A flower-loving gutter fly

Not five feet from an Indian Almond (Terminalia catappa) tree abuzz with insects is an open gutter. The sewer runs along the corners of houses, its soiled waters shadowed by an avenue of jamun (Syzygium cumini), kadam (Neolamarckia cadamba), and Indian almond trees. The almond and jamun trees are blossoming, their pale, snowy-flowers arranged as a whorl around slender, soft-green branchlets stick out from under a flush of broad dark-green leaves, liberating a strong sweetish aroma into the heavy summer air. This is in the middle of the city. Every time I enter or leave my office, I hear the trees abuzz with insects. Sharp, short buzz of insects hopping from one flower to another, lapping up the extremely sweet nectar contained in bowl-like flowers.

The gutter is riddled with tubiflex worms. When I was a kid, my father would purchase live tubifex worms from aquarium stores for his fishes, and occasionally weird worms would come with it. The one I have a distinct memory of was the rat-t…

The Cosmos in a Tree

There is a cosmos in every tree,
Galaxies blossoming in empty space,
Worlds sprouting like leaves. A tree once told me:
If your place is among the stars, boundless and free,
By my roots and ‘neath my shade, I promise thee –
In this age or the next –
Is where you will find peace.”
The fellowship
A conflicted love story of a little wasp is all it took. Of the countless spore-like seeds, one went down a bird’s crop, and came out the other end only to be adopted by a half-a-century-old Peepul tree. Two Bargad leaves sprang to life from one of the many crevices of the Peepul, which stands to the north of a busy police thana. To the west of this new companionship lies a large water tank with a small stone-temple built right under its shade. The land, owned by one malguzar, was primarily a forest slowly being turned to farmlands. After his demise, it would be named Kamta Mal – the village of Kamta Prasad the Malguzar, and a small hamlet where this tree and her companion live would be Kamta Chak…

Insects On My Mind

The air is crisp. There is a faint but shrill, pulsating but monotonous call of the Indian house cricket somewhere in the corner of my house. It is too cold for insects to be out and about. He is the only one singing. Since last few monsoons, tiny little insects are hibernating somewhere in folders carefully stored away. Every winter, as and when time permits, I set to bring a few out. The usual ritual in getting to know them is to be able to photograph them from all angles possible, cataloguing them so that you know where they were and what they were doing when you found them, and ultimately – this sometimes takes the longest – sitting down to getting to know them.

Some of these are quite a handful, and there is no shortage of them. They are either rare or they are so special in their habit – such as leading a highly secretive, parasitic life, tucked away under someone’s abdomen or in someone’s nest. I liken them to some of the secretive, nocturnal mammals, they are just so specific …