The Firebrigade squad in a beehive

Thirsty neighbors beg for a sip of water. The surroundings are almost on fire. The temperature in shade
is 46 degree Celsius. Everything is on fire. It's matter of fight or perish for the honeybee hive in the
marua and wild rose thicket around the compound wall.
As it happens everywhere, the bravest take up the challenge and volunteer to keep the chances alive by
collecting water. So the “water collector” bees scout for some water source. In this case it happens to be
some buckets left around our tap and faucet in the yard corner. I started to keep a bucket of water all
day to help them in this struggle for survival but found that quite a lot were drowning in their extra
effort to retrieve water. So I tried my level best to keep the water full to the brim so that they perch on
the edges and take sips. Even this wasn't helping much though, so now I have put a cloth on the bucket.
They sip on the moisture and there is less risk of drowning. So as of now they seem to like the water
source and give a happy, excited buzz to slurp up as much as possible. Just imagine the scale of the fight
to survive. These water couriers fly back to the scorched hive and regurgitate water so that the bees
there suck it up. The latter in turn spit it out over the hive. All this is to cool it down.
As per the intangible laws of the existential forces, the water collector bees come to know and detect
the problem when the colony is under the threat of scorching, killing heat. Water collectors are the
itinerant types. The adventurers. They are extroverts and don't lie lazily when the brood-nest in under
threat of heat. They are just on the look-out for water deficit symptoms and straightaway start
collecting water to maintain the hive's temperature
This seems to be lesser sacrifice as the bees are even known to commit suicide to save the colony from
dangerous mites.
Researchers have found that when it becomes unbearable under extreme heat, the worker bees start
soliciting by “walking up to the face of another bee, contacting the bee's antennae with her own and
then extending her tongue between the mouthparts of the other bee.”
This distressed water seeking puts the water collectors into action. So they scout for a suitable water
source and get busy in water-retrieval efforts to manage the hive’s temperature. All this of course is
done to maintain their survival as honeybees collectively, not as individuals. They lessen the
temperature below the deadly threshold which can dehydrate the bee larvae thus killing them.
Researchers have found that the effort to survive is never enough for them. Apart from the water which
gets spread over the hive, some extra cautious and wise honeybees stockpile additional moisture in the
brood comb. And to take it further on the scale of management, some of them store water in their

bellies. Their life and living is at the collective level unlike us.

Little winged tools of cosmic love-making

Let them live! They are Nature's love-making means to self-sustaining procreation through pollination. They share the bond between two flowers eager to meet, love, create flower and fruits. These little winged Adam and eves are the Angels of creation. Their buzzing sings the song of love and procreation. Their flights symbolize the dancing of two flowers eager to brush against each other, pining to pollinate and procreate. Look deeply into nature. This is the same energy following countless pathways. And love and procreation hums deeply at the cosmic frequency.
PS: These are honeybees and yellow wasps, unnecessarily ill-famed for giving bulbous swollen noses and lips to humans. If you don't mean to be an intruder they are unmindful of your presence, like mine just a couple of feet away. Even the angriest of them always follows the rules of the game, never attack till attacked. So even if an angry one happens to perch on your nose, it won't bite unless you get panicked, and transfer your fear to the tiny helicopter on your nose by taking a swipe at it. Then it becomes a question of flight versus fight scenario. Even in forests animals basically attack only after our panic gets hurled at them through our scared eyes. It lets loose a tiny chaotic storm in the tea cup which may result in swollen lips, bloody screeches on skin or even the end to dear life.

The sad love story of a lonely hoopoe

Insistent, persistent, adamant and brave. The lonely Romeo. Apart from my mind's own inconsequential blabbering with its own self, I hear this hoopoe's mate song almost with the frequency of thoughts in mind. He is relentless. Going on and on for the last two weeks. Hope he hasn't forgotten to eat in his mad song of love to attarct some female of the species. Hoopoes are almost gone from the area. Where is wood, so where will they do their master carpentry in tree trunks. There are hardly any flocks left. It's a lonely bird who wants to keep his species alive at any cost. Hidden in the foliage of this acacia he is busy with love song in this heat. The song of love which may reach some stray female  to allow the natural chemistry to take place and delay their tragic story of extinction from the area for some more time. It's lyrical, pining uuup, uuup, uuup is riding the dusty air of wheat harvesting season. They are hardly seen in this part. In fact I had forgotten its sound. Then its lovely sad notes reached me in meditation and some long asleep memory drew a picture of hoopoe in the blank vastness reminding me of those childhood days when we were lucky to see them going tonk tonk on big tree trunks. So that's how the tragic stories of bird extinction unfolding. But these are not just the desperate love notes of a lonely bird. These are the sad stories told by the last of their generation here in this part. Let's hope some lonely lady hoopoe comes to hear these mate-finding notes.
Contrary to weeks long day in and day out songs of love by this lonely bird, humans are having gala time. Bred as we have with the tenacity of antswarms. So there is hardly any fight. Mates available. People pick up mates with the drop of a hat. Relationships last in weeks because there are humans and humans around. Spoilt for choice are we humans. Instragram, dating sites, Facebook, twitter everything is saturated with choice for a mate fling. People hardly come to feel the depth of love. It's short version twenty twenty of love. Hit sixes and fours, grab your trophy and start new innings.
Isn't it ironical that only animals and birds appear to carry the message of love these days. This hoopoe for example. Can somebody show this type of lyrical dedication for weeks in all this heat. Well, it makes me sad and happy at the same time. Sad because love seems to have vanished from the world of humans. Happy that I am at least lucky to see and hear these love tales in nature.

Thirsty honeybees in flowerless land

Scorching heat... spring died...flowers withered. But life has to continue till flowers bloom once again. With temperature around 40 and flowers gone, these honeybees look like desert travellers busy around an oasis. Water level in the tiny vessel was low, so many of them slipped down the edges while attempting to take tiny swigs of water. One can use love, care and help in any corner of the world. It polishes the aesthetics of humanity. A little practice to be more human. Goodness is qualitative in nature. It doesn't need quantity to get certified as a good deed. Main thing is one's emotion. So here I take my quantum jump in evolution by filling the bucket to the brim so that these little thirsty visitors safely perch on the upper edge and drink water without risking their lives. They get water, I become more aware of the godliness in me. Profit both ways. Vaah, what a fruitful day!

The death of a moth

The Moth's last sigh. It moves today like it fluttered yesterday. The only difference is that yesterday its littlest ounce of consciousness was put inside this tiny miligram of a shape. Today but that ounce of consciousness has spread to become part of everything. The matter now moves to the force of everything around. Transition from life to matter. Here flutters the moth corpse to free wind. Yesterday exactly at this time I saw it crawling on the floor. Little did I realise that it was on its death bed. Now it becomes part of everything to take its consciousness at this frequency on the further march of evolution of consciousness just like species have evolved at the level of biology, at the level of matter. Matter and consciousness both evolve. There are parallels. We just need to be aware of it. And it becomes a very much realisable process.