A few days back, a friend shared a hilarious write up about her encounter with a frog that appeared in her home as if from nowhere despite the locked doors and the netting to boot. After much thought, as also googling, on how best to get it to leave for the great outdoors (Hint: Take a broom and gently guide it towards the door!), she chose the best possible option. Gently stepping into her bedroom, she decisively closed the door behind her, and went promptly to sleep.

Reading it took me back to my own frog-moments from the past. some of which I have already shared here at Shail’s Nest. Like the time my darling Luci brought one in from the garden, securely hidden in her cavernous mouth, and lovingly laid it at my feet. You can imagine what happened next. If your imagination fails you, you can always follow the link and read all about it firsthand.

The exact memory that came to mind when I read my friend’s post goes way far back than that, to a time when I was still in my twenties. My parents had moved to a picturesque village in North Kerala after father’s retirement. We lived in an old double storied house with wooden rafters and tiled roof, that looked upon stretches of paddy fields. There were all kinds of trees surrounding it, like mango, coconut, drumstick, papaya, banana, and if I am not mistaken, mistaken a couple of arecanut trees too. It was all so beautiful.

But… (Believe me, there will always be that ‘but’ butting in when things are really good)

The place abounded with tree frogs. They were tiny and pink and slimy. *Shudder* What’s more the bulbous black eyes which made up three-fourths of their face was the kind that gave you nightmares.

Come nightfall and they would crawl out from behind picture frames and sit stuck to the wall, staring down at you. They also chose to perch strategically at the edge of tubs or cement tanks filled with water. You see, the house did not have piped water supply. So the sinks and washrooms usually had stored water with a mug thrown in. I bet the watchammacallits thought it was the modern version of a pond made specially for them by humans.

Now, I am all for nature thriving, tree frogs included. I draw the line at them intruding on my personal space, especially so when the dumb chums indulge in jumping on unsuspecting humans as a sport. What the heck! Imagine sitting on the pot in the washroom and having something cold and clammy jump on your neck scaring you shitless. Pun intended.

You guessed right. I was terrified of using the toilet. Each time I wanted to use one, I would first open the door slowly, and peep in cautiously to check if the coast was clear, and only when I was assured it was a frog-free world would I gingerly step in, do my business and then run for my life. The wily frogs of course have fooled me more than once, hiding in the shadows of the rafters and jumping on me, making me bring down the roof on more occasions than one.

Whenever I found one of them sitting meditatively on the edge of the water tub, I ran back inside (the toilet was outside the main house), and begged mother to come and chase it away for me. Mother is a no-nonsense kind of person and a Jhansi ki Rani (a Braveheart) when it comes to all kinds of creepy crawlies. You’d think that would be a good thing for daughters, right? Wrong. She refused to put her ‘gift’ to good use helping out her scared child, umm… well, woman if you insist.

“Don’t be daft!” she’d say scornfully. “It’s just a harmless frog!”

Harmless? It’s always the perspective, people. One woman’s poison is another’s whatever. Harmless for her, but extremely fearful for me. Let me emphasise that. EXTREMELY FEARFUL. But unless she was in a really magnanimous mood, which was rarely, she’d disdainfully decline assistance in evicting the offending intruder. I’d then have to resort to trying to chase the damn thing with a long-handled broom, with the accompaniment of suppressed screams (from me naturally), and deriding laughter (from mother).

And then months later, one fine day, the First Born made his appearance. I was now a new mother, taking care of her newborn. The tree-frogs and other creepy crawlies still scared me. But things took a surprising turn.

One day I saw one of the slimiest of them perched on top of the door to the bedroom where my baby was sleeping. Without a second thought, I quickly got the broom and much to mother’s astonishment (and also amusement!), I chased the damn thing out of the room, and the house. Take that, and that and that! How dare you come, near my baby! I had never felt, or acted, braver in my life.

“What a transformation motherhood brings about!” mother remarked. I don’t know about that, because if I see one now, I’d call that very First Born for help in case he is around. But there is no need of that right now because his dad, my Lord & Master, is around for all kind of creepy-crawlies related emergencies. 😉

©️ Shail Mohan 2025