Hello India

I love beginning the day by bringing my palms together in the namaskaram style, but with a mosquito in between. There’s no better way to start the day than by clapping your hands and killing the infernal things. I include this activity among other hobbies like solving crosswords and listening to music. But over the last few days a realisation dawned on me. With dengue spreading like cancerous cells, I’m not just killing time and mosquitoes, but am also doing a great service to mankind. May be it isn’t fully deserving of a Nobel Peace Prize, but something to that effect will be a nice way to honour my selfless service to humanity. Sheila Dikshit should consider forming some mosquito-slapping squads. If we dedicate ourselves to the cause, we can double-handedly rid the capital and AIIMS of the menace.

The respect mosquitoes command is rivalled probably only by Amitabh Bachchan. No longer do people just itch when a mosquito bites. They wait with bated breath to see if they contract a fever and develop body pains. They do all kinds of tests and get admitted in hospitals. Mosquitoes have a better chance of toppling the UPA than the NDA does. Major news channels need these pests for their bread and butter, and the opposition needs them to assault the government. It’s funny that in a land where open heart surgeries are done and Siamese twins separated, a mosquito should wreak such havoc. My friends have purchased tubes of Odomos and I may follow suit soon. Dhishan has some homoeopathic dengue preventives and is going to be second only to Pamela Anderson in terms of popularity in the lobby. The whole dengue episode reminded me of Nana Patekar’s classic 'Ek machchhar saala aadmi ko hijra bana deta hai.'

I read this amazing thing about dengue-causing mosquitoes (sorry, I wasn’t interested in mugging up the scientific name of the bloody pest) biting us only during the day. Good Knight and All Out must rework their night-oriented marketing strategies and may be come up with a “45 Days chalne wala Dengue Naashak”.

I wasn’t very interested in the Champions Trophy till I heard about Mohammad Asif’s and Shoaib’s drug controversy. Without them, Pakistan’s pace attack is as effective as Venkatesh Prasad’s batting. Pakistani cricket is in doldrums; with Hair-raising issues, captaincy quibbles, and now this doping case really hitting them below the belt and above the thighs. Pakistan is, in general, and because of General, not exactly in rosy terms with the rest of the world, especially the West. Cricket is one thing that binds the nation and makes people believe there’s more to their country than pseudo-democratic politicians and terrorist training camps. There’s nothing like a right time for a controversy, but there sure is a wrong time; and for many Pakistanis this is the worst time. Batsmen won’t complain though- they can now walk to the middle without fearing broken bones and shattered groins.

India’s batting performance against England was very disappointing. We’ve filled the squad with too many ‘exciting’ players. And then there’s the endorsement problem. It just takes two sixes or a 5-wicket haul or a ball bowled at 150 kmph to get Pepsi, Coca Cola, AirTel, and the like chasing you like a bull after red hot property. Dhoni, with just over a year’s international experience, makes an astounding 12 crore rupees a year. The inconsistencies of Indian cricket don’t need a Greg Chappel for rectification. Cricketers shouldn’t be allowed to endorse brands till they score 2000 runs or pick up 50 wickets.
I saw an old Pepsi ad the other day, and was trying to recognize a particular face. Then it struck me. Ajay Ratra! The wicketkeeper who has walked to the middle with a bottle more often than a bat! But I guess that’s Indian Cricket Industry’s way of going about its business. They make celebrities out of one-match wonders, rocket them to cloud nine and then bury them in Ranji soil.

While flipping through the pages of a magazine, I noticed Sania’s skirts getting shorter to keep pace with her shorter serves. I envisage a new Club HP (endorsed by Sania) ad with Sania playing tennis. Sania will hit the net (As usual. It won’t need a retake) and the uniformed Club HP guys will march in, saying, “Sania Mirza ko Tennis khelna nahi aata.
Hame bhi nahi aata. Lekin hame aata hai petrol…” She’s another victim of excessive media adulation. She’s been made an icon before achieving anything of significance.

I’m not writing in class today. I was kind of sick of writing in class and then typing it out. I’ve finished with my ramblings and must now attend to stomach’s rumblings. It’s time for that lovely cup of tea. Sad that I’ll have it only for another 7 months. Now please let me leave. I see a mosquito- must kill it before it reads this and calls its friends for a gang rape.