Gives me a bad throat.
I have been smoking Trichinopoly cigars for years.
Like most cigar enthusiasts, I’ve enjoyed some of the finest cigars from Cuba, Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic. My humidor has seen its fair share of celebrated names.
Yet recently, something surprised me.
A few friends who are serious cigar smokers had never even heard of Trichinopoly.
That genuinely shocked me.
Here was a cigar they had travelled halfway across the world to find alternatives to, without realising that one of India’s own cigar traditions had been quietly surviving for generations.
These cigars have been hand-rolled in Trichy for decades. Long before branding agencies, social media and luxury marketing, they had built a reputation that travelled across the British Empire. So admired were they that they became closely associated with Winston Churchill himself.
And yet many Indian cigar lovers can name every major Cuban brand but know little about Trichinopoly.
That says less about the cigar and more about us.
India doesn’t suffer from a lack of craftsmanship. We suffer from collective amnesia.
We have forgotten how much of what the world admires was once made, grown, distilled, woven, forged and rolled here.
As someone who genuinely loves cigars, this isn’t nationalism talking. It’s appreciation.
When a product has history, character, craftsmanship and has stood the test of time, it deserves to be celebrated.
Today wasn’t just about lighting a cigar.
It was a reminder that some of India’s finest stories are not waiting to be written.
They are waiting to be remembered.