Redefining Horizons

Gentle Giants   Majestic, mighty, intelligent and highly social, elephants are called gentle giants. The image that comes to us first, when we speak of them, is of the ones regally decked-up for various social and religious functions. We are so enamoured with its serene beauty that we easily miss the chains on its legs and the puny little man standing next to it carrying two stick like things. Has the narrative about its gentle nature been so much ingrained that captive elephants seem to have forgotten its might? What else can explain the power of a mahout, often drunk, making it obey his biddings.   The only weapons a mahout bears, beside his words of command, are a cane and a hooked-baton.   The chain that the elephant always carries around its legs become shackles only when the mahout feels threatened or wants to hold it to a post. Most often, the mahout just rests the baton on one leg of the elephant while he sits to drink or rest; the elephant doesn’t...

Background The cemented garden bench, across my house, with bright golden yellow borders and white cross members, looks perfect a partner for the strange tree painted on the wall next to it. The unnaturally multi coloured leaves, all imprints of hands, make the white wall come alive. I do not know what the artists want to convey. To me, it represents a declaration of the arrival of the new generation, colourful and different. The symbolic leaves, reveal the unmistakable urge for attachment despite the deliberate choice of detached existence, uneasy coexistence of silent symmetry with loud asymmetry and subtle yet visible order in the chaotic riot of colours.   During day, the bench and the tree on the wall merge into insignificance with the surroundings. But as darkness descends and the caretaker switches the light on, they transform the area into a surreal spectacle, seen to be believed. Occasionally few, of those ‘palm-print artists’, occupy the garden bench, in a huddle, mos...

  Stockholm Captives All? It was not until I met Mr Shibi Mohan, physiotherapist at the local Wellness Centre, I realised what physiotherapy actually meant. suffering from lumbar and cervical spondylosis, I would let myself be wired up to machines, that tickle and shock to relieve me of both pain and cash; pain temporarily and cash for good. Most therapists I met before wore white coats, were suave and machine-beep controlled. They stuck probes at various places, switched on machines and left me to shake or heat as the machines desired. They reappeared when the machine beckoned them with beeps signalling end of each session.   A fortnight of shakes, I would leave with a  lighter purse and a  set of instructions on what to do, only to be back, there itself or at a new place, for the shakeup all over again. My ignorance or convenience of therapists, or both, I continued to suffer and they continued to earn. Shibi is different. Operating from a lean-mean therapy r...