As a child, I was into spider fighting. A popular kampung pastime in the 60s and 70s – among boys especially – it involves catching spiders, housing them in empty matchboxes and pitting them against each other.
No money changed hands, but there was much pride at stake. We would show off our spiders with very much the same degree of pompousness as a Roman nobleman would display his gladiators.
Finding a spider was easy. If you see a web, you would have likely found one.
Using a plucked leaf, we would gently push to get it to jump onto our hand, then coax it to enter the matchbox. This requires some patience since picking up a spider could quash it.
The arena for a spider fight would be a leaf atop an empty tin or placed on the floor. Being territorial, the spiders would rush at each other to establish dominance. As in most fights, the bigger, faster or more aggressive contender will prevail.
In a local spider derby, the loser will immediately turn tail and the fight is over. Unlike in Japan, where the fight is to the death and the winner won’t hesitate to kill a stubborn rival.
Champion spiders were prized possessions. We took care of them better than we did ourselves.
To enhance the decor of the inside of the matchbox, we would add a leaf or two. To feed our arachnid gladiators, we would stun houseflies with our rubber slippers – the standard leisure footwear of that era.
We would go everywhere with our spiders, distressing our sisters at home and the girls at school.
While the appeal of this pastime has waned, there is a group of childhood friends who still follow their passion even in their adult years.
These diehards administer a Facebook group that has more than 1,000 members scattered across Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong.
Before Covid-19, they would travel every year to meet up with regional friends to go on spider hunts and stage fights.
Today’s children have the Internet and their avatars for the innumerable video games available, but I might want to acquaint my grandson with the joy of spider fighting.
Fat hope – his mother is a true-blue, I mean solid-green, environmentalist.
By Khush Randhawa
