Tol mole ke bol

Moles are in news these days, thanks to Jaswant Singh's Call to Honour. And the brouhaha over the entire issue has brought moles of a slightly (actually, vastly) different kind into focus for me. As a child, I used to love them. I would sit and count them and get really excited whenever a new one would make its appearance. I had about 14 of them to begin with, and I would keep on praying to God to send some more.
And send, he did. By the bucketful, if I may say so. At last count, I had 27 of them on my face alone.
When I was about seven, I got one on the index finger of my left hand and everyone would tell me how that would make me rich. I was quite excited at the thought of a mere mole bringing in the moolah. Experience, however, has made me realise that the theory is not quite true. I probably have more moles per square inch of skin than anyone else in this part of the world and yet, my finances (or the lack of them) are nothing to write home about.
I never really paid much attention to them as an adult, but the other day when a photographer sent me my picture, I realised that moles are all I could see. Now, I have been thinking about them for quite some time and am wondering how to make them diasppear. Yesterday, a column by a new-age guru which said that people with moles were highly-respected in ancient societies caught my eye and so it was with a great deal of expectation that I started reading it. There has to be some comfort to compensate for their over-abundance, I thought.
After going through the entire column, it turned out out I have them all at rather insignificant locations. The one on my finger too has begun to fade so whatever little hopes I had nurtured of its resurrection, have also got to be given up.