A True Story, Two Perspectives.

“The Flying Ant Massacre”

As published in The Ant Express    

The annual 2013 meeting of flying ants was thwarted yesterday and ended in a horrific disaster which claimed the lives of an estimated 4,000 attendees. The event was scheduled for the evening of Saturday June 1^st, to be held in the Master Bedroom of Villa #300. Nearly 5,000 were scheduled in attendance, but only those standing in the balcony managed to escape the massacre. The venue site seemed ideal to hold the annual “Reunion and Mating Matchup”; it houses three large venue halls, the tiled bathroom with ample water reservoirs, the dressing and closet hall and the large bedroom arena space with four screened windows and balcony doors. The main entry point for the event was through the balcony patio doors, which supplies the perfect clearance for allowing guests to crawl under the main doors even when shut, to join the festivities.

“The first part of the evening was quite splendid. No one would have imagined that everything would end in such horror!” says Mirda an escaped survivor.  Attendees seemed to disperse themselves evenly throughout the event space; there were thousands seen hanging on the yellow linen curtains or reclining from the vantage point of the iron curtain rods; many chatting and finding mates, then moving to more private or less private settings on the marble floor below.

Things took a turn for the worse close to midnight when a female human, a presumed tenant of the house, entered to use the bathroom. A few escapees, who managed to survive by default of choosing the curtains to hang out on, recounted the events. A loud panicked scream was heard, and moments later chaos broke out when the other presumed tenant, a male human, entered the room. The two were heard exchanging a discussion of a plan of attack and then they went about frantically shouting orders to one another. Moments later a small black machine was brought up and the masses on the floors and walls were seen being sucked into oblivion down a long pipe by the female. Then the other assailant quickly dismantled all the curtains and rods, throwing them out the balcony doors. Then, they began a systematic execution of the masses. Swarms of guests at the entry point were sucked up, the closet walls and floors scoured, and many were simply squashed with a white towel or brought to the toilet to drown. A few hundred ants decided to swarm around the light sources as they discovered this was too out of reach for the attackers. Within minutes a large metal latter was brought up, and many more taken down.

One individual recounts the heroes who tried to counterattack the assailants. “I saw a few heroic individuals intentionally dropping themselves on the backs, and heads of the humans, they tried to crawl down their arms in an effort to disgust them. It did appear to weaken their efforts a bit.” Finally the couple seemed to reach exhaustion and were seen scrambling for a white and purple device they found in a closet. They plugged it in, and the room was instantaneously illuminated. They then fled the scene, turning off all other light sources and shutting the door on their way out.

Harvey, a bystander viewing the scene from the balcony glass doors woefully related what brought the remaining guests to their demise. “One by one, individuals began to crowd and migrate towards that illumination device. They seemed almost in a trance, so attracted by the light that they ignored the consequences of walking into it. It was mass execution by electrocution…by morning there were bodies piled up by the hundreds.”   

No news yet of what kind of detrimental effect this will have on the expected birth rates of the ant community for this year. A solemn ceremony will be held tomorrow evening in the front yard in memory of those that died.  

“The Little Engine That Could” 

As told by the humans

This is the stuff of nightmares; you know the kind when you hallucinate that your bed is covered in bugs.... only it was real. Like a horror story, we came home from a party yesterday night to find our bedroom, crawling and swarming with thousands of flying ants. We had left a completely, or seemingly empty bugless room, just a few hours earlier. We hadn’t left any balcony door or window screens open. Upon returning home, I walked into the room and reached to open the curtains to let some fresh air in through the screen before going to bed. I stopped just short of the window to find hundreds of these winged ants spread across my curtains and all on the walls. As I quickly looked around the rest of the room, I saw hundreds of these things on every window curtain, on all of the walls, and scattered on the floors. Not a surface was left untouched in our bathroom or the closet area corridor either. Now I consider myself bug tolerant, but this was mass invasion!

Luckily these guys are slow; they grow their wings just prior to monsoon season, so thankfully they are not able to fly well. It took us 45 minutes to vacuum the majority up, and then at a point of desperation we remembered our little mosquito killing machine. I previously discounted that device, as slightly worthless at catching mosquitoes, but I’ve since changed my mind…it’s the best $5 purchase I’ve spent in a long time!

We turned that little machine on and ran out with our toothbrushes and pajamas in hand. I was wary at the numbers of ants we were leaving behind, fearing that that such a small appliance was going to catch fire if it tried to electrocute so many. In the middle of the night, we checked in to unplug it, and the whole room smelled like burnt hair, which is apparently what hundreds of crispy ant bodies smells like. The smell of SUCCESS!!

We tried to retire in peace for the night (thank goodness for guestrooms) but needless to say, we didn’t sleep well. It’s hard to shake the feeling of ants crawling down your back, and paranoiac thoughts of them entering your nose and ears.

I awoke to a satisfying pile of them dumped in the toilet by my husband the ant undertaker.  We survived the night and maybe even hopefully managed to make a dent in the number of mating ants in our neighborhood. I’m quite happy though, to let the toads take care of the rest.  

On your way to work

I was reflecting the other day on how completely desensitized I’ve become to Indian roads and the things you see on them. There’s a real risk of forgetting all of the oddities of everyday life here if you don’t write them down as you notice them. When outsiders visit, or new foreigners from western countries move here, you’re reminded of the ridiculous things that used to dumbfound you, which now have somehow become a part of your everyday life.

Here are just a few of these novel sights, for the amusement of those who are blessed with traveling on long endless empty highways (okay, maybe I'm glamorizing a bit). I know many of you are surrounded with scenic vistas on the road or at least have the pleasure of traveling with other vehicles who generally follow traffic rules and lines, but hey, doesn't that get a little boring sometimes? Here are the scenic items Bangalore roads have to offer.

1. Men urinating.

Before moving here, I think I could count on one hand, the occasions where I’ve seen a man publically urinate, and that’s for the entirety of my 31 years. Now I’m lucky when I don’t pass by twenty on any given day, not that I’m counting. it’s a tiresome sight! Excuse me, but where do all of the ladies go to relieve themselves? Still have yet to see one squat on the side of the road. So although there are restroom shortages, there appears to be some sort of cultural male need to publicaly pee.

2. The Family Transportation Sandwich

This I see daily in all kinds of fun and frightening forms. On a motor bike: child #1 in front (sometimes sleeping if it’s early morning), followed by the father, followed by child #2, followed by mom, who is often sitting side saddle if she’s in a sari. If there is a third child, they are often carried by mom. The only passenger helmeted here is dad because the law says only the front passenger has to have a helmet. Because, you know, only the first person gets hurt in an accident, right? Of course!

3. Bombs on Bikes

Gas canisters, cooking gas that is, are never delivered in an enclosed vehicle, but almost always on a motorcycle, or my favorite, a bike. Often these bikes are outfitted with four (12 kg) metal canisters, the equivalent of 100+ lbs of fuel, precariously flanking the sides. It looks like a pretty effective bomb to me.

The first time we had gas set up at our house we were in for a surpise. I opened the door, only to be greeted by a little 11 year old boy on the other side. "Oh hello, and who are you?" I say, never assuming this was the delivery man. "Gas, ma’am" I look out to see who’s accompanying this little guy and I find nothing but a rusty old motorcycle with two canisters of gas supported on the sides. I turn to the relocation assistant, who happened to be at the house with me that day, “But he’s a baby!”. He responds laughing “Oh, it’s just his father’s business, he just does the delivery only.” As if that’s any comfort. There seems to be a different meaning to the value of one human life here.

4. Cows, more cows, and wild dogs

I am continuously mystified at how few animal casualties there are here. Given the propensity these creatures have to just hang out, sleep and sun themselves on the central meridians of highways, on the edge of bus stops in the street, and in the middle of busy intersections. They seem to be completely oblivious to any impending danger, perfectly content to watch the world go by at the center of the frantic traffic mess. Survival of the fittest at it's finest. 

5. Transvestite beggars

Lovely ladies, perfect posture, dressed in silk saris, gold jewelry, flowers in the hair and five o’clock shadows… now wait a minute. These ‘ladies’ hang out near a large super store in my neighborhood. What’s unique is they have a very distinctive way of begging.  While traffic is stopped at the light, they weave around the cars, clapping their hands, and then with full manly force smack the windows to demand for money. It’s downright aggressive and strangely it seems to work for them.  Luckily they only target cars with just men, so generally our car is left protected.  

6. “Creative English” signs

Some of my favorites:

“TUITIONS offered by English grammer experts”

               
 “DO NOT DEFECATE THE WALLS”

The difference in an acronym.....

                
“Free STD codes” 

                
 and:

               

Running and avoiding Pesticide Zorro

Finding a place to jog in Bangalore is not an easy task. It was one of our top requirements while looking for a house to rent when we first arrived here. We just wanted a community that had some kind safe neighborhood roads that would be jog-able. Within the heart of the city itself it’s nearly impossible to imagine. Just learning how to cross the street and maneuver in the traffic without getting killed is a survival skill that requires time to master. You’re not just avoiding cars and buses, but a cornucopia of vehicles and beasts alike to which no rules seem to apply. I’ve had to jump to avoid rickshaws, and step around sleeping wild dogs; I’ve been nicked by motorbike wheels, and even forcibly pushed by a cow on the streets of this city. The sidewalks are not a protective zone of safety  either. Usually a sidewalk here amounts to a curb with a trench next to it. You’re lucky when you find ones with a slab concrete paver on top to have something to walk on outside of the road. Even with these makeshift slab bridges however, there’s no continuity, and you can’t take a leisurely stroll, let alone run on them. There is one huge gap after the other, and these trenches get filled with all matter of trash, water, and you-know-what. Basically you play hopscotch over a fetid pit…not amongst my choicese of pleasant places to jog.

Real straight, runnable roads here are a precious commodity. I was all too happy when we found the gated community we live in now, where kids frequently play cricket games in the street, the tenants go on daily walks, and the only traffic is the occasional slow paced car or kid on a bike. Finally, here, and maybe only here, I found a bit of tranquility amongst the noisy metropolis and concrete sprawl that is most of Bangalore.

Since moving in, I’ve made a habit of going out three times a week for a nightly jog. After spending what seems like endless time in traffic, it is a nice way to decompress at the end of the day. Also, I am pretty sure it’s responsible for helping me maintain my mental sanity, as day to day life can be really stressful in India at times. I like to head out the door right before dusk, just when the air has cooled a bit and the light is perfect. As irony would have it, this happens to be just when the mosquito man starts his shift. I call him Pesticide Zorro. He is in fact masked, with a sort of bandana, and he wears a baseball cap, and is usually covered to the point that his identity is completely disguised. He rides on an old rickety bike with a turbojet engine sprayer behind his back. With this getup he somehow manages to fly at fairly rapid speed through the streets of our neighborhood, sending out the back of his machine, a thick bluish fog of mosquito pesticide. We’ve been told it is non-toxic… but it only takes getting caught in the middle of this spray once to realize it is not exactly beneficial for the lungs to inhale. From blocks away you can hear the low ominous humming of the engine. When Pesticide Zorro rounds the corner, as if straight out of a movie, children run, adults pick up their pace, everyone covering their noses, rushing to get home and in the door before he comes around to their house. On my jogging nights I’ve started to reconfigure my running route to avoid this man. I can now judge, based on the hum, which direction he’s headed in, and as our community is quite large with many tiny side streets, I have been able to weave unique routes to avoid him. At least once a week however, I find myself reaching the end of a cul-de-sac, just as Zorro is bounding the corner, and there’s no escape. I can never outrun him, or hold my breath long enough to avoid inhaling that horrible chemical blue fog.

The first few times I got caught in that fog I would panic, “Yikes, reproductive harm! ….carcinogens!…. I can’t believe I have to inhale pesticides on a regular basis…all those years of being obsessed with organics are completely wasted!” etc. But then like most things in India that are completely out of your control, you learn to accept the things you cannot change. Finding humor in these situations, when possible, often helps as a coping mechanism. I’ve found myself laughing at the irony of being caught in a blue cloud of mosquito toxic fog. I remember the good ol’ days of working at a natural foods coop. The luxury I had of searching meticulously for organic ingredients in products. I remember I used to insist on buying only eggs from proven “pastured chickens” (even when they cost $5+ a dozen). I once spent a week washing my face with only purified reverse osmosis water in order to clear up my skin. I used to try and bake Gluten free, or experiment with using only alternative sweeteners in recipes, just for the health benefits I read about.

And then all of this just seems so ridiculously silly in comparison. Gone are the days of being a choosey, conscientious, green hippie; options are definitely more limited now. Plus, the visible reality of the daily lives of many here can quickly put things into perspective. You think twice about what you thought was essential for a happy, healthy life.

I am now simply grateful to have a machine in my house that makes my water drinkable. I am grateful that I live in a neighborhood with lush greenery, where most of the time, the air is relatively clean. I am happy to have a bit of peace and quiet at the end of my day that involves the outdoors, something I savor in this noisy, chaotic city. I am happy that I have found a place to safely run without having to jump over trash piles, wild dogs, or risk falling into a fetid pit. I am simply happy that I get to run, and that maybe thanks to Zorro, there are fewer mosquitoes while I’m out there.