I can be quite old fashioned about some things; I think living on a farm makes you that way. For instance, I am a firm believer that there is men’s work and there is women’s work, and they are not always the same. Personally, I don’t want to cut wood, kill chickens (though I have done my fair share of it) or fight forest fires. Can you imagine fighting a fire on your period? Ugh.It was an ongoing discussion between me and my girlfriends recently, when they drove down to the farm in Kodaikanal from Goa. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, but their stance on gender roles (absolute equality, etc.) is tough to maintain in the wild.Excited to show them the farm, I rushed them to my favourite sunset spot, with beautiful views of the mountains. As I pointed out the different fruit trees along the way, I suddenly heard a familiar crackle — much like fat raindrops hitting the trees, except they were burning.The sunset was forgotten and we watched in awe (and a healthy dose of fear) as giant flames leapt above the treeline in the dark, the burnt trunks of trees standing as stark silhouettes against the orange aliveness of the forest fire. The fire was close, but there was a stream between us and it. Knowing it couldn’t reach the farm, I gave myself permission to appreciate (albeit briefly) its beauty.Like water and air, fire too is magnificent in its chaos. Being witness to a forest fire up close is like watching a hurricane or a sea storm — almost hypnotic in how awe-inspiring it is to feel so small watching Nature at her worst. Nature encoded ego death, if you will. (Performance artist and Kochi-Muziris Biennale curator Nikhil Chopra will get it, being obsessed with volcanoes and fire “running wild” in nature, a theme that has been running through his work lately.)Embers, a drawing performance installation (May 2026) by Nikhil Chopra with Uriel Barthelemi at the Galleria Continua, Italy