CURTAINING THE MOSQUITO!

This blog was originally posted on my other blog page - http://r-sharma.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm

 

CURTAINING THE MOSQUITO!

(This blog was showcased in the Featured Blog Entries on Sulekha Blogs on Tue, May 20, 2008!)

This is Part 3 of my series on the subject of Itching, Twitching and Scratching.

Part 1 was titled “A TWITCH IN TIME SAVES AN ITCH!”
Part 2 was titled “MY REUNION WITH THE MOSQUITO!”

You can ingest each part independently without any ill effects. However, I beg and plead with you to not waste Parts 1 and 2 because they were lovingly formulated to provide you some vital nourishment, you poor bitten anemic souls! So, please don’t deny yourselves simple pleasures by starving!

Do, read! It ain’t easy making a living these days concocting humor. You will be supporting a noble cause! Me!

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The Mosquito Net or the Mosquito Curtain is a remarkable work of art in my humble opinion. This canopy of delicate craftsmanship is a sanctuary and a safe haven for those who wish to seek refuge from the plundering ravaging serenading flying beasts called mosquitoes. The curtain’s sole purpose on this planet is to net these invincible insects. In the process, it promotes peaceful slumber around the infested world, particularly in Bangalore where sleep deprived residents do not have the energy to engage in daily aerobics, violence, or bloodshed. Besides, it does not contaminate the air and is environmentally friendly.

In the 1980s, my parents had moved to the outskirts of Bangalore into their brand new home with hopes of getting away from the population explosion and pollution of the bustling metropolis. But they ran smack into a wasteland where nothing went to waste, thanks to massive mosquitoes. Those were particularly vicious insects with commando style training. I had just joined Engineering at that time. Studying 15 subjects simply meant one thing…..I was in a constant state of rest, which appeals to most mosquitoes in constant state of motion.

Engineering Design and Drawing was a tough subject to tackle in particular. Trying to flick mosquitoes while sketching complex machinery results in dysfunctional designs. The perpetual twitching and itching drained my ability to concentrate. Whenever I had to tackle the most intricate part of the drawings, I would hear the familiar buzz next to my ear. If I ignored it, invariably I would receive a bite. If I lifted my freshly sharpened #2 pencil off my drawing sheet to scratch, I never knew where to continue again. Many times, desperation forced me to throw blows around mercilessly with my precious T-Square! It seemed like those mosquitoes worked double-shifts in that neighborhood, and I was determined to deny them their bloody wages. That is when I decided to use the mosquito curtain as my residence within the residence.

My parents innocently supported my idea of erecting a net permanently on their piece of real estate. What started as an escape during the late evenings on college days, quickly turned into a 24 hour incarceration during holidays! I would pile all my books under the net along with an electric fan. Food and drinks were either transported or supplied to the tent. I happily moved my drawing board and T-Square in there too! I wielded that 48 inch tool within the narrow confines of the tent like a Karate player. Never once did I drop it for an emergency itch. If my favorite TV show was coming up, viola, I was in the living room erecting my personal auditorium right on the family sofa! If I had a tough exam on my busy schedule, I was back into my own room with my portable study! The mosquitoes had no chance of getting to me. I was able to establish my portable domicile anywhere in the house, except the bathroom of course! Bathrooms and toilets were not the most favorite places for mosquitoes to hang around, thanks to the overwhelming smell of perfumed soaps or the lingering presence of other unsophisticated odors. Bangalore’s mosquitoes have highly evolved eclectic tastes.

My curtaining skills were nothing short of perfection. With four corners rigidly fastened to posts or anchors on the wall, it was a sight to behold! A proper upright net must not have a single sag or snag. The edges were neatly tucked underneath the mattress sides leaving no room for even a starving thin mosquito to squeeze in through any undiscovered hole. I thought of all possible ambush scenarios and took adequate precautions to defeat their every single pugnacious agenda! I even laid pillows around the border to keep a distance between my elbows and the curtain’s vertical walls. I did not want to inadvertently lend my elbow or arms to be nibbled from the outside, because at any given time of the day, there were families of refugee mosquitoes huddled on the net outside, waiting for me to fumble at least once.

Over the years, my curtain’s color alternated between pink and blue. This was to confuse those among the mosquitoes that were considered connoisseurs with discerning taste and an insatiable craving for gender specific diets. I could see dozens of frustrated and tired helicopters landing and taking off all day long. The working class mosquitoes were exploited for all their worth and they were putting in long hours. Their commanders were probably planning air raids to break down my fortress, but not a chance! If one qualified mosquito was dispatched to spy on my (in)activities under the curtain, I always had my Fluid Mechanics textbook ready to mash the juice out of him by dashing it on his head, which ensured instant death…not that there was a great deal of separation between his head and torso! (I have not met a female spy mosquito yet.) Of course, the result would be a bloody mess on the inner walls of my curtain. Sometimes my curtain would collapse partially due to the impact, but I was unflustered.

I celebrated the death of each one of them bugs with the cackle of an evil witch waiting for the next stubborn mosquito to fall into her cauldron. I never directly touched those mucky buggers because I abhor blood on one’s hands, especially mine. Once in a while, a highly agile mosquito was able to escape the ricocheted book from colliding with his slender body by lodging himself safely in one corner of the net. That brave mosquito would then be awarded my special punishment called the “Mushquito” treatment. For this to be properly rendered, I had to emerge from my curtain, which was a rare event in itself, and I would approach the mosquito’s resting place from the outside looking in. Other mosquitoes considered this as a sign of distinction and honor. They would stand aside and watch in hushed horror. Then, taking the two walls of the curtain in the palms of my hand, I would crush the mosquito to mush! I did not particularly enjoy this form of cruel and unusual punishment because it was essentially a double-edged sword. Cleaning this crime scene meant washing the curtain soon, which invariably denied me my habitat for 2 whole days until it dried. During summer however, residing under a wet curtain was a treat!

Every time there was a power cut, I would light up a candle or the kerosene lamp, if we had run out of batteries for the electric flashlight. The inflamed device would then ceremoniously enter my inflammable cotton or synthetic curtain without fear of fire or carbon monoxide poisoning! Such was my determination to keep my meager supply of the red vital sap to myself and deny the flying suckers their daily blood. But, I was not happy with my self-imposed incarceration. I wanted to be free to roam around the house without fear of persistent persecution by puny pests. I always had a penchant for innovative ideas. However, there was one crazy design that I fantasized for years. I called it the “Full-body Bridal Veil”. Being a Hindu girl, it was strange that I loved the Christian bride’s veil. Its mosquito curtain-like texture was what attracted me the most! Of course, visibility was an added attraction with netted fabrics. A Hindu bride’s Dharmavaram veil just couldn’t match with the gossamer airy quality of the Christian bride’s veil. What’s more; I wanted to wear it all day and I used to imagine myself going about the house, doing chores, studying wherever I wanted without having to set up a tent everywhere I went! Mosquitoes would have definitely declined blood from a bride who looked like this all day!

Cartoon By Ranjini Sharma

This idea, sadly, never became a reality due to insufficient time and resources. So I spent many years under the standard rectangular mosquito net—come heat or cold, power-cut or water-shortage, flies or guests etc. Speaking of guests, I would always emerge out of my abode for a brief moment, smile at them, exchange greetings hurriedly, and then hunker down in my tent. There was always a good excuse to escape, such as an upcoming test or an incomplete project. My escape kept me away from boring chit-chat as well. I could never understand how all other mortals could sit calmly around the living room jabbering while getting jabbed by that many mosquitoes!

When I finally completed my studies and emerged out of my protective cocoon, my parents recognized me as that mystical creature they had spotted at times, rushing from the kitchen to the bathroom like a fox chased by a bee! They had a homecoming party to celebrate that momentous occasion, even though I had never left their home!

Eventually, I got a job and immigrated to that part of America where I was able to peacefully coexist with plenty of other distinguished insects without the gustatory harassment by that discriminating bloodsucker called the Mosquito!

As I mentioned in my first blog, I have pickled a few more of my incredibly scratchy essays on the topic of Itching and Twitching. Hope to sooth your irritated membranes with my stories.

Part 1 was titled “A TWITCH IN TIME SAVES AN ITCH!”

Part 2 was titled “MY REUNION WITH THE MOSQUITO!”

Copyright © 2008 Ranjini Sharma All Rights Reserved

MY REUNION WITH THE MOSQUITO!

This blog was originally posted on my other blog page - http://r-sharma.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm

MY REUNION WITH THE MOSQUITO!

Part 2 of my series on the subject of Itching, Twitching and Scratching.

Part 1 was titled “A TWITCH IN TIME SAVES AN ITCH!” Each part can be read independently although I highly recommend reading Part 1 in which I have tried to define the words “Itch”, “Twitch” and “Scratch” as accurately as humanely possible.

For the purpose of this blog, I would like to redefine the word “Itch” as a sudden sensation that forces a person start scratching shamelessly.

The word “Scratch” is a desperate attempt to massage and heal a recently delivered or preexisting puncture with the help of anything in sight.

The word “Twitch” basically means to dance before an itch. This word’s several incarnations will be discussed all through the series.

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How can I write an entire series on the subject of itching without attributing some of its painful contributions to the incomparable mosquito?

After living in America for several years, I can safely claim that I have never been bitten by a mosquito in this country. I personally have not even seen the silhouette of a mosquito here. All my memories of torture by the Insecta class are from my days in the famed city of Bangalore, or Bengalooru as it is called now.

Bengalooru is Boom Town, they say!

Old wine in new bottle, I say!

Bangalore just carried over its resident mosquitoes, pushing them forth into the new era without retraining them. My recent visit to Bengalooru exposed me to swifter biting machines that delivered stings even more expeditiously. Their meanness was apparent as soon as I landed at Bangalore International Airport. As I stood in the long line awaiting my turn at the customs, I received my first complimentary dose of insect propellant right through my thick Argyle socks.

Since I was encountering the mosquitoes after a long gap, I responded to their generosity with a curious mix of nostalgia and irritation. A particularly potent cocktail mix was delivered to penetrate my ankle. I prostrated at once to reach that spot! It was too late to twitch before this itch. Besides, ankles are not exactly twitchable! I was bending down to scratch with bare fingers at regular intervals since I did not have a tool sharp enough to attack that spot with accuracy. My fellow travelers assumed that my repeated obeisance was due to the joy of touching my motherland. I then tried to reach the itch with my other foot, but at least four of my co-passengers were curiously watching my odd hopscotch dance. So I ceased temporarily to think of something else. I had my passport and slippery customs declaration forms in one hand. My other arm was straining to cajole a dysfunctional cart laden with two and a half heavy suitcases.

Finally, I reached the customs officer’s desk. Just when he uttered the words “Can I see your passport please”, the recurring stinging sensation sent me descending down, defying gravity, right behind his tall desk. With a perplexed look, he must have wondered if I was desperately trying to sneak past all customs officials to escape into the wilderness of the metropolis, never to be found! But little did he know that I had snatched a wonderful pointy ink pen right off his desk and was busy scratching my ankle in full gusto!

Just as he was about to dispatch some unfriendly officers to locate me, I bounced right back up with his pen and a satisfied grin. I handed him all my documents.

Bangalore Customs


A Cartoon By Ranjini Sharma

My parents were at the airport to receive me.

After reaching home at 1:45 AM, we quickly exchanged vital pleasantries and got ready to hit the beds. Having received my first injection at the airport, I realized that my stay was not going to be as relaxing as I had originally hoped. However, I noticed that my father did not have a mosquito curtain over his bed. My mother too was settling down without any protection.

“Don’t you need mosquito nets,” I asked.

“We donated all the mosquito nets since we do not need them anymore! We do not have that many mosquitoes these days,” my father said from under the blanket.

“I agree,” sounded my mom’s muffled voice from the same place. They reassured me that I would not need a net either! The speed with which they tunneled under their blankets was unsettling. The stillness in their home was a bit eerie. I looked around the rooms with my eyes partially open to sharpen my focus. Not one mosquito in sight!

Dad’s strange choice of words, “not that many mosquitoes these days” reverberated inside my brain a couple of times. Why would they be willing to share their residence with even a few flying insects? Are mosquitoes simply too busy feasting on millions of locals to even care to bite foreigners. Feeling uneasy about the prospect of meeting an occasional visiting mosquito overnight, I went to bed without the net.

Back in the eighties, I used to reside in my mosquito curtain. I practically spent a majority of my teenage years underneath the net! I tackled engineering subjects from under there. My parents did not even know their daughter during all those years! When I finally emerged from my self-imposed cocoon, I was a changed animal. Soon after, I left town and my parents were left behind!

It was 2:45 AM when I suddenly heard high pitched music in the dark! “Strange,” I thought to myself, “Fusion is the latest rage, but this tune sounds familiar and old!”

It had a weird Doppler effect similar to an approaching Luna passing in front & departing gradually. Suddenly the music stopped! That’s when I felt the sting right on my left cheek! My left hand mercilessly rose up all by itself and slapped me! The rude awakening disclosed the reality—Mosquitoes were actually reigning the house. My poor parents were simply impervious to mosquito bites or probably too drugged to feel the pain.

I was not going to let another cunning mosquito bite me! They do not call me the ‘Queen of Twitching’ for nothing! Since it was too late to wake up Dad and ask for a net, I decided to improvise. Pulling the blanket right over my head, I tucked the sides of the shroud underneath my body to completely seal myself. The Acrylic blanket originally sent from America was essentially airtight and I felt like a warm Tortilla (it’s what they call a plain old Chapatti in Mexico!) stuffed with refried beans. Suddenly I sensed the sting of hot Salsa!

It couldn’t be! In my frenzy to roll myself, I had secured one lone mosquito snuggly under my very blanket! That was the beginning of an uncomfortable night. It first bit my forehead, and then nipped my right foot! I quickly opened one side of my blanket to let the raging stranger out of my tent. I could not tell if that lone ranger hung on to the inside of my blanket while I was shaking around. However by lifting my blanket, I had inadvertently invited a few more of his hungry siblings inside! They went right into business, hogging down on the choicest cheeks and the juiciest of my ten slender fingers, attacking them individually! I felt instantaneous lumps rising all over! I twitched and kicked, but to no avail. Critters wouldn’t budge!

When daylight finally arrived, I broached the subject of mosquitoes to my parents who seemed busier than usual with their morning chores. They avoided my gaze when I confronted them with true figures relating to the residential mosquito population.

With his mouth full of toothpaste, my dad asked one simple question, “What mosquito?”

My mom pretended not to be too concerned while stirring Upma (you know, it’s that nutritious wheat gruel from South India). “They don’t bother me! Am I not looking hale and hearty at seventy?” Her question was rational, but I wondered why they both seemed so blasé or even flaky.

Soon, it was time to unpack my suitcases. I had carried a whole host of health foods from USA. I unraveled multiple packages of protein powders; varieties of whole grain bread flours; sachets of sugar free this and fat free that. I had also transported loads of dry pastas made from the highly nutritious Durham wheat. I announced that I would make some Angel-hair pasta for lunch, dressed in a rich tomato sauce, flavored with Basil and Oregano leaves. My parents were salivating at the thought of trying something new since they were tired of their mundane diet of Idlis and Dosais.

Typically, Angel-hair pasta is about 12 inches long and always served that way. Come lunchtime, a pot of steaming pasta was ready in a jiffy. I served them into 3 bowls. Slippery pasta drenched with sauce can only be eaten with forks since chopsticks are for the adventurous. I was in no mood for adventures after spending a whole night with masquerading gangs of mosquitoes, not to mention the impending jet-lag that was going to hit me at 12 noon sharp! Lunch had to be consumed fast.

I looked around for forks, but all I found was a large collection of blunt bent spoons. Mysteriously, there was not one fork in sight! I remembered buying my mother a large collection of sturdy Italian forks when she visited us in America. They were long strong stainless steel implements custom-made to pick up Angel-hair pasta with ease. I looked inside all the cupboards and crannies, but could not find any; not even one disabled fork with missing prongs!

My mom quickly dismissed the search declaring that it would take a few days to locate the forks! “We do not eat noodles or any of its cousins you know! What use are forks for us old folks?” She sounded like a defendant trying to dodge probing questions.

I stared at the bowls of knotted pasta piled into entangled mounds. My scrumptious tomato sauce thickened with corn starch was only going to make each pasta string that much more slippery and elusive to eat!

“Here,” said my father, handing me three overused dull spoons. “We eat everything with these!”

Their enthusiastic confidence was funny, but their pasta eating session was going to get downright hilarious. I decided to let my own bowl simmer down to watch them tackle the foot-long pasta strings with their pint sized spoons. My mother went first. She stuck her spoon into the hill of pasta and yanked out a healthy spoonful. She delicately balanced 4 strings on the spoon and transported it close to her mouth. Just before she could close her lips, all four strings slipped right back where they started! She looked around a bit embarrassed, but continued with her excavation. In the meantime, my dad was trying to tackle the same batch of finicky pasta using his trembling right hand (he’s 79, you know!).

This was getting even more interesting by the minute!

All I could hear was him muttering the following words with a smile intended to hide his exasperation – “Ala theri”, “Saala”, “Huh theri”, “Ninn Ajji na Badiya”… and so on. Translated to English, he was essentially mouthing the following, “whack your grandma!” It was obviously directed at the ensnared utensil. Not one string had mounted his wobbly spoon even after 4 minutes!

I did not even try to repeat their sorry feat. I discarded the spoon and dug into my bowl with two primary fingers. I lifted loads of pasta strings like a Caterpillar earthmover. Lifting my head up to face the ceiling with my mouth wide open, I deposited the first installment safely inside. My parents watched in amazement. They followed suit and very soon all three of us were checking the ceiling (and its peeling paint) as we emptied several deliveries of the tasty pasta into our respective mouths. Parents definitely enjoyed the novelty and wanted more.

Later that day, I decided to look for the forks because I had several packets of pasta to consume in two months. I summoned KaaLamma, the maid, and asked her if she knew anything about the missing forks. She came closer to me a whispered, “Look under Amma’s bed!” When my mother was not around, I sneaked into the bedroom and lifted her mattress. Lo and behold, there were three shiny forks buried there! I flipped the other side and there were 5 more! My complete set of 8 Italian forks was spread underneath my mother’s own bed along with an assortment of other sharp weapons!

“What are they doing here,” I asked my mother who walked in.

“It’s the mosquitoes, okay! So I lied! They have been bugging me all day and all night! I depend on those forks to scratch myself in bed! I need all 8 so I don’t have to grope in the dark! Is that a crime?” She was almost in tears!

“Why not use mosquito nets,” I asked.

This time, both parents chanted together, “WE DON’T HAVE ANY NETS!!”

“Why not buy?” I had to ask.

I noticed that Kaalamma who was bursting to say something! She suddenly blurted, “look under Appa’s mattress!”

“Shhhh!!!!” My parents tried to shush her. It was too late!

The missing forks mystery was now deepening and burgeoning into something more sinister! I walked over to my Dad’s mattress and lifted it. Voila! There were three huge mosquito curtains neatly folded, hidden under four spare blankets!

“What’s all this? And why have you both been lying?” I was Sherlock Holmes after solving the crime!

“She made me do it!” Dad quickly pointed towards Mom. “She asked me to hide the curtains and tolerate mosquitoes during the duration of your stay!! And I hate the chemical smell of mosquito coils.”

I looked at Mom.

“Please don’t imprison yourself in the mosquito curtain again!!” pleaded my mother, out of the blue! This time she really started to cry!
“We are afraid that you will reenter the NET all over again and remain there until your departure from Bangalore! We only see you once in a couple of years! How can we allow you to infiltrate ‘The Cocoon’ and not see you for two whole months? I was resigned to scratching myself with those useless forks! We sacrificed the curtains for your sake so you will not leave our sight, okay! Boo hoo hooo!”

Now I understood their shenanigans! Their intentions were noble! After all, I was to blame for their insecurities. My affair with the mosquito curtain is a long one. In fact, I will dedicate an exclusive blog to “Curtaining the Mosquitoes” in Part 3 of this series.

So long folks!

Part 1 can be read here - "A Twitch In Time Saves An Itch!"

Copyright © 2008 Ranjini Sharma All Rights Reserved