The Shuttlecock Tiger

dhikala subadult in bushes ©

Seeing a wild tiger in today’s India is a very public affair.
Every day scores of vehicles ferry noisy visitors and scramble about in the jungle in search of the big cat. Once spotted, the scene looks more like a zoo. Excited people are exclaiming loudly, eating, drinking and taking selfies with the tiger, who is more often than not, hemmed in between the vehicles.
Every mobile phone camera is in operation. More elaborate photographic equipment is chattering away like machine-gun fire in a few jeeps carrying people who, at first glance, look like BSF commandos just returned from a war. Camouflaged head to toe in military fatigues, wearing bandanas and wrap-around shades, they tote massive Camo-covered lenses. Like Roman charioteers, they are hustling their respective drivers into better camera positions. The drivers themselves are negotiating for space/fighting/arguing for that little extra few inches so that their client can get a better shot. These are the wildlife photographers. Ironically, I too, am one of this species today.

On a recent visit to Ranthambhore in the company of a veteran ‘Ranthambhorite’, we decided that we wouldn’t go anywhere near this kind of crowd, whether we saw a tiger or not. We would accept what the forest gave us and enjoy it for what it has always been – a magical place devoid of human sights and sounds. If one is lucky enough to see a tiger in this setting- a completely different experience from the circus one experiences today- then that would be a fantastic bonus. A one-on-one. You-the tiger & the forest. The magic of this kind of sighting is in a different league. It is almost a spiritual experience.

As luck wouldn’t have it, we didn’t see a tiger on that day. On our way back to the hotel, we reminisced nostalgically about our most memorable tiger sightings, many of which, for the veteran, had happened on foot. This brings me to my one and only ‘on foot’ experience.

Back in the mid 70s, as an 18 yr. old, I was visiting family friends in Madhya Pradesh and we all took a trip to the Kanha National park. Driving through big, lush forests like Kanha and Corbett was a little different back then. It would be hours before you would notice the presence of another vehicle. The magic of the forest would literally wrap you in its fantastic private bubble and then spit you out at the end of your ‘jungle ride’ back to civilisation, at the Forest Guest house.

At the end of one such morning ride, my friend and I were struggling to entertain ourselves. Afternoon is the ‘down time’ between game drives, till one goes back out into the forest again for the evening drive.
Bored, with nothing much to do, we managed to find a shuttlecock and 2 badminton racquets in a musty closet. Quickly a badminton court was improvised in the guesthouse backyard, and a seriously competitive game of ‘baddie’ was on.
On a particularly hard fought point, I managed to miss-hit the shuttle and it went sailing over the Bougainvillea-covered fencing around the backyard.
A brief argument ensued between us over who should go out and retrieve the shuttle.
Since “ You hit it out, you go get it”, my friend reasoned. I went in and around the building to the wooded area behind the backyard wall. It took me a few minutes of looking around in the thick undergrowth to eventually locate it. It was stuck high up in the thorny vines of the creeper on the fencing. It wasn’t going to be easy to extricate it. Eventually, I managed to get up on my toes to reach for the shuttle, trying to avoid the thorns by contorting my body until I managed to get my fingertips on it. As I gingerly began to pull it down, my body twisted precariously with my head tilting at an awkward angle.
In this position, through the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw that I was not alone. Behind me, through the leafy shrubbery about 30 yards away, there was a striped head staring at me unblinkingly.

It couldn’t be! Was it my imagination? Was it a shadow? A Sambar deer? Was it a tiger?

Now I don’t remember exactly what happened next or how long it took because it felt like someone had poured iced water all over me. A cold numbing sensation coursed through my entire body. Thinking back, it is probably because I must have broken into a sweat. It took me some time to process the fact that there was indeed a tiger, within leaping distance from me, looking straight at me.

Thorns pricked against my arm and extricating it quickly might have initiated a reaction from him. I was helpless, silent and immobile- and in hindsight, perhaps fortunate. I tried to keep my eyes on him as I began to very slowly and silently work around the thorns and lower my arm. It felt like ages but was probably only a few seconds. By the time I looked up at my arm and then back down to where I thought he was, he had vanished.
My eyes darted across the landscape, looking for some movement or a glimpse. Had he come closer? Was he stalking me? But there was no sign of him. This was when I noticed that I hadn’t been breathing. I sucked in a deep breath and slowly backtracked alongside the wall and found my way back into the guesthouse without further incident.

With my body breaking into spasms and hyperventilating with relief, I ran to tell my friend about what had just happened. To my shock, he smirked indulgently and said, “Oh, ya, sure! Of course you saw a tiger! You were down 14-17; shall we continue the game? ”

Frustrated, I went to tell my friend’s father who also smiled skeptically at me. On further debate & discussion with the forest staff present, it was determined that yes indeed, there was a male tiger who came by this guesthouse frequently to mark territory. They eventually got inquisitive enough and ventured back out to where I had been behind the fence and saw fresh pugmarks.



Ranthambhore in the Rains

Unlike some of the other places that I’ve lived in, where people see rain as an intrusion and a temporary inconvenience in their lives, Indians tend to celebrate rain, perhaps like no other nationality. The ominous darkening of the monsoon skies, the lashing winds and the heady smell of the earth as it gets pounded by meaty raindrops stirs most of us into a state of exhilaration & romance, a kind of temporary madness. To get soaking wet, to dance and play in this weather comes naturally to most of us.

Ranthambhore rainscape

The lush green Lahpur valley of Ranthambhore

For me this June was the very first time I got to experience the monsoon season in Ranthambhore. That Ranthambhore is a magical place any time of the year is a given. But dial into it the monsoon season, and it becomes one of nature’s greatest roller-coaster rides.

Tigers dancing, playing, stalking & hunting in the downpour, hiding and cowering from claps of thunder & lighting, the spectacular vistas covered in emerald green, cloaked by black thunderheads above, this was a first of its kind experience for me, even though from a photography-standpoint it wasn’t perfect. Leaky tarps, fogged lenses, poor light were constant challenges, but was it one of my best ever trips to Ranthambhore? You bet!

wet tiger stand up ©

A young tiger is looking for a way to escape from thunder & lighting

wet cub in the rain long shot ©


Wet cub copy ©

A huge clap of thunder makes her just cower under a tree, shaking with nervousness.

tigers rain dances 3 ©

playing tag in a downpur

tiger on wet ledge ©

now that I’m wet, there’s no point trying not to be..

tiger leap in the rain ©


rain tiger thru the tree

A tiger at full speed is a sight to behold

reflection pool

mirror, mirror, on the ground..

tiger in the rain ©

my best shot of the trip

rain dance ©

here I come..

Trees n’ Tigers

Tigers on trees panorama ©

trees & tiger cubs

Who says the leopard doesn’t change his spots? Sometimes he wears stripes!

The myth of the tiger, built over centuries through records of ancient documents, India’s Mughal and Colonial histories and reams of accounts from all kinds of tiger-hunters and watchers had left us with a classic stereotype of this animal which now seems to be up for scrutiny; That they are solitary, nocturnal… and don’t climb trees.

But tigers do climb trees. As youngsters or sub-adults, trees fascinate them and they are light enough at 230 kilos to go up and down them relatively easily. Trees are great for horseplay, sharpening their reflexes and their claws, and they are a perfect vantage point from where to survey their environment. Once they grow to full adulthood (close to 370 kilos), they get too heavy.

Thanks to India’s new love affair with wildlife photography and modern research technology, there is much more access and intrusion into the so called ‘secret life of tigers’today.

Ranthambhore, when explored as a virgin wildlife landscape in the 70s by the legendary Fateh Singh Rathore was a cluster of village fields and hutments and the tiger was a shy and secretive creature, seen occasionally and only at night.

Today tiger moms are strutting about in the open, with their offspring in tow, for hordes of long-lensed photographers and visitors. From the birth of the cubs till adulthood at around 2 years, they are raised in front of a house-full audience of people. This is happening in Ranthambhore, Bandhavgarh, Tadoba, Panna, and I believe even in Bandipur and Nagarhole.

From the miraculous glimpses of tigress ‘Noon’ with her new -born litter in the 80s to spending a full day with T19 and her cubs this year, tiger behavior seems to have come a long way. Perhaps tigers too, quite like the leopard, are rapidly adapting to the intense human presence that is constantly around them.

Tiger on a tree uncropped

Tiger sub-adult high up in a mango tree, in Bijrani, Corbett

two cubs in the big tree

Horseplay on the ‘jungle gym’

cub w butt up on tree

Awkward for tigers to come down trees because they are front-heavy.. opposite of the leopard.