The last
time I saw bees in India was when I was 19 years old. My engineering college
like several others stood right in the middle of a God-forsaken piece of land. The
wild bees built massive hives that hung off precarious edges of the college
buildings, that too within a matter of hours. That’s when we saw how skilled
they really are, putting civil engineers to shame.
As a child,
I remember being let loose in an overgrown garden that was a haven to creepy
crawlies and the (now not so) common garden sparrows. That was perhaps my first
brush against Dame Nature. I spent glorious summer afternoons exploring in the
shade of the lemon tree as the rest of the family snoozed. A child’s curiosity helped
further by the absence of adults led to several discoveries. Wriggly earthworms
that were given shelter in the sand ‘hills’, the grasshopper who jumped against
his will as I gave him chase, the ants that were constantly annoyed to have
their discipline disturbed, the colorful butterflies that were always eluding
my fingers as they skimmed over marigolds and the angry wasp who stung me on
two occasions as I dug through his hole in the coconut tree.
Add to this
the tiny sparrows that were brave enough to hop closer in the hope of finding
bits of grain, green parakeets that often nicked the best guavas and the rare
blue kingfisher who perched on the powerlines ever so fearlessly.
As my formative
years were spent close to the ground, the next decade was spent living within the
pages of several books, along the likes of Enid Blyton. I was transported to the English
countryside. That was the time anything foreign was considered fancy, a time
when we only saw strawberries in picture books, we could only imagine what oak and
maple trees looked like. Ladybugs, beetles, water lilies, honeysuckle,
hedgehogs, blackbirds, hillside cottages and snow were only alive in
imagination.
Fast forward
another decade and a half, my Enid Blyton dreams have come alive, albeit in Holland.
While the country is grey half the year, summer is pure magic. It is almost impossible
to keep life from blossoming. The empty trees now are clad in beautiful green
tunics, ferns and bulbs push through the earth to smell the sweet summer air. Lush
green carpets of grass sprout and tiny wildflowers bravely open their petals
despite trampling feet. Even weeds that grow in cracks blossom into pretty, little
flowers, all awaiting the buzz of the bees. Like this isn’t sufficient, every
garden, every balcony and every windowsill overflows with flowers of every
shade and shape possible.
Back home, as
our cities take over forests and turn into concrete jungles, the Hague has its
own artificial forest, a space filled with solitude, peace and dog poo - part
of the natural experience, I suppose. Every neighbourhood is blessed with at least a
few yards of nothingness that acts as a harbor for insects which, we now
understand are the beginnings of the food chain. Even as biologists worldwide clamor
to revive bees, most developed as well as developing nations seem to
concentrate only on reviving their economies at the expense of nature.
Holland is
a happy and robust picture of healthy outdoors. The bee population alone has
observed a spike of almost 45% since 2000. The efforts of the government in
banning insecticides and planting native wildflowers along the highways,
railway tracks and even on top of bus stops has paid off. Spotted ladybugs in red,
yellow and orange hues bask in the sunshine filled gardens, grasshoppers and frogs
hop about in my shady backyard, butterflies flit in and out as they deem right
and the drone of bees has become a constant.
This multitude
of insects brings birds to houses. People help by taking active interest in nature
and gardening. Most houses sport bird houses, bird baths and insect hotels. Sparrows
and tits are aplenty as are the magpies and robins. They come at dawn break to
gobble sleepy little insects and present us with a lovely waking-up concert.
Afternoons are reserved for blackbirds that sit just above reach in the dark
shade of the trees, singing in their piercing, yet beautiful voices. As evening
stretches into night, we sometimes see a mud brown bird with a brilliant teal
tail, that has been nicknamed as “we-don’t-know” bird by my daughter.
Like
typical NRI parents, our vacations are always in India for our daughter to
spend quality time with the extended family. And it can’t be more different
there. Honking has replaced calls of birds. The motor sound has driven away the
buzz of bees. Every inch of available space is being scaled up to become buildings.
The human presence asserts itself raucously, just about everywhere. The only
insects that have learnt to live with our devious ways are mosquitoes that come
in hordes at sunset, frightening the daylights out of everyone. Not to forget
the midnight visitors - the cockroaches that feast on filth.
While the
kids of my friends are mini scientists, I wonder if they have ever been left to
discover nature the way many of us did. Do they know the feeling of running through dewy grass early in the morning? The feel of velvety moss? The flutter of
butterfly wings on your nose when you get too close to it? The thrill of
plucking Crossandra flowers and tasting the nectar in its bulging end? It is
disheartening to think that the average city-bred toddler in India is a
stranger to these sensations.
When I see Dutch
children, I realize how in tune with nature they are. They run unhindered and
barefooted through grass and scalding sand. They make bouquets of wildflowers.
Collecting shells, pine-cones and autumn leaves are favorite activities. Feeding
the obese ducks in the canals is a national pastime. Biking through photogenic cycling
routes and picnicking in fields of tulips and daffodils is another adventure. These
are simple pleasures of life that the Dutch children are constantly exposed to,
which in turn make them respect and conserve nature as adults.
Even as
most four-year-olds attend online lessons, Ira and I spend our days in the
backyard or taking long walks, stopping by to smell flowers, marvel at insects
and blow dandelions. Should I spend this time teaching her alphabets and numbers?
Perhaps. But I prefer to make our way outdoors while the sun shines.
And then, despite the Corona virus the world still seems like a happy place.
