I’m down with flu again, for the second time this season, and the third this year if I include the one I had in January. Half of my lab is infected – coughing is the only music I can hear.

Our housekeeper is infected, some of my housemates, my other friends…and everybody else – and for most of them too, it is the second time. The first one was in November – it spread faster than fire, we should change that saying to say “spreads like flu”.

And now again, early December! I went to a lecture by this Nobel laureate, but could hardly hear him speak amidst all the cacophony from the coughs and sneezes of half the people sitting in the theatre. By the time the lecture ended, I’m sure the other half got infected.

Walking along the streets, the click-clock sounds of insecure women’s heels are thankfully masked by the coarse coughing.

Flu is like a ritual in Britain, an annual one – but strikes 2-3 times each winter. The villainous virus prefers the cold, it cannot pierce your nasal or throat area unless it is much cooler than your body temperature. And with breathing the Arctic winds at this time of the year, the virus always gets lucky.

It’s been happening for centuries and seems like it will continue for centuries. There are flu jabs, usually for the elderly – for the young can afford to get sick and usually enjoy the privilege of remaining alive owing to their robustness!?

I’m sick of the flu – so sick that I wonder how UK can call itself developed when so many people are never sick at the same time in India. India with all of its myriad diseases can skip this dreary disease thanks to its affinity to the equator.

Ah…I’m tired. My dancing fingers pine for rest, though my restless mind prances about. I know I’m waiting with an utter sense of helplessness for the virus to change its guise so it can invade me again, probably next month.