Vanity, thy name is Eufemia

For those who thought I was finished with talking about mosquitoes, I do apologise for the following post. Sincerely. I mean that from the bottom of my heart chakra. I thought I was done too, I swear!

It's a bug's life: Flies are in a state of Nirvana here, finding ecstacy flitting from cows to food to folks, mosquitos find me.

Last night, what do I hear but the dreaded sound of one buzzing in my ear. Possibly the one I had seen a day earlier, and yes, I had tried to squash out it's short, bloodthirsty existence. For all I know, it could be the same bug from the Star Travels/Money Changer/Internet site, the one I had so brazenly laughed and blogged out, as if I had acquired special superhero powers that allowed me to conquer my fear of an itsy bitsy mosquito.

No, that definitely hasn't happened. I just checked, and it appears, yup, fear still there.

I know, I have nothing to fear but fear itself. But I can't seem to bring myself to say "Malaria, Shmalaria," with any kind of devil-may-care attitude, yet.

Hang on, let's see, "Ma-lay-ri-ah, Shhhhhh -."

Forget it.

Though, truth be told, having enjoyed two and a half full weeks without a bite, what really got me upset at 3 o'clock in the morning, (minor insomnia problem, no need to dwell on it here)when that sonamagun came a skittering by, was the thought of how it would affect my current visage. You may be thinking "How vain!" But before you judge and condemn me, I understand Mother Theresa struggled in much the same fashion. What a dear saint she was, blazing the glamour path before me.

Here's the current situation: I am tanned by the desert sun. My face is wrinkled with laugh lines, and also looking bahut (very) filled out from a few too many chocolate croissants. Seeing my reflection, I thought, I don't think I've ever looked this happy or healthy.

And I didn't want I didn't want to lose that face. (Freud-wannabes, scratch your beards now: Ah, attachments issues)

And finally, an opportunity to insert a sing-a-long here: That face, that face, that Yoga Journal Cover girl face.

Hah (yes), I know, Mujhe pagallo. (I'm crazy)

On one hand, possible malaria, on other hand, I might not look purdy.

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, who will I be, will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me: "If I have to come over there and pick up those toys you won't be able to sit down for a week."

So you see, I don't ask my mum the tough questions anymore. We mostly stick to the weather. Though these days, even that's an expensive and draining conversation. (Mamaji: "Really? Sunny? Oh, because you have desert there? Here is snow." Me: "I know, Ma, I know. You told me last time.")

O Blessed Mosquito, here to test my attachment issues, and another opportunity to practice non-violence. Clearly, I need to make an offering to the saint in charge of mosquitos. I know Saint Ambrose was the patron Saint of beekeepers and a fat lot of good that bit of knowledge does me here. What a waste, and it's taking up much needed space in the 10% of my brain I'm using.

This is a test. This is only a test. If this had been a real emergency, I would have been instructed where to go and what to do. Right?

As Swamiji says on many occasions, "Who knows? Who understand? Know self. Make self. Not smoking, injurious to health, say so on package there, why for people smoke? they make sick them self and loose money too so no, please! Yes, please practice yoga. Know self, Make self. And then self love, then love to each other. No difference. We same. God is love, love is God."

Kal phir milenjhee* (see you tomorrow)

(*I'm not sure anyone would appreciate the banter: "See you tomorrow-" "Not if I see you first!" so I haven't asked for a translation of the latter part. I have recently noted in my book that I need to learn the Hindi for: "Would you like it if someone said that to your sister, jerk?")