Book review: 'Butterflies On The Roof Of The World: A Memoir'

Book: Butterflies On The Roof Of The World: A Memoir
Author: Peter Smetacek
Publisher: Aleph
Pages: 224
Price: Rs495

High in the Western Himalayas lives a man with an obsession. Often courting danger, he explores uncharted, sometimes treacherous terrain, accepting with good humour the challenges thrown his way, including the “inevitable poverty and tribulation” that follow, for his chosen path is “not a regular career option”, especially for someone without formal training. But apart from firm resolve, what sustains Peter Smetacek’s passion is the thrill of discovery that has spurred him on since his first failed attempt as a boy to catch a butterfly (it was an Orange Oakleaf, “one of the prizes of the insect world”).

Butterflies On The Roof Of The World is an engaging memoir that deftly weaves hilarious episodes from the author’s life, includes learned observations on the interdependence of insects and plants, and juxtaposes serious environmental issues with World War II trivia.

Smetacek flits gracefully between, say, the variations in size, colour and pattern that can occur with seasonal changes in a species of butterfly, to tales of famous lepidopterists like Nikolai Romanov, first cousin of Russia’s Tsar Alexander III, who had quietly collaborated with a British counterpart on a micro-moth project despite a political face-off between their two countries. We learn of “motion camouflage”, a form of self-defence practiced by dragonflies that is being studied by modern air forces and of “caterpillar mushrooms” that contain Cordyceptin, a steroid undetected in dope tests and sold for millions of dollars on the international market.

Smetacek’s prose is livened by a sense of humour that is endearing. If the author is any indication, lepidopterists are anything but a bunch of crashing bores; they’re eccentric to the back teeth.

Being a maverick is in Smetacek’s genes. His father left his native Sudentenland (in former Czechoslovakia) to become a seafarer, escaped the Nazis by jumping ship at Calcutta and married an Indian Muslim woman descended from Tipu Sultan. With World War II raging and people dying of starvation on the streets of Calcutta in the wake of the Bengal Famine of 1943, Smetacek’s father eventually settled with his family in the Bhimtal area that bore a close resemblance to “the Central European hills he had known” while growing up.

The life of a lepidopterist isn’t sedentary, as Smetacek’s experiences bear out. A motorcycle tour of Western Nepal, for instance, “yielded not a single butterfly”, but ended with the author being suspected of trafficking women because in that area, “butterfly” is a euphemism for a “saleable girl”. Such hazards are, however, balanced by the rich rewards like appreciating “the connection between insects, the health of forests and underground watercourses”. The presence or absence of butterflies, rather than the vegetation in an area, can apparently serve as a crucial indicator of whether the region’s subterranean fresh-water resources are seasonal or perennial. Smetacek discusses this issue at length, offering practical remedial measures. Fresh water, he maintains, is the country’s most valuable natural resource and crucial to the survival of its existing ecosystems. The study of butterfly behavioral patterns can, he argues, help locate vulnerable areas for rehabilitation.

Who thought failing to catch a butterfly could have such an impact?