Birders get ecstatic when they spot what they call a ‘lifer’ – a bird they have never seen before. Now, given that even crows would have been lifers at one point, it usually means some unusual bird spotted in some exotic location after much effort.
If, however, you care to watch insects, you can have a lifer every time you do so, without much effort – there’s no need even to spread a white sheet under a bush and shake them out of it or shine a white light under a sheet to attract moths and other little critters. Take a little time out to look out for insects – on foliage, in fruit, on the ground, behind bark, underground, anywhere really and you can be sure you would come across something you have never seen before. Not surprising really, considering there are around 11,000 species of birds in the world as against 400,000 species of just beetles.
I have grumbled in this column about how I think the number of insects here in Goa, seem to have diminished, and while this is true, I suddenly realised one thing: I stalk up and down the pool everyday like a heron, ‘rescuing’ ants and other little insects that have crash-landed in the water and are struggling to find something to cling to or else just drown in the clean chlorinated water: for them, it must be like you and I adrift alone in the Pacific Ocean. And most of the time, the insect I lift out (with a leaf or a twig or best, a fallen frangipani bloom) will be something I have never seen before, forget about being able to identify. In the water, the ones with wings, lie spreadeagled – their wings spread out. In some, the wings lie perpendicular to their bodies, others have fastback wings like fighter jets, some hold them up over their abdomens like airplane rudders. Most are black, some with a bottle green lacquer that shines iridescently.
Just recently, I fetched out what looked like a tiny piece of miniature bubble wrap that was floating around. To my astonishment two miniscule beetle-like insects, one no larger than a pinhead, scuttled out of it and headed for cover. I do recognise beetles as beetles – without knowing their specific names. Ladybirds come in three colours, red and black with white spots and another in biscuit and black with white spots. There’s another tiny-tot, one-size larger than a pinhead, in varnished black with two gold stripes running down its back. A VW Beetle would be a show stopper in those colours.
There’s another exquisite-looking thing in angel white, which looks like a butterfly crocheted by Thumbelina. There are plenty of these around, floating with their four wings spread out; they are as wide as the crease in your fingers. They would look amazing under a microscope, which I am now contemplating on investing in. I photographed one lying on my finger on the smart phone, and asked Google to identify it and in all its AI wisdom, it came back with the answer, ‘wart’.
There are tiny spiders too, most pearly white and filamentous, floating with all their eight legs spread out. The fierce brown and beige hunting spiders are wise enough to cling to the sides of the pool just above the water line, waiting for something edible to float their way.
Another thing I have noticed is that in the water, most of these floaters resemble the way insects are laid out to display on cork boards (albeit with the pin through their bodies) by entomologists: some are identified scientifically but only a very few have common names. Take them out of the water and they sort of crumple up and look thoroughly miserable and very dead indeed.
It’s always better to use a leaf or a twig to ‘rescue’ struggling insects. Ants and bees can and will bite and sting: there was one invisible bug that stung me nastily on the calf, raising a little pink bump on the skin. But it is wonderful to see, that when you fish out, say, a ladybug or bee, that is still alive, the way it dries out its wings and thrums off. For the ladybird it is quite an effort – unfurling its untidily crumpled wings from under its elytra, ensuring they are dry before attempting to lift off.
What really was the catalyst for this piece, however, was the miniscule biscuit-coloured praying mantis I spotted at the edge of the pool, looking like some Lilliputian kung-fu wrestler. It was poised to kill; its stance like Muhamad Ali ready to punch. But what it would grab with those tiny, if even barbed, arms I really wonder; possibly filamentous mosquitoes or some of those tiny-tot winged insects that I had found in the pool. A buzzing housefly would break its arms and knock it flat. But evidently it could make a life for itself, otherwise it wouldn’t be here.
Which sets you off on another tangent: all these tiny creatures must have had mothers and fathers who have met and made out. How did they recognise each other? What followed? Egg, larvae and then adult? How long was their life-cycle? Many species of insects such as butterflies and dragonflies spend most of their lives becoming adults rather than being and behaving like adults (rather like many world leaders, who behave like tantrum toddlers or drug-addled hoodlums who have been given deadly weapons.)
There’s a colossal miniature, miniscule world out there, still waiting to be discovered. And you don’t even have to look too hard to find it.
A biscuit-coloured praying mantis (Photo by Ranjit Lal) 
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