Dr. Geetha Iyer is very much a person rooted in the real world. Her outlook is primarily educational rather than that of a laboratory-focused researcher. Her long-standing interest in insects comes from close observation, lived experience, and a deep curiosity about how these small creatures go about their lives.

If size alone decided importance, insects would rarely make it into books — let alone thoughtful discussions. Yet Miniature Giants gently challenges that assumption, not through dramatic storytelling or exaggerated experiences, but through the steady gaze of Dr. Geetha Iyer as a committed entomologist and educator.

The book does not rely on spectacle; instead, it reflects a way of seeing insects that comes from long observation, curiosity, and respect for how these small creatures live their lives, entirely on their own terms. This is not a book where insects wear capes, talk back to humans, or star in animated blockbusters. Dr. Iyer is not retired with a television tuned to cartoons, nor is she inventing imaginary worlds. Instead, she does something far more unsettling: she watches insects closely and takes them seriously.

In Miniature Giants, the “giant” part has nothing to do with physical scale. It is about attitude, survival skills, architectural talent, and the quiet confidence with which insects go about their business, entirely unimpressed by humans watching them. A spider builds with the precision of an engineer who never attended engineering college. An ant manages logistics that would give corporate supply chains a headache. A wasp negotiates space, food, and defence with a clarity that makes many larger organisms look inefficient. These are not metaphors they are real world observations.

Dr. Iyer’s writing comes from an educational outlook rather than a laboratory obsession. She does not bombard the reader with technical jargon, nor does she dramatise science. Instead, she explains. Calmly. Patiently. Occasionally with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, “Have you actually noticed what’s happening right under your feet?” For us twenty-first-century inhabitants, this approach feels especially necessary. It is the kind of writing that could quietly inspire children—not into fantasy, but into becoming real observers of nature, perhaps even future entomologists who understand insects as living systems rather than background noise.

The humour in Miniature Giants is subtle. It lies in contrast between how casually humans dismiss insects and how extraordinarily capable these creatures turn out to be. We swat them away, while they quietly run ecosystems, they rarely demand attention, yet somehow they have managed to coexist with us for millennia.

What emerges is a book that makes you pause mid-sentence, look at the nearest insect, and reassess your position in the hierarchy of life. As a villain once remarked—Fat Bastard—“You are so small. Get into my belly! I’m higher in the food chain.” Not because the insect is cute. Not because it is symbolic. But because it is competent

Miniature Giants is ultimately a book about perspective. About learning that greatness does not announce itself loudly, and that sometimes the most accomplished lives unfold six legs at a time as Dr. Geetha Iyer so thoughtfully observes the Shatpada's.