Smearing shaving foam on my face, I stand before the mirror. The moment I start concentrating on my shaving, the mosquito hovers around my head humming in my ears as if to sing, ‘I am not stealing, I intimate beforehand. Let me have my share of your blood. I am hungry!’ Putting the razor down, I try to chase it and to ward it off. Then I resume my shave. Moments later I feel the deep irritating itch on my foot, a bite without the warning! The urge to scratch is irresistible that I am compelled to abandon my shaving, sit down on a chair and scratch mad!
I am more and more convinced that this life is meant to be a mere struggle in perpetuity, and a strife against odds, pinpricks and agony. Yes: for me as well as for the mosquito. It, on its part, is compelled to risk its life, struggling just for a feed!
Life is a perpetual struggle till the very end, like that of the mosquito which now lies crushed between my left hand and my right ear!
