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.
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!