The Chameleon
I Wasn't Looking For
A visit to identify nesting Red-naped Ibises near the foot of Sinhagad led to an unexpected encounter with one of India's most remarkable reptiles.
I wasn't looking for a chameleon that morning.
My brother-in-law had invited me to his farmhouse at Donje, a village nestled at the foot of Sinhagad. A pair of large birds had been nesting on a tree in the neighbouring farm, close to the compound wall, and he wanted me to identify them.
Even before we reached the tree, I recognised the birds as Red-naped Ibises. We nevertheless walked towards the compound so that I could take a closer look at their nest and perhaps photograph them.
My attention was entirely fixed on the branches above.
As I approached the compound wall, I came close to a broken coconut tree standing beside it. Without realising it, I had walked right up to an Indian Chameleon that had climbed to about my chest height on the trunk.
A sudden loud hiss stopped me in my tracks.
It was surprisingly sharp and carried the unmistakable tone of a snake's warning. For a brief moment, my instinctive thought was simple:
Could there be a cobra right beside me?
I instinctively turned towards the sound.
There was no snake.
Instead, an Indian Chameleon stared back at me from only a short distance away.
I had unknowingly walked far closer than the animal was comfortable with. The hiss had not been an act of aggression, but a warning. It had noticed me long before I noticed it.
Once it realised I wasn't moving any closer, the chameleon resumed climbing with the calm, deliberate confidence for which the species is known.
For the next twenty minutes, the ibis nest no longer held my attention.
The chameleon moved slowly along the trunk, pausing every few steps as though carefully assessing its surroundings. It never appeared hurried. Every movement was deliberate, every grip secure.
Watching it at such close range revealed details that are easily overlooked during a fleeting roadside sighting. Each foot grasped the bark like a pair of pincers, while the tail curled firmly around the trunk whenever an extra point of support was needed.
Its eyes fascinated me the most. One seemed to watch me while the other slowly surveyed the surrounding branches. Even when the body remained perfectly still, the eyes continued their quiet search in different directions.
The colours also seemed to change subtly as it moved between light and shade. The bright green body blended surprisingly well with the surrounding foliage, making the animal difficult to notice unless it moved.
As I continued watching, it eventually reached the top of the broken trunk. There was nowhere else to go. It paused for a few moments, almost as if assessing the situation, before calmly turning around.
With the same measured movements, it began climbing back down the trunk. Watching such an arboreal reptile descend to the ground was unexpectedly fascinating. Once it reached the base, it crossed a short stretch of open ground without any sign of urgency.
It then reached a nearby coconut tree and began climbing once again. Slowly, almost effortlessly, it disappeared into the canopy, where the leaves finally concealed it from view.
Only then did I remember why I had walked to the compound wall in the first place.
I looked back towards the nesting tree.
The pair of Red-naped Ibises had already flown away.
In those twenty minutes spent watching the chameleon, I had completely forgotten about the birds.
I waited for some time, hoping they would return, but they never did while I was there. I had gone to Donje hoping to photograph the ibises, yet I returned home with photographs of a reptile I had never expected to encounter.
That morning had begun with a simple request to identify a pair of nesting Red-naped Ibises. Instead, it became twenty quiet minutes spent watching an Indian Chameleon go about its life.
I never photographed the birds I had gone there to see. Instead, I returned home with photographs of an encounter I had never expected—one that remains far more memorable than the one I had originally planned.
Join the Conversation
Post a Comment