Of sneezers and sneezing

IT takes all sorts of sneezers to make the world. There are mild and loud sneezers, and there are bold and timid ones. Some sneeze after a wheeze, while a few sneeze simply to tease.

I have come across various types of sneezers, especially in Bengaluru, a city which is notorious for giving nightmares to people with sensitive nostrils. Let me introduce some of them.

The ‘explosive’ sneezer can actually scare the living daylights out of all around him. Without as much as a warning, he sneezes with a blast that combines a nasal eruption with an ear-splitting vocal accompaniment. I remember vividly how a child trembled before letting out a cry when an ‘explosive’ sneezer sneezed at an informal gathering.

The ‘spraying’ sneezer is a crude mortal who literally adds insult to injury. Apart from sneezing to his heart’s content and assailing the eardrums of those within earshot, he sprays a mild shower, too.

The ‘outlandish’ sneezer provokes a laugh with his sneeze. He tries to control his sneeze, but when it becomes unbearable, he tries to ‘abort’ it, thereby creating a funny, outlandish sound, much to the amusement of those around.

The ‘shrewd’ sneezer exercises great control over his sneeze by not only smothering his sneeze and cupping his mouth with his palms, but more importantly, by controlling the volume.

As for me, my nostrils have never been sensitive, and I rarely sneeze. But in my callow youth, occasionally, like the little boy in Alice in Wonderland, I used to tickle my nostrils to create a sneeze because it gave me a kind of sensual pleasure.

Once, I even stole a pinch of my grandmother’s snuff for the sheer experience of it. I sneezed so much that I swore not to touch it again.

That said, I was amused to know that snuff and sneezing have an interesting history. Novels from the Victorian era are replete with references to heroes delicately flicking snuff with their fingers.

Poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge was a snuff lover, and so was Napoleon. One of the Seven Dwarfs, immortalised by Walt Disney in his version of Snow White, was Sneezy.

Legendary French playwright Moliere defined sneezing as ‘the craving of upright men. It not only purifies the brains of men but also instructs their souls into righteousness… and by taking snuff we acquire virtue.’

Whether it purifies brains or is useful in acquiring virtue, sneezing is quite intriguing. When I feel I am likely to sneeze and prepare myself for it, it eludes me. And when I don’t want to sneeze, I am simply unable to control it.

Isn’t that something to be sneezed at?