A Few Monkey Tales
I love monkeys but from a distance. Here are some real-life incidents featuring monkeys from the hills and the coast.
Pollachi
Visiting the town for a wedding, we had plenty of time on our hands the day before the event. We went to the Masani Amman Temple, known for its rituals involving red chillies, and to Aliyar dam. We climbed to a point from where we could see the still water of the dam, bounded by dry, craggy hills. Endless coconut groves stretched out on the other side.
Somewhere on the way, we stopped at the rather unimaginatively named Monkey Falls. There must be a lot of monkeys around, but we’ll hold on to our phones and leave our bags in the safety of the car. What can they do to us then, we thought disdainfully.
We paddled briefly in the water that gathered in pools near the falls. With the sun beating down on our backs and the falls really only a trickle, we weren’t inclined to stay there very long and returned to our cab. B. got into the back of the car from one side, and I got in behind the driver. G. was walking behind us.
Suddenly, B. screamed. I looked up to find a monkey perched on top of the seat in front of her, staring solemnly into her face. Reader, I acted in a cowardly manner. I jumped out of the car, abandoning B. to her fate. In my defence, I’m not sure if I’d have been of much use inside the car anyway.
These people are stupid, the monkey seemed to think, nonchalantly occupying its perch as we laughed nervously and struggled to act and displayed none of its cool arrogance. The driver continued to sit at the wheel, unflustered, chiding it mildly so it would leave. In response, it simply shifted to the bonnet to glare at us, before hopping off to newer pastures. But you can be sure that we never got into the car again without checking for the presence of our cousins first.
Thiruporur
One afternoon, waiting for someone near the Kandaswamy temple on the outskirts of Chennai, we perched on a platform under a tree. The day was hot and humid, of course, and whole families of monkeys scampered around. They were well-behaved on the whole, but had a tendency to surprise you as they scrambled up a branch overhead or showed up if you so much as dared to pull out anything resembling food.
Bored, G. and my father wandered around the place, while my mother and I sat in the shade. Now both G. and my father are in the habit of sneaking in on you, tapping your head or your shoulder and showing up on the other side. So when someone clasped my hand, which was tucked under my elbow and stuck out by my side, I turned, all prepared to find G. there.
Instead, I looked into a monkey’s eyes and set a personal record for reflexes. I pulled my hand out of its gentle clasp and was a good distance away before I turned again. I saw the startled thing walk away quietly; it was a mother, with a baby on its back. It was gone before any of us could react, while the locals barely batted an eyelid. I was sorry for my behaviour, but I couldn’t do a thing, except to decide to be more kind in general. (I sometimes unconsciously apologise to animals — most recently to a goat, when it wandered into an area marked for rubbish and my discarded paper cup grazed its nose. I felt silly immediately after, but they must understand in some manner?)
Mahabalipuram
This incident is very similar to the one above, in that a monkey put its hand out for something unexpectedly. Only, in this case, the monkey barged in with a sense of entitlement, with none of the grace of the one from Thiruporur.
We were resting in the shelter of a grove just past the lighthouse, opposite the reclining Vishnu sculpture in the Mahabalipuram complex. We had walked a lot and were down to our last two bottles of water. As we lounged on the rocks, an eye open all the time for the monkeys that ruled the area, one of the creatures crept up on M. from behind him and pounced at his bottle of water. Not knowing what hit him, M. yelled and tossed the bottle up in the air; the monkey promptly caught it and proceeded to drink up the water, then tossed the bottle aside and went on its way. You can never be prepared for a monkey.
Chennai
You really can never be prepared for a monkey. For monkeys to show up in a tourist place is one thing, but they wreak a different kind of havoc in residential areas.
My father walked into the bedroom one morning to pick up something from the cupboard. Seeing him stop in his tracks, as if petrified, my mother followed.
There, on the double-bed, were two monkeys which had sneaked in from the balcony. One of them, having pulled off the cover from a pillow and fit it on its head like a cap, was jumping on the bed. The other was still trying to figure out how to get the cover on its pillow off. High up in this apartment, a pair of monkeys was the last thing my parents expected to find in their bedroom. However, my father soon regained his presence of mind and sent the duo packing.
I’ve seen monkeys turn the yard in my grandmother’s house upside down and sneak into rooms uninvited. I’ve seen them grab things from people or just scare them for larks — always fun when it happens to other people. But this picture, of monkeys trying on pillow covers for size, had just never occurred to my limited imagination. I wouldn’t mind a repeat, preferably when I’m visiting.
Bonus tip: If you live in a place where monkeys don’t enrich your lives, your best option might be a Kite Festival and a suitable kite.
