Geetanjali Krishna: Termi(na)te them

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

They are the bane of existence of every home owner I know. They’re also one of the oldest insect species in the world, and the most efficient decomposers nature has created. Great. But why on earth did they have to set up base in my house? The other day, when I took out a book from my bookshelf which I hadn’t read for a while, I was horrified to find it crawling with the ugly critters. “Burn the books!” my mother cried, adding, “and get rid of the termites before they eat up all the wood in the house!”

The idea of burning even some of my beloved books filled me with horror. Instead, a bitter morn was spent rounding up all the intact books and laying them out in the tepid wintry sun. The old gentleman behind our house saw me. “Termites, eh?” he wheezed, “the only time I find people airing their books and clothes is when termites decide to set up home in their home…the critters eat everything!” Did I know, said he, that termites were related to cockroaches? I didn’t, really, and to be honest, this nugget of information didn’t really endear them to me any further.

“When I was young...” he began, as my heart sank. The last thing I needed when I was mourning my precious books was to listen to his reminiscences.

He went on, however: “When I was young, I lived in a village not far from Delhi. At that time, people had an easier relationship with the natural world around them, and termites were no exception,” said he. They lived in the forests, he said, building large homes on hapless trees. “No one really regarded them with such horror,” said he. He said he spent many a lazy day, watching them in their crowded colonies. “They’d scurry about constantly!” said he, “forever busy, eating up dead wood and turning it into mounds of mud.” “Today”, he cackled, “we’ve built houses everywhere — and the poor insects have little option but to target our homes.” I was not interested in their natural history, nor did I want to feel sorry for the termites because they had lost their natural habitat. After all, they were trying to eat me out of mine, weren’t they? But surely I didn’t need to kill them.

I googled natural termite repellents and came up with almost none. It seemed that they just didn’t respond to gentle treatment. Some websites advised treating all wooden surfaces with boric powder solution, but that seemed more of a preventive measure. There were mentions of a heat treatment in which termite infestations were effectively treated with the heat from propane torches. Freezing with liquid nitrogen was another extermination method, but it didn’t exactly seem do-it-yourself. Other space age methods of dealing with these ancient insects included electrocution and zapping with microwaves.

I had no option but to call a pest control company to inject termite poison into my walls and woodwork. “This is the only foolproof way of killing these creatures,” explained the technician, “and we’ll have to make repeat inspections to ensure that the termites never come back!” I felt like a judge who’d pronounced a death sentence, but there was no looking back. The treatment stank, we shifted bag and baggage to our parents, worried about its effect on our children.

When we returned, the house looked peaceful and quiet. Had all the termites died? Or were some still lurking in hidden crevices inside our walls? After all this, all I knew for sure was that we were going to have a bonfire that night.