A beedi and a cigarette were lying beside the road. Both were used to their optimum capacity and were burning out on their few, last precious breaths.
The beedi called out to its high-end cousin,
Beedi: Hey, psst…
Beedi: So who did you?
Cigarette: Did me? Get out! Nobody ‘does’ me. I am smoked passionately. Unlike the lot of you, I don’t burn out at every chance I get.
Cigarette: See, I burn evenly, gently; I give scope to my killer to kill me slowly and in turn, I return the favor. Some of my relatives are full of wood, though, and some are only about high-grade nicotine. I, on the other hand, am a delicate mix of the two.
Beedi: I may be cheap, but I demand attention, and I don’t kill. I make them suffer the consequences. Tuberculosis is not a very good thing to carry just so you know. Besides, I am raw; I don’t need a filter to selectively eliminate my emotions.
Out of the two, one had a troublesome death. The other, painful realizations.