Life-lessons from the insect world

Spring arrived in the northern hemisphere some days ago and in India, it already feels like summer. With summer, come insect and reptilian house-guests who are rarely welcome. 

If you know me, you know that I am afraid of and repulsed by almost all members of the animal kingdom, large and tiny. The tiniest challenge my wish to be a non-violent being and yes, I am ashamed of this so I pray for them to be liberated or born into a happier existence next time. None of this stops me from reflecting on the many things there are to learn from the world of insects. Here are some life-lessons insects teach me, that I have learned imperfectly. 

(And for my mistakes and anything that gives offence, I apologise in advance to anyone who feels hurt.)

Illinois, where I studied, is home to Caterpillar, which like BHEL in India, makes 'earthmoving' machinery. The insect, caterpillar, while regarded an agricultural pest, also fertilises the soil with its droppings. The lesson is: do your part, whatever it ends up being. Your contribution will surprise you! 

The grossest form of insect life that intersects with our days are arguably lice. Schoolchildren and their parents are intimate with the menace of lice infestations. I have heard that there is even a saying that lice climb seven beds, meaning they will infest seven people before they are done. In other words, 'climb every mountain' or leave no stone unturned. Do everything you can to achieve your purpose. 

Ants work very hard and they seem to work non-stop. They also work together with other ants. My instinct is to do things by myself and I am impatient with others but ants underscore an important truth--working together, steadily and in a disciplined way, we achieve more than we can alone. Teamwork is a good thing! 

"We will destroy this wall!" No one ever read a termite declaration to this effect but over a period of time, they eat into the core of the most solid structures. For all of us interested in social change, they should be an inspiration. Day by day, without measuring and obsessing over results, they smash structures and barricades decisively. 

Patience is what spiders are famous for, as the nursery rhyme hero, Insy-Winsy reminds us. Everytime its web is washed away by rain, it starts over. The spider weaves. It rains. It weaves to build again. It does not matter if what you build is washed away; it matters that you patiently pick yourself up and start over. 

Much reviled, cockroaches exemplify resilience. As a child I heard that cockroaches lived very long and were the only creatures that could survive an atomic bomb attack. I don't know if that is true but it is an impressive introduction! Life is going to throw multiple challenges at us. How do we get past each one and keep going? That is what living is about. 

We first learn the word ‘metamorphosis’ when we learn about the life-cycle of the caterpillar and the butterfly. The butterfly reminds us that metamorphosis is the journey--for us and for the world around us. Everything changes. Everything must change. Everything will change. And it will be the change towards which we work. 

Very simply, insects teach us that the scale of our effort is immaterial because everything counts if we persist together everyday, purposefully, meticulously, patiently, resiliently, untiringly and together.

This land is mine...

These words were written for the musical, Exodus, but they really apply to the insects and reptiles of Sri Lanka. This land does not belong to the Sinhalese, or the Tamils, or the Muslims, or indeed, any other life forms than insects and reptiles.

I have, over the years, hardened my mild, polite 'eeks' to an utterly robust horror of these creatures who traipse around, going about their business, uncaring that I cower and very occasionally, seek to stalk them with a can of anti-insect spray.

At a thousand times their size and weight, I am afraid of them, and yes, I appreciate that this can be funny.

I know ants, roaches, lizards, etc. are as important--more important--to the ecosystem than I am, but even so, I must confess they gross me out. I think about where they've been as they hover around kitchen counters and I shudder to touch books they have walked over.

The other day, one strolled in through an open kitchen window and looked up with interest as a rice-cooker sent off fragrant steam. I could not scream, and I knew boycotting the rice was not an option, so I said gently, "There is a lizard next to the rice-cooker." "Oh, it must have come through the window." Indeed.

In other places, I am sometimes allowed the conceit that they walk through my space. Not so in Sri Lanka. Vividly recalling evenings in Delhi when I would watch as two lizards wander upside down (my perspective) on the living room ceiling towards the speeding fan and imagine with dread their falling on those blades and the resultant debris, I monitor the movement of each lizard with anxiety here. My very intelligent friend makes some very intelligent observations and I note that there are three identically sized lizards running around on the opposite wall. I am the only one who cares.

As a curmudgeon utterly unenthused by most animal forms, including increasingly the human, the only space left for me is inside a discreetly ventilated but sealed plastic (okay, make it posh: fibre-glass) cube with wifi and pictures of plants on the walls. Food, water and other supplies will be supplied and waste removed by some magical system of osmosis invented by some clever but compassionate dog or lizard lover who wants to lock me up. There, I can indulge in still life photography that expresses my mystical philosophy of love for all life-forms... at a very safe distance.