Bitten by the bug

Learning about the circle of life by observing a stick insect in action

October 21, 2016 04:28 pm | Updated December 02, 2016 10:46 am IST

Pretending to be a dried branch Photo: R. Krithika

Pretending to be a dried branch Photo: R. Krithika

It was one of those warm mornings when the heat shimmers like a gauzy curtain before your eyes. I was fighting to keep mine open when a flash of yellow startled me. It was a butterfly on a branch of a rose bush. Half in a doze, I watched it fluttering its wings; the yellow amid the green leaves was quite a picture.

It took me a while to figure out that something was not quite right. There was a desperate quality to the fluttering. Fully awake now, I moved closer to see what was wrong. The first thing I noticed was the confetti-like shower from the wings. Then I realised that the butterfly seemed to be stuck. Had it impaled itself on a thorn? Was that even possible?

My nose was almost touching the butterfly before I noticed the problem: what I had taken to be a branch was actually a stick insect. I watched in horrified fascination as the butterfly was denuded of the scales from its wings. As I wondered whether I should make any move to rescue the butterfly, the body slowly disappeared. The ground below the bush was littered with what looked like tiny poha flakes.

Two days later, when I got back home from work, my mother-in-law burst out with her news. “Do you know what I saw today? There was this yellow butterfly…”

I finished her sentence: “Which got eaten by a stick insect.”

“You’ve already seen it?” She sounded disappointed.

Both of us ran towards the rose bush. There it was still pretending to be a dried branch. We studied at it from all angles. Was it the breeze that made it move? Or was it the fact that we were squealing all over it?

And thus began the period of our obsession with the stick insect. Every morning, we would inspect it, as we sipped our morning tea. Each evening, when I got back from work, we would study it further.

“It’s like those creatures from Star Trek or Star Wars , no?” Peering intently at the creature, she missed my anguished look. “Ma, you can’t lump Star Trek and Star Wars together like that,” I howled. She turned an ‘I-don’t-understand’ look at me. “Look at that face. It’s like those cowled and hooded outer-spacey creatures,” she explained. And that meant “you know that Star Wars-Star Trek kind of thing.” I gave up.

For the next few weeks, our conversations were dominated by the insect. Sometimes the discussion would be about anatomy. “Look at that evil face,” shuddered m-i-l one day. “It can’t help its face, ma,” I defended. “After all, it needs something effective to catch insects.”

Another day, we found the insect in an almost vertical position. “Where is its stomach?” Amma wanted to know. “Non-existent,” I replied. “Like Katrina Kaif’s.” Both of us looked sadly at our bulging midriffs.

At other times our conversation would be philosophical in nature. “What is the purpose of an insect like this?” mused amma. “To keep the butterfly population down,” I suggested. And earned a withering look for my effort.

One morning, as we settled down for our morning ritual, the insect was missing. Tea and biscuits were forgotten, as we hunted frantically. Roused by our despairing cries, the gardener came running to find out what had happened. When the matter was explained to him, he gave us a queer look and then pointed to the hedge near the rose bush.

The damn thing had moved its place of residence. Since the hedge was yellow and green, we could see the insect quite clearly. We watched it catch a beetle one day. “Why couldn’t you people rescue the butterfly and beetle?” demanded my son, as he listened to our discussion on the animal world. “It’s the circle of life,” I replied, a trifle pompously I must admit. And earned another withering look. Of course my son did withering looks much better than m-i-l.

I don’t know if the gardener felt our interest in the stick insect was not very healthy for us or if he was influenced by the snake skin on the corner of the roof, but one evening I returned to find the hedge and the plants before it all trimmed neatly. “I can’t find it,” said my mother-in-law sadly. I hunted too but to no avail. We’ve not given up hope though. We check the hedge and the bushes around it every day in the hope it will one day come back and allow us to continue our studies.

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