Bandying about with Blue Bees
They’re the bee’s knees
I want it to rain. That’s odd, considering that two weeks ago when it was raining continuously, I badly wanted it to go away and take the miserable grey weather with it. I guess the focal term is ‘continuously’; too much of a good thing is bad.
I want to hear the sudden crash of heavy raindrops pummeling into the ground, the shrr-rr-rr they make while darting between leaves. These sounds bring a consequent flurry of action — the window needs to be shut, and the clothes must be brought indoors! The tizzy ends with me cozily settling onto the sofa by the living room balcony, with an admiring gaze cast outside at the sound and light show that constitutes an evening downpour.
I wonder what the Bloobees do when it rains like this. I must say I felt honoured to discover that a species of bee native to Australia had chosen us as her host. She had decided to make better use of the abandoned flowerpots in the corner of our drawing room balcony by burrowing into the soil and setting up a home for herself.
I remember the first time I saw her: a small blue and black striped bee gently wobbling around near the flowerpots. It was a warm afternoon and I was resting on the sofa by the window next to the balcony doors. Through the mosquito net that separated us, I sensed something distinctly feminine about the languid buzzing. I saw her many times after that, in the same area, with the same unhurried, unaggressive vibe. She would helicopter into the balcony, softly land on the closest flowerpot, and disappear under the sheet of sun-weathered plastic that half-heartedly covered it. Unlike most other bees, this one wasn’t a bellicose daughter of Mars, and believed in living and letting live. I fondly nicknamed her Bloobee.
A few days later, I met her in the adjacent kitchen balcony, hovering in the corner corresponding to where the flowerpots live in the living room balcony. She seemed somewhat bemused at their sudden disappearance. Thinking she must have lost her way, I politely informed her that she was in the wrong balcony, and Bloobee graciously bumbled away. Soon, Bloobee found a boyfriend: a more curious, active fellow interested in exploring the mysterious world on the other side of the mosquito net that covered the window. They made a cute couple.
We started seeing them more often and at various other possible entry points to the house. While hearing an ominous buzzing close by would ordinarily have us scurrying to address the danger, one of us would soon spot a familiar blue blur and exclaim, “It’s Bloobee!” We’d smile and gently guide the lost creature back out into the sunshine. No insect has received such warm treatment in my household.
When I saw the third member of the Bloobee clan, I finally did some research. Who were these iridescently blue, mysteriously docile creatures? Turns out their bhaalo naam is Amegilla cingulata and they’re known as Blue-Banded Bees in Australia, where they abound. I learned they are fond of collecting pollen from blue-toned flowers and especially love basil. Unlike social bees that live together in a hive, these are a solitary bee species: the females mate and make their own individual nests. Once her eggs are laid and duly protected, the female seals her nest and flits away in search of a new home. I understand why Bloobee would choose the autonomy of her own peaceful burrow over the cacophony of a hierarchical joint family setting.
Bloobee’s flowerpot tribe has now grown to four members. What do they do when it rains? I imagine they gather in their burrow and sip warm mugs of (blue?) honey, while I sit with my parents and sip cinnamon-infused chai.
Oh, I do miss the rain.
