As I think about the insects

Photo: Orchid Chakma

The time I clapped my hands to kill the bothersome mosquito, I began to ponder on life. 

The flowers bloom. Bees sting but they dribble the nectar of flowers indulging in the sheer sweetness and produce sweet honey. People are like bees. They sting. They leave scars. Sometimes, illness conquers our entire body. At times, sweetness pours. But at what cost? 

Do humans steal honey? Or is this our birth right? Bees lose their home and jet away to a destination far, far away from their lost abode. We indulge in honey while the bees provide labour. Their rightful production, it was. After all, honey would not ever benefit them. We pour honey on pancakes. Bees buzz around our ears. What are they trying to say? When I was a little girl, I learned from television that bees have five eyes. The two large eyes acting as a compound for the smaller lens residing inside. They are silent till they relentlessly buzz around our ears. Yet, we can never comprehend them.

Ants on a bowl of sugar
Photo: Orchid Chakma

What does a mosquito see when we clap our hands to crush them? Do they sense a shadow lingering over them? Insects are perceived to be insignificant creatures; birthed to smash, flick, and degrade. Bigger figures stomp on smaller ones proposing sheer blindness mercilessly. Suffocated by the weight, insects soon die out surrendering to their eventual fate called demise. Their acceleration of mobility becomes overpowered by those who are overhead. 

I have seen men stomping over the small abode crafted by the ants. I have also seen a line of ants picking up a crystal of sugar in unison. When something succulent, saccharine, and saturated announces occupation of an area, cockroaches, ants, and their battalion join in devouring the small space of delicacy. They might seem greedy but their desperation exceeds their greed. 

Sometimes, men are afraid of insects, particularly flying insects. You hear a screech and you become baffled when they freeze in terror of a flying cockroach. Yet, the insect is killed with indifference. It is as if they were fated to be killed by those superior to them. 

Life is a battle among the insects and the swatters. If the insects do not escape within a blink, that is, if they are not quick enough, they absolutely will meet their death. Survival of the fittest: this is what life is in practical rapports.

Ayra Areeba Abid's favourite word is 'serendipity' and she's a sociology geek. Connect with her at [email protected]


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