To Tell A Story

I always smoke in the rickshaw.
Some people I know, can't, say its too windy. But I have to smoke in the rickshaw.
So that day, I get into a rickshaw, and am about to light up a smoke, when the rickshaw wala says, मत पीजिये Madam, मुझे नहीं जमता  . (Don't smoke Madam, I'm not comfortable with it)
I said, धुआं बहार छोडती हूँ, मुझे cigarette पीना है .(I'll let the smoke out, I need to smoke)
He didn't say anything, and I lit up.
When I reached my place, he says, Madam  उतरने पर मेरा गला देख लीजिये  .(When you get off, take a look at my throat)
I did, albeit very disinterestedly.
He had a long scar, from one end of his throat to the other. He had had throat cancer. From tobacco. I was so stunned, I didn't stop to ask him details.
I took a hit that day. I was embarrassed, frightened, and shocked.
A lot of people tell us to quit smoking, and about the ills of smoking etc.
And yet, nothing hits us, straight in the gut. Not till you experience it yourself. Till then, you refuse to listen. You've heard all they've said, but you haven't listened.
That rickshaw wala, whose face I'll never forget, touched a nerve. He affected something in me. Something in me shifted, and I didn't quite know, how to face it. I'm bad at confrontation, and this was the hardest form of confrontation: Confrontation with Myself.
After a lot of running away, and then a lot of messy, and won't-let-you-get-away thoughts, I came to a conclusion.
I'm quitting smoking. On the New Year's. To celebrating, exactly two years of smoking, and a healthier lifestyle.
And I'm hoping, I can influence other's too.
Kudos,
Your Cynical and Hopefully Healthier Romantic,