The elephant in the room

“So, there’s an elephant in the room and I’m not talking metaphorically!”

“Wow! What did you do then?” asks my elderly great aunt as she tries to sit up on the bed with difficulty, her rheumatic joints, notwithstanding. I know that that headline would indeed rivet her attention.

“Well, he had got into the check post room in front of us. When there's an elephant in front of you, you don't challenge him. There’s only one thing you do. You stay still inside your car, turn off the headlights and hope he soon retreats to his home in the forest beyond!” I say with a smile. I am recounting to her a pre lockdown road trip to Silent Valley nestling in the heart of Anamalai (Elephant Mountain in Tamil) in the heart of Southern India.

She closes her eyes and utters an exclamation. I know she relishes such stories.

“So, as we sit tight, we are aware that this isn’t part of the itinerary. Signage all around warns us that it’s best to allow it to play out naturally and patiently, without any attempt to capture it on camera. The flash might startle the latter and there was no telling how it might react. We are watching with bated breath, fascinated, to see a wild elephant at such close quarters, towering over the car and its occupants. We have been told that ever so often this happens- the encounter between elephant and vehicle. The latter is perceived as a potential threat to this enormous creature who is rightly indignant at the fast-moving lighted up little creature who dares to pass his forest domain.

“Suddenly we hear a gentle tapping on the rear of our car. Half expecting another pachyderm from behind (she lets out a scream at this point), we see that it is actually a human being gesturing to us to silently get out. We are hesitant but a calm assurance seems to exude even from his silhouette which we can see in the setting sun. We follow him through the dark and thick canopy till we come to a small mud hut illuminated with a single kerosene lamp. A woman in a brightly coloured sari is drawing water from a well, her glass bangles making a gentle clinking sound in response to the splash of the water as the pail comes up.

“That was kind. And then?” she presses me.

“Oh we ended up spending a good few hours with this Irula (ethnic tribe) couple. We heard snippets from these unofficial cicerones that we could have never got from a tourist guide. And, what’s more, they shared their evening meal of dosai (savoury rice pancake) and thenga thuvaiyal (coconut chutney) with us. It was delicious”, I muse reflectively as I have a pleasant olfactory flashback to the stone quern on which our kind hostess expertly ground fresh coconut, dried red chillies, ginger and garlic pods to make the spicy but oh so delicious chutney and the hot griddle pan on which she swirled the fermented rice flour batter to make a perfectly round dosai, with a few dollops of homemade nei (clarified butter)- a treat which was reserved only for guests. We were indeed honoured that night.

By the time the beast had tired of its little tryst with our car, it was a good few hours later. With great trepidation we followed our guide back to the road after that repast. But he was right. Once it had decided that this strange four wheeled monster was really no threat to its territory, it was content to amble back into the forest just pausing to snap off some juicy sugar cane shoots for a late night snack, which we learnt that all elephants love. Actually we too did the same the next day- only our sugar cane fix came in a tall glass from a sugarcane juice vendor whose heavy grinding wheels had squeezed the sweet liquid out with the help of a motor.

“You know, I feel I’ve been there with you” she sighs happily.

It’s taken me a lockdown to realise that for far too long she has been in a lockdown of her own. Somewhere between being pulled out of school prematurely to help with the home and looking after her many nephews and nieces, that tall, slender young girl became a housebound elderly woman who took up no more than a bed in her widowed sister's household and even less in everyone's minds. As a child, I was more intent on playing with my cousins than to indulge her with more than a few minutes of my time and some rushed answers to her curiosity of the things I had seen in the metropolis I lived in with my family at the time.

As an adult now I know, that it is through my stories she has virtually visited so many new places. What's more, she replays my stories so often that she can competently review which shops are a good bargain, which restaurant in that city serves the best food, where one can go for entertainment on a Friday night. All this, within the four walls of that room she has spent almost all her life...But this adventure perhaps has caught her imagination like none else. It is unlike any of my previous tales in busy metros of the world- it is a completely new drama for the theatre of her mind too. I know she is going to have an adventure of her own, doing a maiden visit to this place now.

I can already see her visualise the adventure in her mind's eye. She has never been to the next town, leave alone doing a safari in the wild. But, that will not daunt her- she can meander through her new uncharted territory in her own time.

I know that in a few hours, she will be narrating it to anyone who cares to listen- her carer, perhaps some kindly relatives who regularly visit. In the version they hear, this story would have happened to her. They all know not to challenge that elephant in the room either.