The Graveyard in my Room

I do not like mosquitoes. Okay, nobody likes mosquitoes. But I really hate them. With a vengeance. Earlier, I just used to turn on my All-Out and hope that everything would work out, but those motherfuckers were relentless. There is no dignity, no respect, and no mercy in sucking the blood of an individual while they sleep. They play a dirty game – shameless and proud in their attack, they will bite you in the most frustrating places ranging from the gap between your fingers to the inside of your earlobes where you cannot itch comfortably or from the sole of your feet to the inside of your thighs where you can’t itch without looking very weird. Tiny little things with blood suckers fluttering about were keeping me up at night. They fly to your ear and buzz, nay, they laugh at you. Cruel laughter. They were mocking me. Taunting me.

You know what? Two can play at that game.

It started off easy. I would wait for the mosquito to land on the wall, and instead of just swatting it with a book, I would empty half a cannister of Hit on the motherfucker. But that got boring and expensive so I had to devise new methods. I began to try and catch, not kill mosquitoes, and then drop them into the hole where the fumes of the All-Out would come out. This was not as effective as I thought. Next I would kill mosquitoes with the Zapper (that’s what I call the electric bat thing) and then pick up their corpse from the floor and repeatedly drop them on the Zapper till they incinerated into nothing but that smell. That foul but gratifying smell of utter and absolute decimation. But having to charge that damn bat every time became annoying and the mosquitoes began to time their attack strategically. Finally I came with a method that was so simple but so effective that I have continued it since I started. You see, it is is not sufficient to just swat/clap a mosquito because they do not die immediately (unless of course it’s the squishy kind that leaves the blood on your hand – these are bittersweet because you know it’s not going to be an open casket, but now you have to wash your hands). They are simply knocked unconscious till they regain consciousness and return with a vengeance to wrongfully claim the blood that is rightfully yours. This is why you must not simply clap your hands to kill the mosquito and be content as it drops to the ground, but rather, you must keep it on your palm and rip away its wings and blood suckers. Immobilize and emasculate. Leave it with nothing but the memories of what it used to be capable of and the lesson of where those capabilities bring it. I like to think that the mosquito does not die when we tear it from limb to limb but that it wakes up to find itself only as a body. Oh, that would be lovely. I know it’s not true, but hey, a boy can dream. I also like to rip apart only its tentacles and leave it on my hand so that I can talk to the fucker – “Oh, hi there, didn’t see you. How are you doing? Busy day ahead? Lots of blood sucking to do, I imagine? You could start off right now. What do you mean you can’t? WHAT? You don’t have your blood suckers? Someone ripped them apart? What an asshole. But what is the point of your existence now? Where do you go from now? What do you do? Why do you belong? Who are you? What are you? Shit, sucks to be you. Later.”

This was going well for quite a while. Then came Delhi summers and along with it came a monstrosity of a mosquitoes (that’s what I think the collective noun for mosquitoes should be). These mosquitoes were trained in covert operations with a dedication to the job matched only by the Unsullied. They hide in the corners and come swooping down when you aren’t looking – but wait, I am looking, the module is a decoy, come at me, and BOOM! I smile as the wings and tentacles fall off my fingers. But little do I know that this is all part of their plan. They have come with an army and they are ready to make as many sacrifices as needed, because for every mosquito I kill, there are ten others behind it. At this point, when I was beginning to give up and question what sort of a person I was who couldn’t even take on mosquitoes, when I came up with it. The best idea I’ve ever had. My crowning glory.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the graveyard in my room –

IMG_1064IMG_1065IMG_1066 IMG_1067 IMG_1068 IMG_1069 IMG_1109IMG_1110

They still kept coming. I had to put up a mosquito net finally. That stopped them. But they know now – they know what happens to those who dare come near. They know because I have put it up for them to see. See it. Look at them. Your brothers and sisters and cousins before you who thought they had what it takes to come to Room 503. Mourn at their graves, but don’t mourn too long, beca- BOOM!

You just lost your blood suckers.

7 thoughts on “The Graveyard in my Room

  1. I felt I just read a narrative about myself.. But I have gone a step further…All Out..Fast Card..Electric Racket/Bat… Red Hit.. Black Hit… Then finally mosquito net from nearby market … My miseries dont end here.. The mosquitoes pass through my mosquito net as well.. And.. Now I sleep inside mosquito net with black hit and electric racket..with the hope that I wont poison myself while i am asleep..whenevr i feel i have been bitten by mosquito…I wake up for this military operation and finish them all .. no matter whether mosquito is inside or outside my mosquito net… :@


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