She felt someone tugging at her kurti. Turning around, she found herself looking into the curious eyes of a tiny baby monkey trying to get her attention. She looked ahead. There was the rest of the family, a large, well-fed father monkey, a not-so-plump mother, and a couple of equally mischievous youngsters. This was a family visit.

The next morning, the colony woke up to an extraordinary security upgrade.

No, not more CCTV cameras, there were already enough of those. Nor additional security guards. Animal security was the need of the hour.

Laminated photographs of langurs had appeared overnight on gates, boundary walls, electricity poles, and even the colony notice board. Stern, black-faced langurs stared down at the residents with solemn authority. Since langurs are believed to intimidate rhesus monkeys, the strategy seemed perfectly logical, at least to humans.

The portraits were impressive, langurs baring their teeth, perched regally on branches.

I wondered how the monkeys would respond to this gallery. What would the real langurs think if they happened to pass through the colony and discovered their portraits plastered everywhere? 

“We never authorised this campaign,” the Chief Langur would declare indignantly.

“Who approved my photograph for monkey deterrence?”

“Aren’t any model release forms needed for this sort of campaign?”

“They can get away with anything. Which langur is going to sue them over copyright?” muttered a young langur. “Bloody capitalists.”

The first troop of rhesus monkeys arrived around breakfast time. Unlike humans, they didn’t need MyGate approval to enter the colony.

They paused briefly to inspect the new installations.

“Don’t worry about the posters,” said one. “Humans believe all sorts of things.”

Another burst out laughing. “We are supposed to be their ancestors, yet they think we are too stupid to tell the difference between a real langur and a laminated photograph.”

Soon, the pictures acquired an entirely different purpose.

“Meet me at the serious-looking langur near House No. 27.”

“No, not that one. The fellow with the big teeth by the transformer. That is where the best guavas are.”

An elderly monkey offered a zoological clarification.

“Real langurs can discourage us in some situations because they are larger and more dominant. But a printed photograph is about as frightening as a cardboard lion would be to humans walking through a jungle.”

The younger monkeys found the entire exercise hilarious.

“I love the human belief that complicated problems can be solved with a printer and a laminating machine.”

“They have put up enough langur portraits to organise an art exhibition.”

“Do you think these photographs will stay here forever?”

“Of course,” another replied. “They will fade gracefully in the sun and rain. When humans run out of ideas, they replace reality with a very good photograph.”

As if to underline the point, a young monkey sat directly beneath a fierce-looking langur baring its teeth and leisurely peeled a banana.

Humans, however, refused to concede defeat.

“Perhaps,” someone suggested thoughtfully, “we need bigger photographs.”

Within days, larger prints appeared.

The monkeys appreciated the improved visibility.

Photos and text by Prerna Jain.