🐘Growing Olifantshuid or Elephant Skin

A story about staying soft from within while growing Olifantshuid or Elephant Skin, as we say in Dutch.

Raksha meets Rupa the elephant - from my own archives - taken in 2017

I had never seen an elephant until 2017 - the year I took a trip to India for my wedding and trousseau shopping. 

“I want to see a baby elephant whilst we are there, ma” was the first thing I told my mum when she said “Let’s go get your bridal outfits sorted in the homeland and take a tour while we are at it”. 

It’s funny right? I was supposed to be shopping for my wedding but all I could think of was seeing animals. And that too, an elephant. Why and how? 

I blame this on the famous Dutch anecdotes and idioms we were taught in school. Je hebt een olifantshuid, was one that particularly struck me. Although it translates to “you have elephant skin”, it’s a metaphor for those who are unfazed by insults/unaffected by criticism. A compliment in its rawest form. 

I’d also read stories such as The Jungle Book, and heard from my father—who grew up in India—about the playfulness and affection elephants are known for. “They never forget, are naughty, and so loving” he’d often tell me as a child. All this made me inquisitive about the beloved olifant or elephant. 

Coming back to 2017: I, unlike the idiom, did not have an olifantshuid back then. I have always been on the softer end of personalities and I was quite sensitive. Insults would really sting me and I would get hurt by rudeness, especially when it was undeserved. I would sulk all day.

I always thought having elephant skin means you are so tough that nothing affects you. Not even the joyous moments are visible in your expressions. 

I didn’t know how seeing an elephant in real life would change my entire thought process and way of being.

Seeing Rupa’s Olifantshuid in Real life

After doing some shopping and giving our clothes for tailoring in Bombay, we set off for Rajasthan. Our first morning in Jaipur was spent on seeing the palaces, where I spotted the elephants. I decided to approach one of the elephant owners and convince him to let me see a baby. 

He was unhappy that I didn’t want to go on a ride with the elephant like most tourists usually do. After lots of explaining and pleading that I am a lover of animals, he agreed to let me see them during their downtime. “No babies, I only have adults,” he said. I nodded. 

We followed him to the shed where 3 adult elephants were having their meals. He led me to a female and gave me some grass to feed her. “What’s her name?” I asked.  “Rupa” he said, as he walked away. 

Rupa was enormous. She could have easily trampled me out of anger. I was cautious and held my breath for a second. My father’s words suddenly replayed in my head: Loyal and loving. Loyal and loving.

“Loyal and loving”, I repeated as I approached her. 

“Hi Rupa,” I said softly. I noticed something a picture of an elephant could never illustrate in that moment; her beautiful eyes! 

Rupa, upon hearing her name, blinked twice. She had the longest and most beautiful eyelashes I’d ever seen. I was stupefied for a second. Had the blinking really happened or was I imagining it? I wondered. 

I looked at her again and asked “Rupa, can I touch you? You’re so beautiful”. There was no doubt this time. Rupa had blinked again. Tears streamed from my eyes. I set out to touch her trunk noticing the way she held my gaze whilst I gently caressed it. 

Her skin was rough, thick, and rubbery, like someone had stuffed an old leather sofa with stones on the inside. 

It was in that instant that Rupa taught me equilibrium. 

She was strong, tough, and capable to the world. But one look into her eyes, and you’d melt like butter left outside on a hot summer’s day. A gentle giant. A juxtaposition by nature. 

Growing Olifantshuid: My Journey

I would say I have grown olifantshuid to a certain degree. I’m about 70% better than before I met Rupa. I don’t take criticism personally anymore, and let rudeness be what it is. There are a few ways I do this, e.g.:

• I separate what was said from the person who said it instead of disliking a person for what they said. This is a trick my husband taught me. 

• I consider a person’s experience in the area they are criticizing me on. If someone is an expert in writing e.g., I see their criticism as helpful feedback. Of course, this doesn't mean they can be rude. If someone is just saying hurtful things without expertise I brush it off like dust on furniture. 

• I accept that people will be rude at times and that it has nothing to do with me 99% of the time. This is incredibly freeing. 

• I accept that criticism and rudeness do not change me as a person, regardless of who is at the giving end.

• I accept that I have a soft side and do not need to forget it because of rudeness or criticism. A certain level of softness helps me feel deeply, give wholeheartedly, and write better. Just like Rupa’s kind eyes and long eyelashes took away my fears :)

We can all choose to be a gentle giant like Rupa by growing olifantshuid. It certainly helps in the workplace, on social media, or in family settings, where feedback and criticism aren’t always delivered with tact.

Would you dare to grow it? Let me know what you think in the comments :)