Unleashing the power of imagination

According to our children, my imagination needs some reining in. My husband, the Silent Sufferer, feels that having got a free run for ever so long, it has developed a slightly deranged and cheeky mind of its own.

The slightest rustle in a drawer makes me shriek, because my mind tells me there may be a chance that a rat’s built a little nest inside, and I can vividly picture it, packed with tiny hairless, blind, pink little pups and my skin crawls.

Whenever possible I try to find someone else in the room to bring down the blinds or draw in the curtains because I imagine a lizard has certainly found shelter in the many folds and will surely descend on my head. I can swear that has actually happened once!

In the car, I am constantly pressing imaginary brakes, letting out little squeaks of fear, literally bracing myself in the certainty that the car behind will crash in, the cyclist on the side will anytime veer a little too close and the odd cow grazing peacefully on the side will suddenly choose to make a mad charge at our vehicle.

While everyone is merrily chatting on the dining table, my eye follows the help nervously while she carries in a large bowl of hot gravy and I have actually pictured numerous times, in my mind’s eye, the distressing scene with ruined upholstery, strewn glass and the resultant chaos.

In school, we were not encouraged to read comics and I could never wrap my head around the ban. The school library didn’t stock any, though we had our own copies of Archie, Tin Tin, Asterix and Richie Rich to pass around. Today, I think I understand the reason. Books with pictures make it so easy for the reader. There is no effort on the brain having to picturise or create the settings, characters and the scenery. It’s already done for us and all we have to do is read the dialogue and understand the story. Our imagination is not stirred or stimulated and thus there is no creativity.

Reading a book is different. The written word gives our imagination time to create a picture of its own. We imagine our own versions of the panorama created by the author and each one of us will surely put a different face to every character and scene. That is the power of imagination.

When I sagely explain my overactive, sometimes embarrassing imagination with this logic, my family is not amused. They have borne the brunt and mortification of its overactive nature, many a time.

Last year on a trip to Puducherry, we passed a temple near Aurobindo Ashram. There was a commotion outside and we stopped to see why.

A huge elephant was tethered by a pole and its mahout was claiming that it would raise its left leg to bless people. True to his word, the elephant would trumpet and raise its enormous foot over people’s bowed heads, one by one. We were ready to move on when I saw a woman put her little child on the ground, wanting it to be blessed by the pachyderm! You can surely guess what that foolhardy gesture was capable of doing to my imagination. My husband, quick to scent danger, firmly caught me by the arms and I was frog marched away before the onset of hysteria because I would naturally imagine the worst case scenario.

THE ELEPHANT WOULD TRUMPET AND RAISE ITS ENORMOUS FOOT OVER PEOPLE’S BOWED HEADS, ONE BY ONE