mine.’
And he will. Several times.
Type 3:
Zaid is your friend. But you haven’t figured out he’s a freeloader. Every day he puts his arm around your shoulder, sighs and says, ‘ Lao bhai, ab cigarette pilvao’ (Come brother, give me a cigarette) as if he were doing you a favour by smoking your quota.
Type 4:
You’re on a park bench. The man next to you is focussed on his book. You pull out a tin of cigarettes. He’s a freeloader. He quickly strikes a match and holds it out for you. You in turn offer him a cigarette. He thanks you.
Type 5:
You’re acquainted with Bakr, but not too well. Not enough to know he’s one of them. He offers you his packet. You take it, but it’s empty, of course.
He’s shocked to know this, and expresses his regret. You take out your stock and offer one to him.
Type 6:
This is a special type of freeloader who only smokes particular brands. The moment he sees a friend or acquaintance bearing 555 or Craven A cigarettes * , he cries out in joy - ‘Zindabad! Now here’s a cigarette worth smoking.’
He’ll light one and stuff six or seven in his pocket: ‘Sorry, but I can’t do with just one.’
Type 7:
This is an unusual type. You’re standing with your friends outside the YMCA Hall. You put a cigarette in your mouth and are about to strike a match. A man walking past quickly turns into you and takes the cigarette from your lips, and the match from your hands. He lights it, and then walks off, puffing.
You think he’s mad (he isn’t) and this is the subject of your discussion for some time.
Type 8:
This is a particularly brazen type. You’re fed-up with him and say: ‘Boss, why don’t you smoke your own?’
He replies: ‘I’ve promised never to smoke cigarettes I’ve bought myself. Smoking those that others have paid for is far more pleasurable. You should try it.’
Type 9:
Slightly different from Type 8:
You’re fed up with him and say: ‘Boss, why don’t you smoke your own?’
He replies: ‘The doctor says I shouldn’t be smoking. If I carry them on me, I can’t control myself. That’s why every now and then I ask for one from a friend...’
Type 10:
This one is like a court poet.
‘I swear to god, Manto is a prince among men when it comes to cigarettes. You may not find a good cigarette anywhere in the world, but he’ll be carrying one for certain. My friend, show us what you’re carrying these days.’
You pull out your pack of cheap smokes.
‘You and Capstan?’ he exclaims, ‘Hmm, it’s sure to have something good about it, then. Let’s have a look.’
Type 11:
This one attacks not just a cigarette but your entire tin. ‘Sorry man, I’m taking it,’ he says with regret, ‘I’ve left mine at another friend’s place.’ Or he says, ‘Give me two tins. My stock’s coming tomorrow or the day after. I’ll return them...’
Type 12:
The sort of extreme freeloader, seeing whom people tighten their grip on the cigarettes in their fingers. And they throw away their half-empty packet on the ground in his sight, as if it were empty.
Type 13:
The type who’ll chat with you for some time and then, as he’s leaving, pick up the half-empty pack you had tossed away, saying: ‘I’ll take this for my boy. He loves playing with empty boxes.’
– (Originally published as Muft Noshon Ki Terah Qismein in Talkh, Tarsh Aur Shireen , 1954)
* the brand smoked by M A Jinnah
How Arms Control Works
Manto lived through the Second World War and his most productive writing years in India were between 1939-1945. This was the period when nations had converted industrial factories into armament-producing units and the world was awash with weapons. The theory of deterrence was also used, although this was a surprise because it was before the nuclear age. Manto’s response to this development was to write a farcical essay, which was published in 1942, while he was still working in Bollywood. It was only after Partition