To tap dance with two feet (Obviously not left) may be impressive but to do the same with 51 pairs is surely staggering genius. Oryidae was an anthropod with a talent. He could tap dance to anything- the pattering of rain, the sprinkling of pollen by the bee, the rumble of a stream, which had found a secret way. If there was a noise being made in the jungle, he would creep up to the source and in perfect rhythm dance to the beat of nature.
His prodigious talent like most exceptions started of as an abnormality. He was born with hard feet-tips. At first Mama Centipede panicked but when he started beating them to the tune of a croaking frog her worries dissolved into a new form, ‘Oh, no! An artist’ and she slithered away to safety.
As each pair of legs were of a different length he got a range of sounds. The smaller ones produced higher pitches while the longer ones drummed a lower beat. He had perfected his act. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even depend on ambient sound. His front half of his body would make the music while his back half would jiggle away. He could even alternate between the front and the back depending on the view and the audience.
His fame, impulsively spread like a bout of scabies going around. He was soon in more demand than he could handle. Unfortunately, all this hard work had an adverse reaction. His feet began to smell like a rotting hundred-year-old carcass. Nobody knows why it happened but no matter what Oryidae did he couldn’t get the stink off.
Even the skunk adopted a superior ‘less-smellier-than-thou’ attitude around him. Oryidae was faced with two choices. Either he spent all his energy fixing his feet or he ignored them and focused on the fine tuning of his genius.
Naturally he chose the latter. The animals would still come for his performances but they would all carry a strongly scented flower. While they watched the complicated layering of his music and dance unfurl in front of them, they would occasionally dip their snouts, beaks, nose-tips into wisterias, frangipani, sweet alyssum, jasmine and gardenia for a whiff of perfume to eliminate the stench.
At the end of a spectacular performance (and it was always outstanding) the animals would head back to their homes remarking on the originality of his performance and the repulsiveness of his foot smell. ‘Brilliant, soulful but stinky’, ‘What intensity, what control, but what smell’, ‘Tearfully puissant but phew, that pong is a bit much’.
Nobody ever stayed back for an autograph or an interview. Oryidae would sit alone, watching them go, carefully dragging his mouth forcipules over each leg cleaning the tools of his trade. He had gotten used to his smell now and in truth, it didn’t matter. He knew today’s dance was better than yesterday’s. Every day, he was inching towards the best he could ever be.
Moral: If you want to be a genius, ignore the but.
Oryidae is drawn by the fabulous Bijoy Venugopal. You can find more of his wonderful stuff here bijoyvenugopal.com
NothingBeastlyAboutIt 