It’s been five months since I arrived on the island of Great Nicobar. I’m here to collect data for my Master’s thesis, which is focused around the Nicobar long-tailed macaque and its interactions with people. Much like the macaques in Southeast Asia, these guys have been creating steady havoc by raiding coconut plantations and vegetable gardens all over the island, and I decided to study their behaviour and the locals’ perceptions of the issue at hand. This is one of the three Nicobar Islands housing the rotund, grey, furry monkeys that have created a reputation for being intelligent, sneaky, dangerous and annoyingly prolific. Most people still stare at me in disbelief when they learn that I travelled ‘all the way from Bangalore’ to study what seem like every day, common pests.
These monkeys have faces that seem astonishingly readable at first glance. Unlike some of the other macaque species, they have long hair on their faces, but none around their eyes. Their eyelids are several shades lighter than the rest of their skin and body, and they stand out distinctly under their thick, bushy eyebrows. Their eyes tend to be a caramel brown – piercing when directed at you. When I first began following them, I was the one being observed. It took a month of respectful distance and nonchalance on my part for the troop to relax in my presence. During this period of habituation, I began to notice personalities and tendencies of several individuals and discover their responses to my body language. I took notice of them taking notice of other passers-by, but not of me. I realized at this point that they either trusted or tolerated me, and I was keen to know which one it was.
Initially, I found that I couldn’t sit down during the day. Every time I did, I suddenly became accessible; a curio that the larger males and enthusiastic sub-adults would make a beeline for, probably hoping to raid me for some food. They’d be abruptly aware of me, as though I appeared out of nowhere, and this bothered some of the more timid and cautious individuals in the group. Just as you’d find in a social gathering of people, within the troop, some monkeys take longer to warm up to you than the others, some are ever-suspicious, some are eager and inquisitive, and some simply don’t care. Soon, I found that majority of the troop fell into the last category. Having moved from an unwanted intruder that prompted an angry chorus of alarm calls through the forest patches to one of unexciting, repetitive and uninteresting demeanour, it felt like an achievement. Never before had I been as happy to be the one not worth noticing.
This being said, I’ve come to share some tickling moments in close proximity with those whose lack of concern for me led them to attempt interaction. On one such day, I sat down in the grass, tired from having walked after them for nearly eight hours. I put my clipboard in my bag and watched the monkeys groom themselves lazily in the cloudy afternoon haze. I suddenly felt one of the monkeys grip my shoulder. It was Tripod, one of the more dominant males of the group. Having made contact with me uneventfully, three other sub-adult males, a female and another adult male made their way up to me. From their casual strides and relaxed eyebrows, I felt rather confident that they meant no harm. They seated themselves around me; a couple leaned against me and began to doze off. My heart was thumping against my chest and I could feel the pulse in my neck – I was elated. Just then, their little hands began touching my arms and legs. They lifted my shirt sleeves to inspect underneath. They began to pick ants off of my pants and pop them into their mouth. Tara, another male, used his teeth ever so gently to pull off some scabs on my arm. I was being groomed. This lasted no longer than five minutes, before a female some feet away seemed to disapprove of the gathering. She raised her eyebrows rapidly, sounding low alarm calls while shooting glances at several individuals around me. I rose and stood back slowly, and the female went back to grooming her infant, as though the whole thing never happened.
On another day, I was standing fairly close to the troop while noting down some data, when a huge fight broke out among the monkeys. Nearly every adult ran frantically to the centre of conflict and the air filled with their calls of skirmish. I was left standing amidst those who opted out, now some distance away from most of the troop. As the ruckus died down, the adults slowly sauntered back to where I was. There was palpable tension in the air that I couldn’t shake; it seemed like they couldn’t either. Several monkeys searched me with their eyes as they passed by, something that was rather unusual. A couple of them sent rapid signals to the others, and several began grunting at me. The males pulled themselves up to their full, impressive height and advanced towards me in an unamicable fashion. A couple yanked at my pants and bared their teeth. Once more, I silently backed away, and they settled down almost instantly.
I realize now that even if what they have toward me is tolerance, they trust me to understand their signals. In both the occasions I related (and some more which I didn’t), the monkeys could have easily torn me to shreds with their remarkable canines and hardy nails; they have with others in the past. They could have chased me far away from where they rested; again, they have with others in the past. Instead, they chose to provide me with a minimalistic warning and let me off easy. Maybe they were okay with having a human amidst them who hadn’t tried to harm them thus far, unlike nearly every other person they encounter each day. Whatever the reason, these events help me stay grounded and remember never to take their acceptance for granted. I have utmost awe and respect for these animals, no matter how amusing, strange and quirky they can be at times.
These fantastic, wild creatures are complicated. They have moods, personalities and emotions; and I don’t feel presumptuous for saying it anymore. Watching them day in and day out for these past few months only convinces me of this further. Perhaps the data I collect will fail to portray this, with only numbers telling tales of their behaviour, but the experiences I’ve had with them will remain more fascinating and dear to me than can be statistically discernible.
