In a fog

You are out on your evening walk – pretending there is a pavement under your feet; leaping gracefully over potholes and happy, little rubbish piles; avoiding zig-zagging two-wheelers and horn-obsessed drivers.

"This 'fogging', is it to kill us or the mosquitoes?!"

You smile at some fellow walkers; a dignified nod suffices for others, and you breathe deeply of the unique eau-de-Chennai that wafts over clogged waterways...

Everything’s normal, in other words.

And then it happens.

Suddenly, this huge monster appears, accompanied by a humongous, thick, whitish-grey fog.

In a second, your world vanishes.

It’s like suddenly running into Puff, the Magic Dragon in a particularly bad mood.

You tell yourself to stay calm, not panic into running madly in all directions. You quickly cover your mouth and nose; otherwise you’ll sneeze some 157 times when this is over.

The dim shapes around you are taking their own precautions.

Some have even dived into random homes, increasing their social circles in an instant.

Now, zapping mosquitoes en masse is certainly shrewd.

But later, when your evening is enlivened by the usual family performance of musical slaps and sudden leaps into the air – you wonder.

The fog works so hard – and yet these guys are getting healthier and deadlier by the day.
Did you hear that?

Sounded as if millions of tiny beings were laughing… mocking.