was occasionally seen with a cigarette. We were products of our time, thoroughly brainwashed by advertising and cinema.

None of the excuses impressed her.

“Never mention it again, Nana. And never in front of my friends,” she commanded, as if my past would contaminate her entire circle of social justice warriors.