Bonsai and Democracy- A Reflection

To me, trees, forests, and the larger natural world are not just external realities — they are deeply connected to my own mental and emotional balance. Experiencing them, trying to become one with them, feeling their life — these are some of the closest ways for me to find inner harmony.

In a time when our forests are shrinking — not only outside, but within us too, being among trees is not just an act of escape — it is a return to balance, a reminder that I too am rooted, growing, expansive, alive.

A few days ago, while learning more about trees, I came across the process of creating bonsai. I had heard about bonsai before, but this time I felt the urge to truly understand it -not just as an art, but as a metaphor for what we do to life itself. A bonsai is essentially a tiny tree — small enough to fit in a cup, or at most, in a shallow pot or dish. And yet, this miniature is not born small; it is crafted from the saplings of grand trees — massive trees that, left free, would become mighty forests in themselves. 

Species like banyan, peepal, mango — trees that could stand for centuries, spread their branches wide, sink roots deep into the earth, offer fruits, shade, shelter to countless lives  — are transformed into bonsai. India is said to hold a world record for the greatest diversity of trees that can be turned into bonsai — thousands of species, rich with life, restrained for aesthetic pleasure.

 To create a bonsai, we do something deliberate: the very sapling that could grow into a powerful, deeply rooted tree is deliberately prevented from doing so. Its roots are never allowed to expand freely in the soil. We deny the sapling the earth it needs — limited space, limited nourishment. We limit its roots, trim them again and again. We confine it to shallow pots so it cannot spread. When the little tree shows signs of growing fuller, it is transferred to an even shallower dish, so its roots can never spread wide or deep. And when the leaves or branches attempt to grow, they too are carefully trimmed, at regular intervals, with great discipline. The person creating the bonsai does not stop there — they tie the growing branches with wires, shaping them according to their own vision. The tree’s natural instinct means nothing; its form must fit an aesthetic idea — bent branches, twisted trunks, wired shapes. The tree does not grow freely; it curls and contorts within its tiny detention pot, forever miniature, forever controlled. We bend them, twist them, dwarf them. The tree’s own dream of being a mighty forest giant is trapped in a pot, turned into an ornamental piece. It remains alive, yet is never truly living.  

These are the same trees that, in their true form, would provide vast shade, fruits, flowers, shelter — connecting deeply with the earth, the sky, and countless other life forms. But as bonsai, they become tiny, stunted, twisted — their natural vitality locked away — and they are placed in expensive pots as decoration. No longer trees — certainly not the wish-fulfilling ‘Kalpavriksha’ they could have been.

When I think about bonsai, I see a mirror of what is happening to our mental, social, and democratic potential today. I believe we are living in an age of bonsai democracies — where there is a slow but systematic bonsai-fication of our human dignity, our expression, our leadership, our participation, our collective strength - which are all gently but systematically trimmed, wired, shaped to fit within limits set by someone else. The spirit within us — our courage, our awareness, our self-directed growth, our capacity to stand tall and wide — is being trimmed, wired, and confined.  Our vast shade of possibilities is confined to an aesthetic showcase.

A bonsai must never be allowed to become a Kalpavriksha — the mythical wish-fulfilling tree that offers abundance and shade to all. Its mind, its body, its dreams, its expanse, its deep roots in the soil — all must be clipped, tied, shaped, and restricted. And yet, the bonsai must never forget that it could have become a towering, sky-reaching Kalpavriksha — giving, sheltering, spreading life.

Yet, if we are to dream of a living democracy, we must remember that we were never meant to be bonsai. We carry within us the same possibility of becoming Kalpavrikshas — deeply rooted, widely branching, giving shade and shelter and life to many more than ourselves.

The true forest is not ornamental — it is alive, expansive, free, and deeply connected to the earth and to each other. May we remind ourselves that democracy too must be allowed to grow wild, strong, unafraid — not pruned and wired into a decorative idea, but lived as a breathing forest of people, dreams and possibilities.

Let us not forget: we were meant to be trees, not bonsai.