The Deadline That Saved My Life

 

The Deadline That Saved My Life

By John Aguiar

In the mid-1980s, the Herald newsroom in Panjim was a pressure cooker. I was a young reporter assigned to the "heavy" beats: crime, courts, and the relentless cycle of press conferences.

 It was a volatile era for Goa. I found myself in the thick of history, covering the shooting of MLA Dilkush Desai during the Konkani agitation and the explosive Secretariat sex scandal.

In that high-octane environment, cigarettes were the unofficial currency of the trade. To cope with the adrenaline and the crushing deadlines, I lit my first cigarette. What started as a single smoke to "calm the nerves" quickly spiraled. One became two, two became four, and before the ink was dry on my latest scoop, I was a confirmed chain smoker.

From the Newsroom to the Ministry:

My career eventually took me from the streets of Goa to the corridors of power in New Delhi. I joined the personal staff of Union Minister Shri Eduardo Faleiro at the Ministry of External Affairs. It was a world of diplomacy and high-level statesmanship, but my old habit followed me like a shadow.

In 1987, I began a new chapter when I married my wife, Savita. I brought her to Delhi, hoping to share a beautiful life together, but my smoking became a constant, invisible wall between us.

The Failed Art of Deception:

Like many addicts, I was a master of the "cover-up." I would finish a cigarette and immediately reach for chocolate or strong chewing gum. I walked into our home convinced I smelled like a confectionary shop.

I was wrong.

Savita’s nose was sharper than any investigative reporter’s. She could detect the stale scent of tobacco through any layer of mint or cocoa. Her complaints weren't born of annoyance, but of a deep-seated fear for my health. She saw what the smoke was doing to me, even when I refused to see it myself.

The Birthday Resolution:

The turning point came in 1990. I realized that if I could handle the pressure of a crime beat and the complexities of the MEA, I should be able to handle my own impulses. I decided to set a final deadline.

I chose June 4, 1990—my birthday—as the day I would reclaim my lungs.

There were no nicotine patches, no expensive rehabilitation clinics, and no medicinal therapy. I didn’t phase it out or "cut back." I simply stopped. I decided that my love for Savita and my respect for my own life were stronger than a paper tube of tobacco.

Thirty-Six Years of Clarity:

Since that day in June 1990, I have not touched a single cigarette. The cravings eventually faded, replaced by the clear-headedness and energy that I had almost forgotten existed.

Quitting "cold turkey" is often described as an impossible feat of willpower. But for me, it was a choice of loyalty. I stopped smoking because I realized that while a cigarette might help you finish a story, a smoke-free life helps you finish the journey.

I stood my ground, but I didn't do it alone. I owe my health to my resolve, but I owe the inspiration to Savita.