As the golden sun of summer rises over Delhi, a familiar buzzing fills my flat once again. The M Family—Father, Mother, Son, and Daughter of Mosquitoes—has returned from their winter migration to Africa. Every year, they escape Delhi’s bitter cold, only to return like clockwork to my home, their beloved sanctuary.

I still remember that special summer when Mr. M first met Miss M. Oh, what a love story! He buzzed tirelessly around her, whispering sweet nothings in the moonlit air, while she pretended not to notice. But as fate would have it, she finally fell for his charm, and soon, they were together. That very summer, their love bore fruit in the form of two little ones—Mr. M.Y.S. and Miss M.Y.D.

They were born right here, feeding on my blood (with care, of course). Unlike other mosquitoes, these two never bit me too hard—just enough to survive, never enough to hurt. I had grown fond of them.

One evening, as I sat reading, I noticed Mr. M.Y.S. shielding his sister from my swinging hand.
“Not her! Bite me instead if you must!” he seemed to plead.
Miss M.Y.D. buzzed angrily, “I can take care of myself, Bhai!”
But her brother was always protective—whether it was against human swats or an over-friendly dragonfly from the neighbor’s balcony.

Another time, Mr. M.Y.S. found his sister struggling in a glass of leftover orange juice. He immediately dived in, lifting her out before she drowned in the sugary trap. That day, she realized how much her brother meant to her.

As the young ones grew, marriage was next on the agenda. Mr. M.Y.S. had found a lovely partner, and Miss M.Y.D. had admirers buzzing around. But tragedy struck.

Mr. M, the father, had grown old. His wings weakened, his flight slower. One evening, as he tried to dodge a careless human clap, he failed. He fell, and with one last buzz, he was gone.

His funeral was held near a dimly lit streetlamp at India Gate, a place he always admired. As the family mourned, Miss M.Y.D. made a shocking decision—she refused to marry.

“How can I celebrate when my father is gone? Marriage is a joy meant to be shared with parents. Without him, it’s meaningless.”