So we’ve managed to change the microclimate of our roof balcony, simply by introducing a few lampshades. And then there was light…and some creatures profit whilst others suffer, and all under our watch.
Last night this grasshopper, a black beast of a creature, at least by grasshopper standards, appeared with a snapping of the legs on our balcony, and proceeded to pay homage to the lamp. Now I thought it was only moths who have this unfaltering obsession with light, but it seems grasshoppers also can’t help but throw themselves towards it.
As soon as Saroj saw, or rather heard the grasshopper, that was it, our evening on the terrace was over; she escaped to the bedroom and would only peer round the door to plead with me to get rid of it. I actually really like grasshoppers-I must have chased and picked up hundreds over the years in France. I feel bad thinking back to the times I used to catch them just so I could feed them to the huge spiders that lived in our cellar under the house, wrong I know, who says we have any right to distort the natural order of things? And yet here it was happening all over again; a cruel sense of deja-vu.
The grasshopper hurled himself into the glass covering that encased the lamp, bouncing off it with a dull thud. That’s got to hurt, I thought, as I prepared myself to rid the flat of yet another bug. This seems to be one of main roles I have taken on; anything that moves, Saroj will scream and run a mile, then it’s down to me to catch it and throw it over the wall-cue relief and praise for being ‘brave’, so it’s not a bad deal really, considering most of them are harmless.
This time however, the grasshopper was a big lad; about the size of both your thumbs put together, and jet black. But I wasn’t so concerned about his size, just the fact he had a long, curved tail, which, fair enough the ones in Europe also possess, but this is India, where things are a little different. So, you could say I was a little apprehensive about picking him up, just in case. But what about ridding the flat of this dangerous villain, I hear you cry, and gaining the hand of the fair (and lovely) maiden? As it turned out, help was at hand.
Whilst I was weighing up my options, sizing up my opponent, another creature enter the fray. Out of the corner of my eye, on the wall opposite the grasshopper, a gecko moved silently, stopping when he reached a flower pot on the floor. There was purpose, method in his movements. Hang on, I thought, something’s going down here. So I’m watching the gecko, trying not to move and frighten him off, whilst he’s watching the grasshopper, also trying to stay still to avoid detection, and then finally there’s the grasshopper himself, quite literally blinded by the light.
In the calm before the storm, I carefully sit back down and watch nature take effect. Far be it for me to meddle with the survival of the fittest, even if it was our light that lured the grasshopper here in the first place. The gecko is smart; he doesn’t come out into the open at the risk of exposing himself, but skirts around the side of the balcony, using our plants as an effective shield, before doubling back on himself so that he is now just a few metres away from his target, who again crashes headlong into the lampshade.
The grasshopper jumps once more, and, as it lands on its side, quick as a flash, the gecko has darted forward and grabbed the grasshopper up in its mouth, clamping strong jaws tight over the black, writhing body. Seeing them both close up the gecko's move was ballsy; he's not even that much bigger than the grasshopper! The gecko’s pale green body is longer but the grasshopper certainly looks the fatter of the two. This could get interesting!
The grasshopper’s legs are all over the place, trying desperately to get a hold of something, anything. Sensing this, the gecko runs up the nearest wall, perhaps hoping to gain an advantage by this. His motive soon becomes clear, as with one vicious flick of his neck, he brings the grasshopper’s head crashing into the wall. The grasshopper however, whose head and torso resemble body armour, has been charging headfirst into the lamp all evening, so this move does little to debilitate him.
This epic battle of miniature proportions rages on. It seems an impasse has been reached. The gecko keeps trying to knock the grasshopper out, whilst the grasshopper refuses to give in. The gecko knows it cannot drop the grasshopper, whose legs are still a blur of frantic movement, but having no teeth or size advantage, it cannot hurt the grasshopper sufficiently to take control.
The struggles affect both creatures, who at times pause, recover their strength, then begin again, but the gecko’s mouth remains firmly clamped around the grasshopper throughout. However, as the grasshopper seems unaffected by the gecko’s hostility, there may be no way for the gecko to succeed in his ambitious plan. Just as I’m about to declare it an honourable draw, pull them apart and lets all go home, the gecko delivers his masterstroke.
First the gecko positions himself so he is looking directly upwards, taking a firm hold of the wall with his web-like feet. Then, summoning all his strength, he brings the grasshopper’s head down against the wall three times in quick succession, somehow moving his prey round so that after the third blow he opens his mouth wide, retracts his jaw, and forces THE HEAD OF THE GRASSHOPPER into his mouth.
Once the grasshopper is in this position, upside-down in the gecko’s mouth, there is very little it can do. Obviously its legs are still working furiously to push against the gecko, but all leverage and fight seems to have gone out of it. Imagine being head first inside another living thing as they try to swallow the rest of your body. Not a pleasant thought.
Yet you could still see the grasshopper struggling. The gecko's bulging mouth moved in contorted ways; the outline of a leg would push against it, wildly, recklessly as the grasshopper made one last ditch attempt to save himself, but it was not to be. What started out as a nice quiet night for the grasshopper quickly escalated into the joy of discovering that hypnotic, pure white light, only to end in despair as the predatory gecko took full advantage of the lamp. Our lamp.
Slowly, inevitably, horribly, those long, black legs slid into the gecko's hungry mouth, and just like that, the grasshopper was no more.
The gecko seemed a little unsure of what to do next It must be strange with no teeth to break down your food, especially when they are almost as big as you and still alive inside your stomach, what would you do? We half expected the gecko to fall off the wall with all that extra weight suddenly thrust inside him, but finally, after a few tentative steps, having made the mother of all kills, he waddled off into the night, surely one very, very, happy bunny. In a perverse, morbid sense, I was also glad to have witnessed such a kill take place right there in front of me.
It was like having my very own David Attenborough moment.
Where to begin? Four glorious, adrenaline (and alcohol) fuelled days on the stunning Snow Leopard beach camp by the mighty Ganga river. Mountains steeped in dense, lush greenery all around, sand underfoot, and out in front, the hungry, constant flow of the Ganga, yards from our tent. The camp lies on a bend of the river, giving an unparalleled view upstream to your left, (where the hazy mist would roll down the valley at dusk), before the Ganga sweeps past you away to the right at a 'rapid' pace, its strong currents visible from the beach.
I wasn't prepared for the sheer thrill of rafting, the buzz you get in that split-second after paddling as hard as possible towards a raging wall of water, before you realise, 'uh oh, we're not going to make this', and all of a sudden you're submerged under the raft and everything goes eerily silent, only the gurgle of water around you before the life-jacket forces you back up into the swirling chaos and mass of water puling you this way and that, before, 'where's the raft, are they rocks?' goes through your mind then suddenly something's tapping your arm and it's your mate holding out his oar desperately trying to reach out to you and FINALLY, after what seems like forever but what was probably just a few seconds you're back in control, holding onto the overturned raft and shouting and whooping with satisfaction over what just happened!
Add to this, cliff-jumping, gorge-scrambling, kayaking, waterfalls, walking through the forests, volleyball and 'Ganga Panga' on the beach (I really liked that game!), and you only begin to scratch the surface of the action side of the trip. If you loved all things natural, this was the place for you!
The Snow Leopard camp, and all the staff there made for the most perfect venue and occasion for non-stop action and serious amounts of fun. A special mention on how good the guys working there were: led by Asta, our team of raft instructors and water enthusiasts made sure the rafting and other water-related activity was not only thrilling and varied but also safe. Planning and preparation were the key to this, and I’ve never seen someone move so fast as to jump back on the rafts and pull the non-swimmers out of the water-impressive stuff Raju! So thank you for keeping a watchful eye on us on the rapids and in the river by the camp, you have my upmost respect.
Lastly, the reason I think the trip was so special was down to every single person. When the youngest and the oldest members of the party are two of the most fun you know it's going to be good. So many interesting characters and personalities; such enthusiasm, energy and warmth from genuine people who looked out for one another and were willing to go out of their way to ensure Ganga Panga was such a memorable experience.
