Mothers should be allowed to show their teeth

livemint.com:

The Boy and the Heron, the young protagonist Mahito follows a mysterious Heron (with a set of teeth and a twinkle in his eyes) through a life-changing adventure. Like many other Miyazaki movies, this one too tells complex stories through deceptively simple tropes—a boy, a talking animal, creatures both odd and good-looking. It strikes me that there is a larger metaphor in having an animal carry a message.

One, of course, is the visual—it is unexpected to see and hear an animal speak. The other is implicit—the fact is that if we are to take a lesson, we will likely do so from a novel source. Would you listen to the person who you see on the street every day, or from someone who has never spoken before? If one were to ask ecologists though, animals are always talking.

They communicate stories of comfort and appreciation, distress and surprise. And the best stories are those in relation to others. For example, those of mothers and young.

On a searingly hot day in central India, I watched a mother tigress on the forest floor. She was lying with her back to us. Her body was like a broad log, lineated with stripes.

Her ears twitched occasionally, the black spots on them looking like moving eyes. Near her, a sambar kill spilled like a bloody set of flowers rushing through the ground, and one of her cubs tugged the skin on it. It was too young to tear the skin, but it kept trying: a game of strength-building and resistance.

Another cub prowled nearby, paws too big for its body, steps and face set in determination as it moved around. I was looking at something akin to a domestic scene: the tigress had made the kill, she’d had her fill, and was now in much-needed repose. Her cubs had eaten too, and were presently clattering the