I’m sitting on a Stick-Bug
On a broken chair in our front porch, where one needs to precariously balance one’s weight so as not to have one fall flat on the floor, this fine afternoon, sat a twig. So emaciated was he that it appeared to be a tiny shoot blown away by the consistent gusts, far away from his mother’s perch.
As I was about to sit on this gaunt character, I realized I’m sitting on a stick-bug! Gazing closely, I marveled at Nature’s adaptation and good ol’ Mr. Darwin.
I now believe in Magic
As far as things to do in Vatta goes….
One of the tales going around the café tables is of bison (Indian Gaur) in the forests around us. With un-muted excitement I make elaborate plans with new-found friends of taking long walks up the hills amongst the pine trees and eucalyptus leaves in order to encounter this animal.
A few hours later, as I sip on a fresh cinnamon tea, I catch an unknown shaggy-haired, lungi-clad, fella pointing at me. As soon as he grabs my attention he motions me to follow him urgently; a moment to comprehend what’s going on, and he makes a camera-clicking gesture. I grab and run. And lo and behold! In the middle of the little street, granting my wish stands a resplendent bison!
A scruffy dark coat, horns as long as my arms and pure muscle! The deep grunt made me think of horsepower. I wonder how much force those heavyset shoulders and meaty forelegs could produce. Certainly looked like he could topple over the puny SUV in one push!
Today we walked to the cliff. I stumbled and fell. The pine needles under my feet though, cushioned the blow. It was a beautiful, sunny-in-parts day.
The cliff turned out to be an extravagant sight. A yawning valley appeared to exhale the large mountains which, as they came out, floated farther away in a misty shroud. They seemed to have acquired the chameleon’s trademark; they were green, darker green, blue, grey and pink in the distance. A rivulet ran down the steep in dots of waterfalls and dashes of streams punctuating the grassy green. The clouds were up to their usual theater of perplexity where they oscillate between nothingness and everythingness.
We would add more, in our concluding part, to our story to Vattakanal.