8/4/2019
10 pm
Dear diary,
I’m afraid there’re not many good things to tell you about today. We went to an elephant safari early morning, but the moment I looked at the poor animals the words of our wildlife safari guide in Kabini rang in my ears.
“Elephants are fierce beasts. A herd of elephants can radiate power enough to scare a tiger even.”
Elephants have been known to crush human settlements, obstruct safaris, damage Mahindra jeeps.
I haven’t seen them like that. Those that I saw then in Kabini, Karnataka were just together and happy. We watched from a distance. We were quiet. It was that herd’s pool party. The elders were drenching the baby as it tried to wriggle away flapping its adorably large ears to the rhythm of that evening’s breeze. The whole thing was a “We Are The Tide” song. The contrast between those elephants etched in my happy memories and the ones I saw today felt like a tight slap across my face. My elephants today were sad, their spirit was meticulously crushed in a cruel discipline over a long time. Their eyes were drooped, their skin wrinkled and their forehead marked with the beatings from the long, metallic stick with a curve at the end.
Elephants turned when man kicked him, changed directions according to commands given behind his ear. The seating was wrapped securely around his immense bodies, cushioned, for our comfort.
Cushioned.
I’ve never been more disgusted with myself.
Their docility and obedience won not as a result of love or respect but of the fear of that stick cut through my mind worse than anything else in recent times.
I wondered for a while if there was a way around this feeling of crushing guilt. Were these elephants old when they were captured? Are they treated like this only for a few hours everyday? Do these men not like that they do? Maybe they do it out of some unknown compulsion? Do they ever apologise to their elephants? Do they tell them thank you? Do they tell them, with a child-like simplicity when no one’s looking, “Dear Haathi, I love you so very much.”
But no.
There is no version of any narrative that can make any of this okay. This is exploitation, in its most raw form. And if we can look away from this, if we can ignore that small voice in our head that says that this is blasphemy and not a shed a tear for the bullying these animals have to bear, we don’t really have anything left to justify our existence.
For what I saw today was not a compulsion, but an unmistakable choice. I saw a frenzy, an exaltation of man’s supposed superiority in the faces of those trainers. And an uncaring nonchalance in that of the customers. Nowhere was a hint, not even a hint of any kindness.
What for is all this done? So that a couple of us can oggle at wild animals minding their business for a couple of minutes?
What is the point of us looking at them, however closely, what point does the number of pictures we take have if we do not come back from the experience less barbaric and more beautiful? What is the point of being a part of the quiet forest life, with its mellow winds and melodious bird song if we do not carry with us a little peace and security? Are we even observing the forest if we’re not also simultaneously facing your own immodesty and baseless arrogance?