Sharma moves through a series of transformations across the piece — a bride married to an "unripe banana" of a man, a wrathful sage in an antler headdress, a cyclist, a body learning to move its own earlobes without touching them.
The piece works from a shared belief across cultures that elephants sense disaster before it arrives, and from the folk idea that an earthquake is an elephant dancing. It asks what it would mean to develop that same capacity in the human body — to become, in effect, a walking seismograph.
Myth, medical procedure, and daily consumer choice sit side by side: a heart attack that turns out to be a recalibration rather than a failure; an elephant god cracked out of an egg by a song he then has to dance out for the rest of his life; a long unravelling account of buying bananas, weighing fair trade against convenience, ethics against cost.
A large scenographic iceberg anchors the space throughout, giving Sharma somewhere to disappear and re-emerge in different form.
Karin Veraart, writing in Theaterkrant, noted the piece sometimes runs long, but singled out the closing scene — the iceberg and everything around it set into motion in one extended, unrelenting dance — as "overwhelming," the stage finally left with nothing but its own bare, glittering frame.