For as long as I can remember, the reception committee at the Bangalore airport was made up of mosquito brigades. They formed clouds over your head and gave each visitor personalised attention. To every individual, an army of his own. This army escorted you through immigration and customs. The airport personnel, whose main concern is the content of your baggage, had standby clouds of their own. These moved in when the customs guys hunted through your luggage for anything they could keep. "You have 12 underwear?" one of them would say. "You have to pay duty then!" The cloud above him would buzz sternly. As you wondered how to tackle that, a guy with a smaller cloud would whisper in your ear: "Saar, you give me one of them and I will let your bag through." His mosquitoes would hum in agreement. When I flew in recently to Bangalore, I found the reception cloud had reduced significantly. Could it be the economic downturn? The army at the airport had lost some of its bite, but not the one around the house. These mosquitoes work outdoors during the day. When it gets dark, they return home, tired and hungry. And of course, they jump you. They are, however, not without class. Music is one of their mainstays. Their favourite style is the buzz. Not quite the jazz, but the serious enthusiast knows the buzz all right. The timing of the buzz is not your choice. When they want to orchestrate is completely their call. Like any evolved form of music, they change volume and tone for effect. The performance involves a routine around the ear, too. Variations are made by flying past in altering patterns and speeds. There are solo performances by experts in the clan, reserved for the connoisseur. Like a seductive danseuse, the soloist teases you late into the night, without ever succumbing to your eager hands. The mosquito clouds I spoke of perform the choir and orchestra versions. These are normally meant for outdoor receptions. Human blood alters their thinking. Not entirely surprising --- look what it does to humans. And thus, the mosquitoes become darned stupid after a good evening of revelry. In the morning, you can see them sitting still with their back to you. Do they think they are invisible or something? On many a lazy morning, I have taken care of such with my bare hands. But the smarter ones don't linger; they slouch out as soon as it's light. Last Sunday morning, I saw some mosquitoes on a banana. I had always thought of them as bloodthirsty, but now I realise the health-food bug has bitten them. I had peeled that banana. But I am sure it's only a matter of time before they figure out how to peel one for themselves. They already know how to lift mosquito curtains. I haven't actually seen them lifting one, but there's no doubt they have mastered that art --- else, how do they get in through the tightened security around my house? I am sure on my next visit home there will be a mosquito reception committee at the airport --- waiting with peeled bananas. For the record, Vira Thachar is not all that fond of bananas. Tell us what you think of this diary   Write a Diary!
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