Despite acute shortage of sitting space in the office, I enjoyed the privilege of a separate, independent room situated on the first floor of the two-storey building occupied by our company. To come to my room, one had to first climb the staircase, pass through the large reception and then walk up the whole long corridor, at the end of which my room was situated. Given the situation, I faced very little disturbance or interruption and could perform my job the way I liked it; I could stop working whenever I felt tired, talk to my friends freely over the telephone, even hum my favourite songs and relax. And on top of all these luxuries, smoke as much as I wished.
However, one fateful day, the boss called me in and said he had a serious problem. He had hired a lady coordinator and was not able to find a place for her to sit. “Since you have a spacious room,” he said “could you please accommodate the lady till I get a permanent place for her.”
I didn’t like the idea. It meant loss of the freedom I so enjoyed. But I had no choice. The next day, a table and chair was put up in an empty corner of the room and in came a lady introduced to me as Nida. Aged between 25 and 30, Nida was a simple, industrious girl and unlike most newcomers, asked very few questions. Notwithstanding, however, her very presence in the room made me feel uneasy. Used to quietude as I had been, the noise that she made while working distracted and disturbed me, affecting the quality of work I was doing.
What bothered me most was her constant coughing and sneezing that started right from the second day of her arrival. Nevertheless, I accepted my fate, for there was no way out; she was there to stay — probably for good.
Besides, I thought her cough would soon be over and I will be able to work in peace again. But it increased with each passing day, and finally one day, having contracted a bad cold myself, I lost patience.
“Look, lady,” I said, “I am sorry, but you are making me sick. Why don’t you go consult a doctor for your cough and sneeze.”
“I did, but it didn’t work. It never does.” Said she apologetically.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“It is something incurable.”
“Good God!” I thought to myself, “it must be something serious and I’m doomed!”
Feeling sorry for her plight, I told her I know a couple of specialists who might help, provided, of course, she tells me what precisely her problem is.
She was silent for a moment and then looking straight into my eyes, she said: “Now that you have asked me...it is your smoking that is making me sick. I am highly allergic to smoke. I dared not tell you, for this is your room and I am, after all, an intruder.”
I was shaken, as if somebody had hit me right in the face. Feeling guilty and embarrassed, I told her I was sorry for my thoughtlessness and stopped smoking in my room forthwith. It worked, and Nida was fit as a fiddle within two days — no cough, no sneezing.
Given the situation encountered by me, I have a little piece of advice for all smokers wherever they may be: “Please pay heed...there may be silent sufferers around you, too.”
Despite acute shortage of sitting space in the office, I enjoyed the privilege of a separate, independent room situated on the first floor of the two-storey building occupied by our company. To come to my room, one had to first climb the staircase, pass through the large reception and then walk up the whole long corridor, at the end of which my room was situated. Given the situation, I faced very little disturbance or interruption and could perform my job the way I liked it; I could stop working whenever I felt tired, talk to my friends freely over the telephone, even hum my favourite songs and relax. And on top of all these luxuries, smoke as much as I wished.
