I’ve been downsized. Well, not so much downsized as refitted to a more appropriate dimension. My weekly words of wisdom will now only be coming to you fortnightly. Please, try to stay calm. You’ll survive.

Actually, you really shouldn’t fret. I’ll be alternating with Vishnu, The Daily’s other brown graduate student columnist (let’s hear it for diversity). As a result, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever notice the switching to and fro; after all, the faceless mass that is graduate students of sub-continental heritage is nothing if not homogenous.

Now, let’s move on to more pleasant subjects.

Smoking is really fucking good. Not just sort of marginally entertaining, but mind-blowingly pleasurable. In fact, it’s so good that even addicts are rarely capable of truly appreciating its splendor.

Sadly, however, banning the demon weed from public places has become one of the popular crusades of our time, and this pleasure is becoming harder to experience. Worse, the ban phenomenon will soon hit my home town.

Of course, Californians have being stamping on the rights of individuals for longer than most of the rest of the world, so perhaps you cannot fully appreciate the magnitude of this revolution.

The great cities of the world are changing — New York and San Francisco are already lost and, this summer, London too will join the ranks of the nicotine-controlled.

As a result of this approaching reformation, I was forced to have a cigarette (well, several cigarettes) earlier this year, during my most recent visit home.

Like many smokers, I’m addicted to giving up the cancer sticks; no matter how many times I tell myself that I’m smoking my “last cigarette,” it always comes round again.

Up until a few weeks ago, I was a shade over six months clean, yet the puffing recommenced the moment someone pointed out to me that it was the last time I would be able to inhale in a capital of the civilized world.

Savoring the last cigarette I was ever going to smoke (again), I quickly settled into a blissful state of tar immersion and immediately started wondering why I had left.

The answer is obvious; smoking may be amazing, but it’s also highly addictive and bad for you. This is a universal fact, acknowledged not only by joyless, miserable and evil anti-smoking crusaders, but also by indulgers, be they regular or occasional.

What is troubling, though, is that those who don’t smoke fail to recognize the other great truth lurking within the wisps of blue-grey smoke — smoking is good. Not good for you, just good.

Every time anyone tries to explain this simple fact, he is met with incredulous stares, slight sneers and a patronizing look that makes it very clear that the opinion of a debauched addict who’s lost his grip on reality is worthless.

When you think about it, this is somewhat odd. People seem perfectly capable of recognizing that many things with potentially adverse consequences can be quite fun. Alcohol has its risks (many of them), but at least people seem to appreciate that drinking is enjoyable.

While they may not mention it themselves, abstinence campaigners will surely not roll their eyes at the proposition that sex is pleasurable.

And, although it destroys my social life, I still love physics more than existence itself.

Everything has social costs — driving leads to accidents and dead people, drinking gets some folks into fights and physics destroys hope. Yet secondhand smoke seems elevated to a special level of reprehensibility for reasons that escape me.

In a way, this is a reflection of the growth of fundamentalism — a distinct failure to grasp the notion that different people can want different things. Your pleasure is not necessarily the same as the other guy’s.

This, however, is a subtle point, and, in world where nuance, understanding and empathy have been replaced by Michael Moore and Ann Coulter, it’s probably a lost point as well.

Now, I don’t want you to think this is a pro-smoking column. Because it isn’t. OK, that’s not true — it is. But I’m not suggesting you go out and smoke (though, again, it’s great and you really should experience everything life has to offer); I just want you to show a little understanding and appreciate that some people do.

Who am I kidding? Screw understanding. I want you to smoke. Go on, stroll over to the Tresidder Store, get a pack of Marlboros and experience the pinnacle of human ingenuity: life, death and cool all wrapped in a stick.

I’m dreaming of cigarettes again. Email your best smoke avoidance techniques to navins@stanford.edu and help me out.