Mosquitoes in Ranchi are in a class of their own. They could suck an elephant dry in 30 seconds flat. The female mosquitoes need our protein rich blood to lay their eggs. Some abstinance on their part would make the world a better place to live for the human race.
Come evening and a band of jihadi mosquitoes gather in full force in my room. Their belligerence could instil fear into the bravest of hearts. Santosh (my rhinoceros-skinned roommate), the country bumpkin that he is, is seemingly immune to their attacks and remains aloof in his own world. He is the quintessential simpleton and has been the butt of many of my condescending jokes. His phlegmatism even in the face of their (mosquitoes) sustained attacks is phenomenal. The stoic disposition that he assumes could have moved even the Mahatma to tears!
Meanwhile, I am left alone in my misery, bracing up for their attacks. The battlelines drawn and the war canon sounded, what ensues is a fierce exchange of swats and bites between the mosquitoes on one side and me on the other. Before midnight, both sides have suffered serious casualties. Some of them them have attained martyrdom trying to suck my precious blood, while the luckier ones have escaped with the booty. I'm a much weakened person, having lost a few litres of my coveted A+.
I retreat to the confines of my bed, to recuperate from bloodloss, multiple bites and a bruised ego. The net protects me from a renewed round of assaults by the next-of-kins of the departed souls. Without much furthur ado, I slip into a deep slumber.
Tomorrow is another day, another battle.