Meeting the Ghost of the Mountains: The Kibber Series - Part 2

Hours on the road had dulled the excitement, leaving us cold and tired as the landscape around us grew harsher and more remote. We reached Tabo, a small, picturesque town in the Lahaul and Spiti district, close to dinner time. 

Darkness had already set in, and our exhausted group stumbled into the homestay for the night, hoping for hot food and a warm bed. The temperature, well below freezing, chilled us to the bone as some of us tucked into a simple dinner comprising dal, rice, vegetables, and chicken curry. Others, struggling with a touch of altitude sickness, merely nibbled on dry toast before calling it a day. 

The following morning, tired from the lack of sleep, we stumbled into the cars that awaited us. While some of my companions battled nausea and altitude sickness through the night, the rest of us endured a different kind of torment: deafening music and foot-stomping dancing that raged well past midnight. The rowdy group partying on the floor above us, drunk to their eyeballs, sounded like a riot of ogres, as the wooden boards overhead creaked in protest.

But the day itself, marked by clear blue skies, snowcapped mountains, and generous sunshine, soon swept away our crabby moods, replacing them with cheerful smiles as we made our way to Kibber, which would be our home for the next six days. 

Deep gorges on one side and the magnificent Himalayas on the other made this journey unlike anything I had experienced before. As we ascended, the small streams at the bottom of the gorge gave way to the snaking Spiti River, its crystalline waters so clear that I could make out the rocks beneath, despite the height. 

Driving on the treacherous mountainous roads is not everyone’s cup of tea, especially for those accustomed to the plains. The road, though seemingly innocent, was coated in a thin film of ice. Our skilled driver navigated the narrow bends with ease, save for a few moments where we felt our car, a boxy little Jimny, shimmy on the slick surface. He got in under control almost instantly, flashing us a reassuring smile that helped calm our frayed nerves.

“Ah, time for a cup of tea!” I thought as we stopped for a short break. Grateful for the opportunity to stretch my legs, I made my way to the toilet, not knowing where we would stop next. 

It was a decent enough restaurant. I gingerly pushed open the toilet door and tried the flush. As expected, nothing happened. The water had frozen solid. No surprises there, I thought, peering into a large drum that thankfully still held water. Right beside it sat an empty five-liter oil can, clearly a popular choice in this part of the country as far as restroom accessories were concerned. 

Bidding adieu to the beloved oil can, I hopped back into the car. There was no time for tea; our group leader had just received a call reporting a snow leopard under a bridge near the homestay. Talk about luck! 

The next two hours passed in a blur. Our driver, careful yet eager, stepped on the gas, and off we went in hopes of laying eyes on the elusive ghost of the mountains.

As we got closer to Chicham Bridge, the highest suspension bridge in Asia, we spotted a couple of cars already parked. Several photographers had claimed prime vantage points overlooking the valley, their bottoms perched on folding chairs, cameras clicking furiously. 

My heart sank. Were we too late? Would we have to struggle to find a decent spot from which to see and photograph this magical creature? 

I needn't have worried, for our porters and guides, who had arrived much earlier that morning, had already set up chairs for us. They sprang into action the moment we parked, assembling tripods and shouldering our heavy equipment with quiet efficiency. These men were a godsend, for not only were they quick and capable, but among the warmest, kindest people I have had the privilege of meeting. 

I had imagined this moment for a long time, but nothing prepared me for the feeling of absolute otherworldliness when I first laid eyes on a snow leopard.

Curled into a ball, she slept, her thick tail wrapped around her furry body. The tell-tale spots on the grey-white body offered perfect camouflage as she blended seamlessly into the snowy landscape of white and dirty-brown rocks. I watched in awe, the camera forgotten, as she stirred briefly, opening her eyes to glance upward, only to close them again. 

To see a snow leopard in its natural habitat is a privilege like no other, but to witness it with the naked eye, unaided by the powerful lens of a camera or binoculars, is a rare and extraordinary gift! And yet, here I was doing just that. In that moment, neither the cold nor the wind bothered me. All that existed was the snow leopard and me. Nothing else mattered.

I finally focused my camera, the reverie broken by the firm but gentle insistence of one of the guides. It took me a few seconds to bring her into focus, the harsh glare of the sun against the snow making it challenging. 

“Ah, there she is!” I exclaimed with excitement. She stretched lazily, in a gesture so typical of cats, before sauntering toward a clump of twigs. From behind it, she dragged a carefully hidden carcass, concealed from the prying eyes of opportunistic scavengers like red foxes and the raptors that ruled the skies. 

The leopardess settled down to feast, tearing mouthfuls of what remained of an ibex, a wild mountain goat that abounds in the Himalayan landscape and forms a part of its natural prey base. We spent nearly an hour watching and filming her eat until our lunch arrived.

A plateful of steaming hot dal ladled over freshly made rice, accompanied by a spoonful of tangy, spicy vegetable pickle, was handed to me. Sitting on the Chicham Bridge, with a snow leopard and a wonderful group of fellow-travellers, and simple, nourishing food for company, I couldn’t have asked for a better first day in Spiti. 

In the next chapter of The Kibber Series, the days in Kibber truly begin, with biting cold, warm hospitality, great food, and memorable adventures that remind me why Spiti has a way of staying with you long after you’ve left. Stay tuned.

If you’ve been following this journey from the beginning, you’ll know it all started much earlier, with steaming bowls of roadside Maggi, endless kilometres, and a slow climb into the Himalayas. If not, you can catch up on how it began in Part 1: Eating Our Way to the Himalayas.

Eating Our Way to the Himalayas: The Kibber Series - Part 1

There’s something wonderful about wolfing down a hot bowl of instant noodles outdoors on a freezing winter morning, with the majestic Himalayas in the background. These are memories in the making.

We started from Chandigarh, heading to Rampur in Himachal Pradesh, our first leg in the much-anticipated snow leopard expedition to the Kibber Valley. While the elusive Ghost of the Mountains was a priority, I was determined to check an important item off the list - the Pahadonwali Maggi. Translating this to English - Maggi of the Mountains - dilutes the flavor. It’s akin to adding too much water to your instant noodles, making it flavourless and watery. 

A break in the eight-hour journey to relieve bursting bladders also presented an opportunity to try the instant noodles advertised in bold by the restaurant’s proprietor. Having placed our orders, we waited in eager anticipation as the chef busied himself in the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans reassuring us that our food was on the way.

Though the temperature was likely to drop as the day and journey progressed, I took off my jacket, feeling the warmth of the soft, mid-morning sun on my arms. The gentle breeze from the mountains reminded me of the teeth-chattering cold that awaited us, but that was for later. Right now, I greedily eyed the stainless steel bowls as the server made his way to us. 

The steam rose steadily as I rolled a forkful of the deliciously unhealthy food and took the first bite. The medley of flavours warmed my soul as I shoveled another forkful, the mild heat from the chopped green chillis complementing the sweetness from the tiny bits of carrots and peas. The Pahadonwali Maggi lived up to every bit of the hype surrounding it and then some.

Among the ten of us, we polished off several bowls of the noodles, scalded our tongues as we glugged down the just-off-the-stove tea, and patted our satiated stomachs in satisfaction. Oh, what a happy group of travellers we were!

A few hours passed as I dozed, chatted with my fellow travellers, and soaked in the gorgeous sights of the snow-capped peaks at a distance, as we made steady progress. It was almost time for lunch.

Our driver, a cheerful, chatty local, stopped at one of the many nondescript restaurants en route. It was a small place by the edge of the highway - a simple brick-and-wood structure set against a gorgeous mountain backdrop. Quaint and picturesque, it looked like something lifted straight off a postcard, the kind that instantly stirs a longing for the Himalayas in whoever receives it.

I stretched my legs, my stomach still full from the noodles and chai. I had little appetite for lunch. But first, I needed to use the toilet.

“Down the stairs,” said the owner, who was also the chef and the server, all rolled into one. I stared at the rickety contraption anxiously. The stairs were essentially uneven planks, hastily nailed together and supported by rusty railings. With no choice but to go, I gingerly placed my foot on a plank, one careful step after another, my bladder protesting desperately.

Closing the stubbornly heavy door behind me, I looked around. A chipped bucket, accompanied by a broken mug, stared back in forlorn silence. I tried the flush before getting down to business. Nothing happened. 

“That’s not good,” I thought, as I peered into the bucket, looking for water to pour down the toilet. There was water, alright, but it was frozen solid! What a conundrum! 

“The water is frozen!” I yelled, hoping the jack-of-everything owner, chef, and whatever else he was, heard me. 

“Oh!” came the response, followed by several giggles. Not from the owner, but my friends who seemed amused by my predicament. 

I implored them to get help, for I knew that the call of nature was not mine alone. Sooner or later, they’d have to use the loo too. So it was in everyone’s best interest to find the man who could bring us a bucket of water.

“Madam! Use the other one. There’s water in there!” he said, before going back into the kitchen.

The “other one” was parallel to this stall, but separated by a wall, which meant climbing up the stairs, then going over to the other side, and climbing down a similar flight of equally hastily put-together stairs. At least, this one had water, stored in a 5-liter can that must have contained cooking oil in its previous lifetime.

Well, enough about frozen toilets and dangerous stairs. It was time for some hot soup. 

The temperature had dropped rapidly to sub-zero levels, and the prospect of something hot was enticing. The vegetable hot-and-sour soup I had ordered was rapidly cooling down. Determined to finish it before it turned into ice, I wolfed down a generous spoonful.

My esophagus was on fire! It felt like sulphuric acid disintegrating my insides. I coughed, choked, and cried all at once. What was in the blessed soup? 

“You ordered ‘hot and sour’ soup!” said the owner, indignantly. “Hence the green chillis!” Clearly, he did not feel the need to justify further.

I ordered some buttered toast to absorb the God-awful spice, pointing out that I only wanted butter on my toast and nothing else. 

The others in the group didn’t seem to be doing so well either. From the expression on their faces, the lentils and roti were nothing to write home about. The dal looked insipid, and the rotis had turned into frisbees due to the weather. Although only one person seemed to be wolfing down his food like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.

Curious, I peeked into his plate. A reddish-brown mound of rice with bits of vegetables was being consumed at a rapid pace. I wasn’t sure whether the colour came from the spice or an enthusiastic hand with food colouring. Either way, it isn’t something I’d recommend on a road trip, especially when the roads are long and winding.

I felt sorry for his companions. Imagine being stuck in an enclosed space with someone who’s just eaten a heapful of extra-spicy food, belched in satisfaction, and proceeded to swallow nearly half a dozen boiled eggs like a snake emerging from a long period of brumation.

Needless to say, the remainder of the journey to our first stop in Rampur was not so pleasant for the occupants of the said car. Our egg-swallowing glutton gave them plenty of reasons to keep the windows down, despite the frigid weather!

Nearly in time for evening tea, our exhausted but excited group reached Rampur. After a sumptuous dinner at the hotel, we made a beeline to our respective rooms, eager to get some rest before starting for Tabo the following morning.

As I crawled under the blankets, the warmth of the day’s Maggi, chai, and stories lingered. Ahead lay colder nights, thinner air, harsher terrain - and somewhere beyond, the silent presence of the Ghost of the Mountains.

For now, though, sleep came easily. The real journey was only just beginning.

Samosas and Sundowners in the Wild

The harsh winter sun was directly overhead as we waited for the tiger cubs to show themselves from behind the bund covered by the tall grass. Beads of perspiration rolled down my back, and all I could think of was a satisfying drink of juice from the cooler, followed by the sumptuous lunch packed for our half-day safari in Tadoba.

A lovely family I once met on a safari expedition left a lasting impression on me, not just because of their enthusiasm for the jungles, but also what their young son said to me when I asked him about his favorite thing about a safari. 

“I love eating Maggi at center point!” was his response! 

That’s when it dawned on me: one of the highlights of a safari in the jungles of North and Central India is their packed breakfast, and sometimes lunch if a full or a half-day safari is on the cards. 

The soft paranthas, boiled eggs, chutney, and generously buttered sandwiches, followed by little tetra packs of juice and a steaming cup of tea to wash it all down… somehow, food always tastes better amid nature. All of this, spread on a chequered cloth atop the bonnet of the jeep parked at a designated spot, popularly called “center point,” is a reminder of the simple joys in life. Of course, the company of good friends and the hauntingly beautiful calls of birds turn a delightful meal into a cherished memory!

Some of these center points also have tea sellers who can magically conjure up a hot bowl of Maggi noodles or potato fritters to accompany the sweet and milky beverage. 

Speaking of which, I remember a time in Bandhavgarh a couple of years ago. It was early March, and the remnants of a bitter winter had us wrapped in layers of warm clothing, which was essential if you wished not to turn into a popsicle during the morning safari. Craving a cup of hot tea and an accompaniment of a crunchy samosa, we headed to the center point after nearly two hours without so much as spotting a tiger’s tail. 

I peeled off my gloves and bit into the crunchy exterior of the samosa, savoring the spiced potato filling. My husband and friends were equally busy glugging chai and polishing off the samosas when a couple of excited tourists drove in to break for tea and snacks. A lady, rubbing her palms to restore circulation, enquired if we’d got some good pictures of the tigress and her three cubs. 

“What tigress?” I asked, dusting the crumbs off my jacket. 

Her expression was incredulous. She stared at me for a few seconds and screeched, “What are you doing here when there’s a tigress and her sub-adult cubs right by the track?” 

That was the only time I abandoned a half-finished cup of chai and yelled to get the attention of the driver, who was engaged in friendly banter with a colleague. We scrambled into the jeep haphazardly, all arms and legs, and well-fed stomachs, as the driver gunned the vehicle. 

Luckily, the tiger family sympathized with our need to defrost and stuck around, giving us ample opportunity to photograph and admire them as the gorgeous tigress and her nearly-grown cubs put on a show!

While the concept of partaking in a meal during a safari does not exist in the jungles of Karnataka, it is a well-planned exercise, ceremoniously executed in the Masai Mara, where guests can dig into a bush breakfast of muffins, tea, and other delicacies, or a lunch packed by the kitchen staff of the resort where they are staying.

If breakfast or lunch isn’t enough to satiate you, then a sundowner might just do the trick. A common tradition in most African safaris, a sundowner is when the guests enjoy a drink while watching the sunset before driving out of the park. 

The drink I looked forward to on that fateful day was a steaming cup of tea packed in a large flask before we headed for the game drive. Having seen four of the “big five” on this trip, it was our lucky day when we struck the fifth off our list: the elusive and critically endangered black rhino!

Our spirits, lifted by the sight of the pregnant female rhino, sought the perfect end to a perfect day. Nothing could be more perfect than the tea flask so thoughtfully packed for our sundowner experience.

We held out our mugs in anticipation as the driver unscrewed the lid and said, “Ladies first!” chivalrously. 

As I waited for the splash of golden-brown liquid into my mug, I would have never expected what happened next. It was a hot liquid, no doubt, but slightly off the mark, missing the tea leaves, milk, and sugar! 

I stared at the mug of hot water, and then at the utterly dumbfounded driver.

“They’ve probably packed some tea bags and sugar sachets!” he exclaimed, recovering his composure. We peered into the hamper and were greeted by vast emptiness that stared back at us.  

My husband suddenly guffawed, holding his stomach helplessly!

“A sundowner indeed!” he said, as he realized that our flask of tea was accidentally swapped with someone’s flask of hot water. 

The driver, thoroughly embarrassed, closed the flask and indicated that perhaps we could still make it to the camp for a real cuppa, with milk, tea leaves, and everything else that makes for good tea!

Our doubts were confirmed by a rather guilty steward who had mistakenly swapped the flasks. It was a pity, though, that the guest at the receiving end of the flask of tea belonged to the unique breed of humans who despised tea!

Although the sundowner was ruined, I did enjoy a wonderful cup of ginger and lemon tea outside the tent, listening to the grunting of the hippos frolicking in the shallow stream, while the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. Oh, what an evening that was!

Pugmarks in the rain

I remember the first time I saw her. It was a misty winter morning, and the visibility was rather poor. We saw her sitting right in the middle of the track, the blanket of white giving her an ethereal appearance. 

Our safari vehicle came to an abrupt halt, stunned by the sight of the gorgeous tigress licking

her paws nonchalantly. Unperturbed by our presence, she continued grooming herself while we watched, mesmerized by the bold feline who would captivate the hearts of many tigers and humans alike in the years to come.

She has charmed many a tiger since then, raised two handsome male cubs to adulthood, lost two more when they were barely a of couple months old, and, as recent pictures suggest, is now bringing up at least one more cub in the jungles of Bandipur. 

Despite having photographed her many times over the years, my eyes always search for the familiar face in the jungle. Her unblemished, rich coat, the little patches of white on her ears, and those artful markings above her eyes earned her the moniker that stuck; beautiful! 

It was typical monsoon weather, the rain having washed the jungle clean the previous night. 

We set off in the morning, our driver expertly maneuvering the 4X4 through the muddy track. Though it had ceased to rain, the water droplets rolled off the leaves, showering us whenever the wind rustled through the trees. A peacock called out melodiously. “Meao…meao!” it went, perched atop a dead tree that was ravaged by the monsoon winds.

“Pug marks!” our driver said, abruptly bringing the vehicle to a halt. He pointed to the deep indents in the soil, his focus shifting to the dense undergrowth. 

“It’s a female,” he continued, “and it’s fresh!” 

Sure enough, the distinct pugmarks indicated that a tigress had just passed by. The absence of tire tracks over them suggested that she’d crossed moments ago. I peered into the imprints, amused by my reflection in the small puddle that had formed within. 

Like Hansel and Gretel in the fable, we followed her tracks, hoping she’d emerge from the thicket. 

But kismet had other plans. Instead of spotting the orange and black stripes, we were met with two muddy boulders, and one of them wasn’t in a very agreeable mood. 

Protective of her calf, the female elephant was having none of it as we tried to drive past. Unusually agitated, she blocked our path, refusing to budge. Her little one, its tiny tusks just starting to emerge, watched casually as his mother trumpeted and charged every time we so much as inched forward. What a sticky situation it was! 

With no other choice but to give up, our driver shifted into reverse and left the mother and son alone. Needless to say, we were a disappointed lot, but there was more to come. 

We decided to circle the thicket to try and track the tigress from the other side. Negotiating the mire wasn’t easy, and complicating our progress was the rain, which began as a steady drizzle. 

A couple of minutes into the drive brought us face to face with another safari vehicle. The driver, who was conveniently on the other side of the elephants by the bend, gleefully informed us that he’d seen the tigress by the track. She glanced at the excited crowd and melted away into the jungle as the drizzle turned into a downpour. At least that explained the agitated behavior of the mamma elephant!

That said, there was nothing more to do but to head back, disappointed, drenched, and in desperate need of a hot breakfast and a cup of tea.

It was our seventh safari and we’d had our fair share of elephants, sambhar deer, and alluring peacocks. Of the tiger, there wasn’t a glimpse.

Joining us on the fateful day were a knowledgeable naturalist and some affable companions. The afternoon sky, although the colour of dull steel, had mercifully not opened up. 

Nearly thirty uneventful minutes had passed. We encountered more sambhar deer, some disinterested peafowl, and large herds of the mighty Indian gaur. Our naturalist shared some interesting trivia on gaur behaviour, then turned to face us, and said, “You know, it’s been four years since I last saw her...”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than she revealed herself. It was as if the naturalist had conjured her up from his imagination! 

The same delicate markings above her eyes, the same unblemished coat. There was no doubt… it was her at last! 

She moved with the elegance of a lyrical dance, her sinewy muscles firmly planted on the rain-kissed earth. 

Our driver reversed the vehicle, sensing her mood for a stroll along the jungle track. 

She walked along the track, casually at first, stopping in characteristic tiger behavior, sniffing the air and scent-marking some bushes and trees that were the unfortunate recipients.

Her eyes darted this way and that as if looking for something. Pausing from time to time, she continued sniffing the air, her enormous head cocked to one side. What could it possibly be? 

The excitement in the jeep was palpable. I put down my camera and gazed at her as she walked a few yards, stopped to sniff, and stared intently into a thicket. It looked like she’d found what she was looking for.

We backed up further, putting enough distance between the vehicle and the animal. At the very moment, our ears picked up a faint noise behind us. The lantana shook, disturbed by whatever was concealed. Tearing my eyes off the tigress, I turned my attention to the noise behind us, and there it was! The cause for all the sniffing and staring. 

It was a gaur calf. A little older than a month, it still wore the soft brown coat of a baby. The terrified animal knew it had been seen by the predator. It panicked, running helter-skelter, unable to make sense of a world without its protective herd. 

She tigress crouched, unable to contain herself any longer. She sprang forward like an arrow, intent on securing a meal for herself and maybe her little one. We watched, open-mouthed, as the tigress chased the frightened calf, which ran as fast as its little legs could carry it! The bushes parted, and there was a great commotion as the hunt ensued.

Then, suddenly, it went quiet. Unbelievably, the calf had gotten away! It sure was its lucky day, although not so much for the tigress, who would go without a meal until her next attempt to bring down a hooved beast. And who knows when that would be?

Well, it wasn’t her first rodeo, and try again she would. For, such is the way of life in the jungle, where survival is a matter of stealth, speed, and sometimes sheer courage. 

The magnificent creature paused for a moment, grooming herself before she resumed her walk, once again getting us to back up as she sauntered leisurely. 

Then, having decided she’d had enough of walking along the track, she turned around and gracefully melted away into the shrubbery. A beautiful tigress she is indeed! 

  

The winking tigress of Bandipur

The best things in life are often those that are least expected! The same applies to safaris. 

We were on the lookout for the bear-killer. A moniker earned by a bold male tiger after he had killed a sloth bear in a waterhole. Usually a formidable opponent, the bear did not stand a chance, having been caught by surprise by a lethal attack from behind when it bent down for a desperate drink. At least, that’s how the story goes, since I was not there to witness this rare moment. Gathering bits of information from the videos shot by the lucky ones who watched the show from close quarters, we wasted no time in heading straight to the said waterhole to try and catch a glimpse of he-who-dared-to-dine-on-the-mighty bruin! 

The harsh afternoon sunlight created silver ripples on the still waters, as we squinted to adjust to the brightness. Of the deceased bear, there was no sign. The tiger seemed to have polished off his delectable meal leaving no remnants for us to “ooh” and “aah” upon. 

The afternoon dragged on, while we shifted uncomfortably in our seats, wiping rivulets of perspiration off our faces and necks. A restless human specimen, in his attempt to position his bazooka-like lens, violently shook the safari vehicle and its inhabitants, who were lulling off into a heat-induced slumber. A fellow guest opened his mouth to reprimand him, but shut it almost instantly, having spotted a dull-orange shadow with black stripes behind the drying vegetation. 

The tiger emerged into the open, and what a magnificent creature he was! Oblivious to the excited audience pointing their cameras, mobile phones, and fingers at him, he yawned and proceeded to immerse himself into the water, albeit butt first. 

His belly appeared full from his previous meal, and he alternated between drinking water and dozing off as a gentle breeze caressed the jungle. 

I put down my camera, giving my aching arms some rest, and simply watched the tiger as he stretched and emerged from the water, shaking the excess moisture off its pale coat, and walked majestically into the thicket. In a few moments, he was gone! 

It was nearly time to go ourselves. The blazing afternoon had turned into a mellow evening. A cormorant and egret circled the shallows, looking to grab a quick supper before retiring for the evening. It was the perfect end to a perfect afternoon. Or so I thought. 

Our safari driver, Pradeep, a man of great experience and an acute awareness of animal behaviour suggested we take a different route to the exit, rather than follow the convoy exiting the reserve. With some time to spare, we excited lot set off towards a more picturesque part of the jungle. The flat terrain soon changed, and we found ourselves ascending a hill as the 4X4 swallowed the undulations with aplomb. 

The landscape was simply breathtaking! The denuded hillock, devoid of much greenery in the summer months, appeared ethereal as the bare trees swayed on a bed of ash-littered earth. The ash was the result of the forest watchers’ efforts to prevent a forest fire, which is a dangerously common occurrence in the dry season. The watchers, through controlled fires, burn the dry grass, which would otherwise turn into a lethal blaze. 

We drove on, chattering animatedly about the bear-killer, as the sun gently lowered itself into the hills, when Pradeep brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt, his whispers a mix of urgency and excitement. 

“Tiger! Tiger!” he whispered. 

I scanned the fireline, expecting to see the hindquarters of a retreating tiger, when he impatiently pointed in a different direction. Lo, behold! There she was, resting on a bed of ash and soil, her rich coat contrasting against the dark earth beneath and the cornflower blue sky serving as the perfect backdrop. It was an unforgettable sight indeed!

A famously shy tigress, she seemed uncharacteristically at ease, as she gave us a casual glance and winked as if to say, “Well, the game is up. Looks like you found me after all!” 

The winking tigress!

At least that’s what I’d like to think, considering what actually happened was that she reflexively shut an eye to ward off the pesky horseflies that plague the jungles in summer. Having done that, she rose lazily, sauntering off into the brambles after liberally scent-marking the trees. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Bazooka-Lens, dismayed by the lost opportunity to photograph this elusive tigress groaned audibly at his folly. He had packed up the camera equipment after the first tiger sighting, assuming his tiger luck for the day was done. 

I felt a tad sorry for him, for nothing dampens the mood as much as a missed opportunity to photograph this magnificent feline, especially when one is right in front of you. 

The last rays of the sun almost disappeared as we drove back, each one of us still spellbound by the glorious evening. 

I hope to see her again someday, maybe with cubs or her mate. Only time will tell. Perhaps she might wink once more?

Meeting the mighty elephants

I just about managed to wolf down the morning cuppa as politely as possible, quite aware and appreciative of the kitchen staff’s effort at putting together a breakfast hamper and brewing a hot cup of masala chai at the ungodly hour before sunrise. Truth be told, I would have preferred to down the whole cup of tea in one gulp and get moving as soon as possible, but two things deterred me from doing that; first, the masala chai, painstakingly made by the chef just for us, the Indian guests, was delicious and it would be insulting to gulp it down without savoring every sip. The second reason was very simple...I’d end up scalding my mouth.

It was 5 AM and our guide revved the Landrover impatiently. I smiled apologetically, thanked the staff for the fantastic tea, and hopped into the Landie. The breakfast hampers safely tucked between the seats, my husband, also safely tucked into a comfortable seat, our quest for the mighty elephants had begun.

Once more, we found ourselves racing across the vast savannah. A lone Topi ( a type of antelope found in some parts of the continent) breakfasted on the short grass. Its silhouette against the backdrop of the rising sun was like a picture on a postcard. I quickly captured it on camera.

The skyline was now a rich mix of red, gold, and blue. The rising sun brought with it excited tourists in hot-air balloons, waving at us from up above. I had never quite seen anything like this and was awed by the dozens of brightly colored hot-air balloons that moved gracefully above. We paused for a bit to admire the view before setting off again, where our tusked friends awaited.

I truly believe that elephants are the soul of the jungles. A jungle that lacks elephants is without a soul, hence does not figure on top of my “must visit” list. Anyway, there we were, among a large family of noble and wise souls.  

The sight gladdened my heart. Time stood still as I gazed hypnotically at the family of the majestic African elephants! I heard the telltale rumble of an elephant’s stomach and turned around to figure out if the baby was communicating with its mother, or perhaps its sibling who was munching on some strange-looking pods. 

It’s amazing how animals have their language and say what needs to be said through behavioral cues and sounds that humans cannot hear and don’t always understand. Maybe that’s a good thing. Imagine if we could understand elephant-speak. I’d be a tad hurt if I’d heard junior tell his mother that the pesky humans were back to rudely point fingers at them!

The herd moved closer, and our guide wisely backed up. All animals have an invisible line that demarks their safe space. Under no circumstances should this line be crossed. To do so can sometimes spell disaster, for it is the equivalent of someone breaking into your home and threatening you. It cannot possibly end pleasantly, can it?

We must have stayed with the herd for over an hour, simply watching them go about their lives. I was fascinated by the fine tusks that adorned both genders, unlike their smaller Indian cousins, where the females lack tusks. The differences between the two giants belonging to the Asian and African continents are rather distinct. If you look at the ears of an African elephant, for instance, you’ll see that they’re shaped somewhat like the continent itself! Fascinating isn’t it?

My reverie was broken by another, familiar rumble. This time, it emanated from a human… me! My stomach signaled that it was time for breakfast. I offered a sheepish smile in response to the guide’s amused chuckle. However, he understood the non-verbal communications emanating from my stomach and drove away from the herd towards a clearing where we could tuck into the eggs, sandwiches, and most importantly, tea.

“Wait here,” he said, before disappearing for a few minutes. He popped back and crouched as if he’d misplaced the Landie’s key somewhere. Scanning the undergrowth thoroughly, our guide then gave us a thumbs-up, indicating that we could get off the vehicle and open the hamper. 

“What were you looking for?” I asked as he enthusiastically peppered an egg.

“Oh, the usual, you know. Lions snoozing in the shade, occasionally buffaloes or rhino. They get curious sometimes,” he said nonchalantly while pointing to the riverbank. 

“Look carefully,” he said. I squinted against the sun and watched the water bubble and sputter before a huge head popped up. It was followed by another huge head, then another, before the whole family of hippos came up for air. 

“Breakfast with hippos!” he declared, breaking into a grin. As I stared at the massive teeth and tusks, one of them grunted noisily. 

“Did you know that hippo poop transports essential silica into the river, which is vital for the aquatic ecosystem?” our guide enquired between a mouthful of bread and eggs. I momentarily lost my appetite and gently put back the cup of tea on the bonnet. Somehow the hot, brown liquid lost its appeal, for the time being at least. “Do tell” I responded with a tepid smile. “Well, their poop has silica that comes from the grass they eat. This is important for the algae, which in turn, is food for various forms of aquatic life. So no hippos mean no hippo poop, which means no silica, no algae, and no aquatic life!” he explained, the humor in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that suggested absolute devotion to nature in all its forms. “Wow!” my husband whistled appreciatively, “We certainly didn’t know that!”

I nodded agreeably, reaching for the tea while watching the hippos with newfound respect. It was a breakfast to remember... if there is such a thing. The hippos snorted, and grunted joyously, probably gossiping about who among them contributed the most silica into the water that morning, while we polished off the sumptuous breakfast, my appetite back with a vengeance. “So, what do you want to do next?” the guide asked, warming up the Landie. “Do you think it’s possible to see more elephants? A different herd, maybe?” He grinned, winked, and nodded, as we headed to the Kenya-Tanzania border, looking for our next tête-à-tête with the mighty mammals.

Whistle in case of an emergency!

Sundown in the African savannah possesses the kind of timeless beauty that inspires even the most poetically-challenged to pen a verse or two. We had just disembarked from our light aircraft and had about 3 hours to go before dusk, so breaking into Frost or Wordsworth could wait.

No sooner did we collect our luggage, which was simply stacked within an elastic, netted contraption at the back of the plane, our guide and driver, a strapping young man from the Masai tribe, greeted us with a cheerful hello. 

“Let’s head straight for the game-drive,” he said as he loaded our bags into the Landrover. 

“Huh? Aren’t we going to the camp first to freshen up?” I questioned, quite aware of how I must look and smell after not having showered in the last 24 hours, since leaving India.

Scarface and I

He grinned, shook his head, and convinced me that the wildlife won’t mind the occasional unshowered, disheveled human. I agreed sheepishly, unable to refuse his offer to drive through the vast grasslands that stretched endlessly and invitingly ahead. So, it began, our very first game drive through what I believe to be one of the most beautiful places on this planet.  

We made a beeline to a scrub that housed a massive, male lion, aptly christened “Scarface” inspired by the battle scars that ran across his massive face. At first, I was stunned to be so close to this magnificent beast with his shaggy, thick mane, and paws the size of dinner plates. Scarface couldn’t care less and continued to alternately gnaw at the wildebeest remains and yawn lazily as the tiresome flies buzzed around. Once the shock waned, the awe took over. I was at once overwhelmed and mesmerized by his presence. My first lion in the wild and it was Scarface... I just couldn’t believe my good fortune!

Scarface after a good meal!

The rest of the evening was a blur of many firsts, each one more amazing than the next. My first cheetah in the wild, first hippo, first giraffe, first river crossing in a Landrover, I was simply flabbergasted by the sheer species of wildlife that lived within minutes of each other! 

“There’s your first Ostrich!” shouted our guide to make himself heard against the wind as we sped towards our camp. 

The memory is as strong today as it was on the day I saw the silhouette of the magnificent bird as it walked seductively against the backdrop of the setting sun. The engine turned off, I stuck my head out of the sunroof, savoring the moment, as dusk set in, bringing the eventful day to an end. 

It was time to head to the camp.

The night had set in by the time we reached our camp. Truth be told, I had no idea how our guide knew one track from another, especially in the dark. Everything looked the same to me...a combination of vast plains, dotted by scrubs, and the occasional river crossing, which I will come to later. But I reckon, having driven across the same tracks for years, posing this question to the guide would only invite a quizzical glance, followed by a well-rehearsed, obvious answer to a very silly and unnecessary question. So, I refrained. 

We were exhausted to the point of collapse and wished we had more energy to fully appreciate the welcome dance that the staff so graciously put up for us. Tired and hungry, we swallowed the hot meal that was laid out and headed to our tent, after being warned several times over not to venture out alone after sundown. 

We are warned of running into ill-tempered Cape buffaloes or highly territorial Hippos that ventured into the camp that was set up in the middle of the Mara. Point taken. I didn’t fancy a clandestine tête-à-tête with either beast in the middle of the night and assured the accompanying tribesman of my noble intentions, which involved a wash and bed. 

He nodded agreeably and handed us a whistle each. Once more, I raised an eyebrow, which seemed to be a regularly used form of expression ever since my arrival a few hours ago.

“If you need us,” he clarified, grinning ear to ear. 

“A Masai guard will be posted outside your tent. Use the whistle if there’s an emergency,” he continued as he dropped us off. 

He disappeared before I had the chance to ask him what qualified as an emergency. I stared at the tiny whistle and hoped I’d never had to use it. My imagination ran wild, with images of angry hippos tearing through the tent while we slept, or snakes slithering into the blankets for warmth. Who knows, maybe a curious hyena might make an appearance. 

I don’t know if any of this happened, for I slept right through everything. I remember the snorting of hippos as they splashed around the river by the tent, the call of the hyenas, and several other sounds as they lulled me to sleep on my first night in Africa. Maybe a lion or two sniffed around, deciding unshowered humans were not worth the trouble! 

Nevertheless, exhausted as I was, I couldn’t wait to jump into the Landrover the following morning. We were going to see the mighty elephants!