Skip to main content

An eight-legged ode to life

Shared a ride with a spider the other day.
Didn't want to, actually. Just didn't spy it (him? her? well, not sure), in time, else I'd have vaulted out.

Still, now that we were together, I was forced to acknowledge this other presence. And forced to, for once, actually observe a spider in action.

Each time our auto swerved--and believe you me there were potholes aplenty on our route-- spider would swing precariously on an unbelievably thin thread. The auto went right, spider swung left. The auto braked hard, spider was flung up, furiously. Cars honked, cyclists tottered dangerously close, other autos trundled past at breakneck speed. But spider didn't get dislodged. Spider didn't perish. That silken thread was pulled tortuously taut more than once, but it didn't break. And spider's balance never slipped.

Watching this most un-comely of creatures perform a tightrope dance to survive in our urban jungle, fascinated me. Spider's confidence that it's own body would safeguard it's life, amazed me and humbled me.

I learnt some things that day.

I need to respect spider. After all, it can beat our friendly neighbourhood Spiderman totally, utterly hollow.

I am a social creature, but I like to call myself "independent".
Yet, a little being no bigger than my thumb nail made me realise that I too need my own web of family, (especially big C and lil C), loved ones and friends, to survive. To stay balanced. To stay alive.

Comments

Chin said…
"The tensile strength of spider silk is greater than the same weight of steel"!
Yup, truly awesome, this little creature. Can admire but still can't seem to love!

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...