Melvin Durai
One of the worst aspects of the coronavirus pandemic is that we’re not supposed to have visitors in our homes. Indeed, it’s been several weeks since my wife and I had any guest in our home and I’m really starting to miss them. I’m so desperate for company that the other day, while sitting in my kitchen, I had a long conversation with a couple of ants.
Also Read
Me: “Hey guys, nice to see you. Can you stay a while? Would you like a little sugar?”
First ant: “We’d better get out of here. Something doesn’t seem right.”
Me: “Don’t leave so soon. What’s the hurry? Would you like some honey instead? How about gulab jamun? It’s an Indian sweet.”
Second ant: “You’re right: he’s a psycho. Let’s get out of here.”
Me: “Do you two have a big family? You know, if you came back with eight other ants, you could stay here forever. I’d be the landlord and you’d be my ten ants.”
I tried to be friendly, but the ants didn’t stick around for long, and I had to spend the rest of my day chatting with my houseplants. I began with my pothos, also known as a money plant.
Me: “You look very green today.”
Pothos: “And you look very brown today.”
Me: “Are you thirsty? Can I get you something to drink?”
Pothos: “Beer would be nice.”
Me: “Beer? Aren’t you underage?”
Pothos: “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Me: “Okay, I’ll try to sneak you a few drops from my glass.”
Pothos: “Just spill some accidentally on me. That’s how I got my first taste of beer. One of your guests had too much to drink, and as a result, I had too much to drink.”
Me: “Did you get drunk?”
Pothos: “Yes, I think so. It was really weird.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Pothos: “I had these weird thoughts. I imagined that I had been transplanted into a garden bed outside. And I woke up with a strange plant in my bed. It had its vines and tendrils all over me and I didn’t even know its name. I kept screaming, ‘Leaf me alone.'”
I spoke to all my plants, but some were more communicative than others. If you never talk to plants, you may be surprised to learn that it’s actually good for them. About a decade ago, the Royal Horticultural Society (RHS) of Britain conducted an experiment and found that tomato plants grow two inches taller when they hear women’s voices compared to men’s.
“We predicted that the male voice would be more effective but it turned out that the ladies were far better than the gentlemen,” Colin Crosbie, garden superintendent at RHS, told the Daily Telegraph. “We just don’t know why. It could be that they have a greater range of pitch and tone that affects the sound waves that hit the plant. Sound waves are an environmental effect just like rain or light.”
My plants don’t seem to mind that I have a low-pitched voice. They just enjoy the attention. But please don’t get the idea that I talk to them often. It’s usually just a few words here and there, but being stuck at home with no visitors has made me engage in all sorts of conversations.
Me: “Come on, pants, why are you so tight today?”
Pants: “It’s the damn dryer’s fault.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Pants: “It got too hot in there. Everybody knows that heat makes you shrink. That’s why people are shorter in places where it’s hotter.”
Me: “Is that really true?”
Pants: “Yeah, I read it in Pants Digest.”
In case you’re wondering, I spoke to a psychologist and she said that it’s perfectly normal to have all sorts of conversations during the pandemic, whether you’re talking to ants, pants or plants.
