When friends and family visit me in the hours before dusk sets it,
they see me in the form of the mosquito warrior. The godhuli time does not just
bring in the cows, it brings in mosquitoes as big as cows. And I stand
there armed to thwart the threat of the impending mosquito march - with
anything and everything. If I didn’t, then you would have been tattooed
all over your forehead enough to qualify as an inmate aboard The Ibis and set
sail on the Sea
of Poppies
So I smoke them out with traditional sambraani (tree bark resin to those of you who
have galloped too far from home and lost touch with age-old ideas) or suck the
lives out of them with modern mosquito repellents or both. In the evening our
house is as hazy as an opium den where you will cough along with the mosquitoes
or stand there in a smokey trance. My daughter prefers the smoke to me jumping
around the house swatting them against the walls with a newspaper and a smug,
“Got you!” It's also a great excuse to pass around a few slaps and say, "Oh,
thought there was a mosquito on your cheek." After a project on Vector
Borne Diseases, kid informed me (probably thinking it would appeal to the
feminist in me) that in the bloodsucking species of mosquitoes, only the
females suck blood. Well obviously the male mosquitoes drove them to that but
why take it out on us?
Pray tell me I ask, why I need to show mercy to these little
vampires? Then I remember that in this day and age, there is such a sudden gush
of love for vampires, that to look bloodless, white, and spooky (and have red
eyes) is the “In” thing. To make matters worse, an inspired director in South India goes and makes a hero out of a fly. Now I
have to let pests suck blood and fall in my soup?
I don’t think so – I am sticking to my exterminating role, and I
know that somewhere out there, there are more unsung mosquito warriors.
Besides, am probably setting them free from this blood sucking avatars of
theirs and the only blood on my hands when I swat them is my own.
