“koooooo... kooooo…..koooooo….” “Clap!” A mosquito was hovering around him for a while now, refusing to let go nor succumbing to his attempts to trash it with his hands. It was early evening and the night had just begun to fall. Normally, the smell of the agarbatti lit by his mom would suffice to get rid of these mosquitoes, especially the big fat ones which are already laden with the blood sucked from god knows how many individuals. However, this one seemed to be stubbornly attracted to him.  It had been a while since she felt good about herself. The routine was turning out to be a burden now as the days passed - the usual sleep during the day and scout for food in the evening rut. She had even got used to the taste of blood which every individual in her locality had to offer and could clearly demarcate the differences between each blood group. Life had nothing different to offer and she grew weary of that thought.  As she was casually whiling away her t...

While mindlessly scrolling through Instagram the other day, I noticed that after being locked up for close to 7 months in our respective cities, many are now willing to consider travel options. Some were also seen sharing their travel experiences on social media platforms for the benefit of others. As I read through these posts from the comforts of my bedroom, I felt a sense of nostalgia over power me. After all, airports were like my second home.  Owing to the fact that I took a flight at least once a month - more often to my hometown (Goa) from Bangalore. The sheer thought of me being in one city for the day and another one by night used to make me feel invincible. The excitement of greeting my family, of uncovering old belongings in my room or yearning for a night of restful sleep on my comfortable bed made me look forward to reaching the airport with a sense of urgency. After all, Bangalorean traffic was highly unpredictable. I had a favourite spot at the airport just outside t...

He hurriedly tied his shoes laces, tightened his tie and rendered a quick swipe of his hand through his hair. He picked up his laptop bag, took a bite off the half-burnt slice of bread and made a dash for the door. His wife came running after him urging him to have a sip of his coffee. Although, he had left by then leaving the door half ajar. Sounds of the pressure cooker whistling could be heard in the background. His wife wore a look of disappointment on her face. She convinced herself that his mind was preoccupied with a couple of things for his upcoming morning update call. This is the term she had heard often ever since the transition to WFH had begun. She never really understood the reason why he used to panic to provide the status of his work in these meetings nonetheless she did not bother to ask fearing that her non-IT background might make it difficult for him to explain. She also never understood why he insisted on going to office. Especially when everyone had transitioned...