What does wildlife look like inside the city’s concrete confines? 🤔

Smitha loves to cycle. Her usual morning routine consists of a 20 km ride along the East Coast Road with her friend, Suman. She loves the sensation of the sea breeze caressing her, gently ruffling her hair as she speeds along the road. On the weekends, she starts early to enjoy the tranquil sunrise at the end of the ride.

It’s Tuesday, and at 5:15 a.m., Smitha grudgingly wakes up to the sound of her alarm. Still half-asleep, she drags herself out of bed and tiptoes toward the bathroom, careful not to wake her roommate, who is fast asleep in their shared room at the women-only hostel. After splashing cold water on her face, she glances at her reflection in the mirror, hoping to look more awake than she feels. Moving swiftly in the darkness, she gets dressed, grabs her backpack, slips on her shoes, and quietly leaves the room. Gently closing the door behind her, Smitha makes her way through the dimly lit corridors and down the stairs, heading toward the veranda where her bicycle is parked.

Downstairs on the veranda, Smitha’s black and yellow bicycle stands brightly amid the others. Despite the veranda being large, there’s still no room to comfortably park her cycle. She checks her watch as she walks toward her bike that is cramped against the others. She smiles—its 05:30 a.m. now, and she is on track to meet Suman at their usual spot, in another 15 minutes. As she bends to unlock her cycle, her eyes widen in fear, and she jumps back, startled—nearly losing her balance.

Her gaze is drawn to a vibrant chameleon perched on her bicycle, its skin shifting in unsettling hues of red and brown. As she watches, a shiver races down her spine, a sensation like a thousand tiny ants skittering across her skin. The creature’s eyes, unblinking and ever-watchful, seem to lock onto her. She can’t shake the feeling that it was sizing her up, calculating the perfect moment to leap.

Smitha steps back, trying to regain her senses, but anxiety crashes over her like a wave. The chameleon’s unsettling gaze lingers in her mind as she realises Suman would have already started towards their spot. She knows there’s no changing their plans now. Her only choice is to muster up the courage to face the situation.

She slowly edges closer to the bicycle, her breath shallow. She stretches her hand out toward the far end of the back tire, her body angling awkwardly as she keeps her torso as far away from the chameleon as possible. In one quick motion, she rattles her bicycle and scrambles backward, hoping that the sudden shake will send the creature scurrying away. However, the chameleon doesn’t budge.

Too fearful to get closer again, she scans her surroundings for anything that might help. Her eyes darted towards an old wooden stick lying on the veranda, resembling a pole used to fetch items from high places. Picking it up, she inspects it. “This will do,” she thinks to herself. With a cautious glance towards the chameleon, she puts some distance between her and the bicycle while gripping the stick tightly. She reaches out the stick, carefully rattling the bicycle frame once again. The bicycle shuddered on impact but the chameleon remains unmoved.

She is running out of options, desperation took over. As a last resort, she drops the stick and pulls a water bottle from her bag, while eyeing the chameleon perching on her bicycle. Twisting the cap off, she positions herself at an angle and hurls the water towards the creature. As the droplets hit the floor, she realises that her aim has missed. She stares with disbelief at the wet floor and her now empty bottle as frustration engulfs her. Despite all the efforts, the creature doesn’t budge an inch, leaving Smitha feel helpless.

The sunlight has barely begun to break through the sky, making it difficult to find someone to help her this early in the morning. As disappointment sets in, she decides to give up on her situation. With an audible exhale, she pulls out her phone from the small pouch of her bag and calls her friend, Suman.

“Hello, Hi, Uh…”, she mumbles nervously on the phone. Suman, who has already arrived, picks up the call and listens to her intently as she explains her unfortunate situation. “I…I’m stuck here with a chameleon on my bicycle. It won’t move, and I’m kind of freaking out.”

Smitha can hear his laughter over the phone. “Try to hit it with the stick, I’ll wait.” he says, while muffling his laughter.

She tries to protest, “But… But… I tried everything!”

He waves off her concerns and insists her to come. “You’ll figure it out, I’ll wait for you to come.” Without waiting for an answer, he disconnects.

“What will I do if that-thing climbs the stick and attacks me?” she sighs, staring at her now-disconnected-phone with concern etched on her face.

Determined, Smitha picks up the stick once again. “Time to be brave,” she reassures herself. This time, she is aiming the stick directly at the chameleon. With a deep inhale, she points the stick ahead, aiming at the animal, praying it doesn’t leap onto her stick. But alas! She misses the first time she ties to prod, the stick barely touching the air above the chameleon. As frustration builds up, she resets her aim and tries to prod again. This time, she successfully hits the Chameleon. And Lo! To her surprise, the chameleon simply scurries away instead of attacking her.

Relief washes over her, followed by a wave of exhilaration. Smitha lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The chameleon vanishes into the concrete jungle, leaving her bicycle free at last. She can hardly believe that this was resolved so simply.

With a triumphant smile, she steps closer to her bike, ready to reclaim her plans for the day. Carefully, she pulls the bicycle out from the narrow space where it had been wedged between two others, adjusting its handlebars to avoid scraping the neighbouring cycles. Once free, she gleefully mounts her bicycle and heads off to meet Suman.

Life isn’t so hard after all.

— The End —