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It’s been 15 years since I quit smoking (an average of 15 cigarettes a day for more than a decade), so why not crow about it? Besides, it could be of use to you if you’re thinking of crossing the Rubicon too, now that there’s a ban coming up which will make you stand out on the road to have a smoke.

For many years, as I agonised over whether to smoke or not to smoke, it didn’t seem possible to quit. Once I thought I had it licked when I hadn’t smoked for a year and a half. Then I went to an exhibition at Max Mueller’s and came across a letter from Sigmund Freud to his doctor, who had given him six more months to live if he continued to smoke. Freud quit, but then wrote a letter to his doctor, saying he felt like a lark — a lark that can fly but not sing! It was a balmy evening in Bangalore, and I succumbed.

It was another bit of fortuitous reading that finally got me out of the habit. This time it was a health book by Dean Ornish, the cardiologist who was one of the first to advocate a low-fat, vegetarian diet. It had a chapter on smoking which told me how formidable an enemy I was up against. Nicotine is the only drug on the planet which can act as either a stimulant or a depressant, depending on your mood: It can get you over a writer’s block, or it can help you relax and enjoy the smell of the earth in the rain.

Knowing the enemy was vital during the two stages of withdrawal I went through. The first was physical, coming in waves of increasing intensity for a fortnight before tapering off. The trick was to tell myself that each wave of desperation would pass in about five minutes. The next stage was more insidious, with the psychological associations of smoking with almost everything you do, like lighting up after a good meal. Each time that happened had to be countered with a reminder of why I had quit: not to live an extra five years, but to feel good today, like when I run up the office steps without huffing and puffing. Then it’s just a matter of staying on guard for five years or so and you’re up and away, flying like a lark. So what if you can’t sing? You feel like all those smoke rings you blew have turned into a halo around your head.

Now, if only I could work the same magic with another persistent addiction: Bong sweets. I’ve tried New Year resolutions and birthday vows. But I know from my smoking experience that only one thing works: No more from right now.