Agamas either creep or scamper, not just literally but also in the canvas on one’s vision… appearing in one corner of the eye and then scampering to the other as if being playful… penning this on a winter morning, one can empathize with their never ending quest for sunshine, the fate of all poikilotherms… you’ll need less food to survive but then you’ll always be cold, and keep succumbing to lethargy sans the yellow star… being cold-blooded is resource-efficient, although being warm-blooded is more effective, yet both co-exist, never managing to dominate the other in a cosmos where entropy continues to flummox and fascinate in equal measure…
There’s something endearing about the way agamas subsist, something relatable… stuck in the middle… compelled to predate while staving off its own predators… much like the middle class, distancing itself from the bottom of the pyramid while being distanced from the top… the extremes of a food chain or an economy may have a clear sense of purpose but are characterized by loneliness, while those in the middle, the burgeoning bourgeoise, mill around in each other’s company yet remain haunted by existential melancholies… agamas bask in the sun because they have to, even if it means risking catching the eye of a raptor hovering above… the average Joe navigates existence wondering which part of the sum he is, till the realization dawns that ‘tis a zero sum game to begin with anyway…
We were spending time acclimatizing to the Tethyan upheavals of Markha Valley in Ladakh, pining to climb a peak at the head of the valley… camping at Skiu village with some time to kill in the afternoon, I went out to the riverside, mulling over these mountains racing to the sky with little more than mud in their arsenal… a flash of orange scuttled across the riverbed before disappearing into a crack, but leaving enough tail behind to give itself away…
Turned out to be a pair of Himalayan agamas out for a session of basking, and seemingly irate at my unsolicited infringements… I tried keeping my distance but not to their satisfaction as they kept slaloming around bushes and rocks, pausing for a moment in the sun now and then, letting me get a few shots in…
While my arguments correlating the population of geckos with that of mosquitoes and spiders around the house get little acceptance domestically, their discoveries mostly succeeded by shrieks and broomsticks, out here the Reptilia basks free, unencumbered by the baggage of Herpetophobia… the sun now poised to go behind the mountains, it seemed discourteous to keep pestering the creatures, so one headed back down the dusty road, stalking some butterflies enroute to the camp…
Musing on Himalayan agamas, Markha Valley, Ladakh
