The monsoons have arrived and so has our dear mosquito. I can write long poems on rain. Even a six-year old child can do that. The pitter-patter of raindrops, those lovely puddles that we love to jump into, and the fragrance of wet mud….the child in me is dying to be poetic. Unfortunately, I cannot. An eighteen-year old with all the practical knowledge she has gained over the years, whose textbooks have taught her that rain is caused due to the evaporation and condensation of air cannot cling on to her childhood fantasies. Hence, she gradually shifts focus to something ubiquitous, but extremely important.
It’s nearly 6:00pm and the sun is still reluctant to go away. Meanwhile, our
most unwelcome guests have arrived and the whole neighbourhood is all prepared
to shut the doors on them even before they come knocking on the door.‘Athithi
Devo Bhavah’ doesn’t work out here. But friends don’t need a special
invitation, do they?
One small mosquito bite shall inspire you to fight till your last breath. We
Indians are not very much into the game of tennis but mosquitos encourage us to
indulge in this ‘sport’. Losing in your home ground is a bit humiliating. The
mosquitos are aware of this. So they voluntarily decide to undergo the electric
shock. Most often they end up sacrificing their lives. (A moment of silence)
Sleepless nights would have been an unknown thing if it weren’t for them. A
doctor is required only so long as there are patients to be treated. My dear
mosquito repellants and liquid vaporizers, understand the truth that necessity
is the mother of invention. You wouldn’t have been invented if they weren’t
foolish enough to barge into rooms filled with you odour. You make us feel
drowsy enough so that we lapse into a deep sleep. But they come to our rescue
and sound the bugle in our ears just so that we aren’t poisoned to death.
Like I said before, mosquitos awaken
us from deep slumbers. My mother woke up a few minutes ago to see me writing
paeans for an insignificant creature.
There are big red marks all over her face and she is planning to wield
the racquet once again. I only hope that
a deuce is possible. Then, there won’t be any hard feelings.
I was burning the midnight oil unable to
keep my eyes open, let alone study. That was when you bit me on my hand and I
discovered my lost creativity. Thanks buddy for being such an inspiration to
me.
