All in the Family: Deciphering Tiger Behavior in the Wild

My tryst with tigers began almost 10 years ago when I first laid eyes on the erstwhile Prince, the alpha-male of the Bandipur Tiger Reserve in Karnataka. Little did I know back then that a chance encounter with a hazy mobile camera would grow into a full-blown love affair; one that would awaken in me an insatiable thirst for the jungles and its denizens. This desire to observe, photograph, and understand more about tigers in the wild gradually saw me evolve from a mere tourist to an eager learner. What delights me the most about studying these majestic cats is the fact that every encounter, sometimes with different tigers and many times with the same ones, allows me to learn something completely new about them. 

Mahadesha with his mate

“There are more ways than one to observe tigers in the wild,” an ex-forest department official once told me. 

“It’s all about perspective rather than just ‘seeing’ tigers,” he said. 

Intrigued, I asked what he meant. 

“Scat analysis, for instance, is a good indicator of the tiger’s diet and health, while scent-marking, clawing, cheek rubbing and vegetation flattening tell you a lot about their territories, time spent in certain areas and reproductive readiness. It’s also a non-verbal form of communication.”

“Meanwhile, the pug marks denote the age, sex, and overall health of a tiger,” he continued. “So you see, it’s not always about looking at tigers, as much it is about observing their behavior in a natural environment.” 

The wisdom of his words and immense love for the jungles reminded me of one of my favorite modern-day writers and conservationists, Valmik Thapar. Thapar, in his books, narrates the observations made over the years while tracking tigers in Ranthambore. He talks about some rare and thrilling experiences recorded during safaris; the kind that give you gooseflesh just by reading about them. So you can imagine my delight when one of Thapar’s experiences unfolded before my very eyes. 

It’s often believed that the male tigers rarely have a role to play in the upbringing of their cubs. Some of them are even believed to be rather aggressive and nasty towards their cubs. This myth was debunked by Thapar, who witnessed resident males in Ranthambore play an active role in raising their offspring. While reading about this was enlightening, to be able to observe and photograph this fascinating phenomenon is an absolutely unmatched experience. 

I was in Bandipur when the present day alpha-male, locally called the Basavankatte male or Mahadesha, was expected to arrive at a particular watering hole that he frequented. We also knew that he had fathered cubs some months ago, and the likelihood of spotting his cubs and mate was high. Soon we found ourselves near the said watering hole, cameras ready, hearts beating hard in anticipation. 

Soon enough, he made a grand appearance, walking leisurely towards the water body. Lowering his hind legs first ( tigers dislike getting water in their eyes and face), followed by the rest of his body, he made himself comfortable, giving us plenty of opportunity for some great shots. That’s when things got exciting. 

The tigress, his mate, sauntered in a few minutes after, swishing her tail gracefully. Emulating her partner, she dipped her body into the water, settling down less than 3 feet away.  We couldn’t believe our good fortune, for not only did we get to see a tiger, but we also managed to capture him with his mate in a single frame! 

The tigress, by now, slowly inched towards her mate. To me, it appeared that she was trying to ascertain his mood. A couple of tail swishing and nudging moments later, she rose and walked boldly towards him. Then, she gently nuzzled him, rubbing her cheeks against his. Mahadesha, in the meanwhile, seemed to enjoy the pampering and nuzzled back, without lifting his lazy backside from the cool water. 

Mahadesha with his cubs

Following this display of affection, things got intense. We detected a movement in the shrub by the pond. Out popped a small, furry head, followed by another, and a third one! The occupants of our safari vehicle were giddy with excitement. I’m surprised I managed to hang on to my camera, for the sight of this perfect feline family seemed to overwhelm and enthrall me simultaneously. 

The cubs, almost 11 months old, rushed to their mother at first, keeping a safe distance from their father. However, the female ignored her cubs as they bounded off her rump and tried to lick her. The cubs were now hungry for affection; if they weren’t getting it from their mother, they decided to try their luck with their father. 

It was a tense few seconds for the occupants of our vehicle, as we watched the cubs move playfully towards the big male. The familiarity with their father and his tender behavior towards the cubs made us realize that the tiny furballs were extremely comfortable with him. That’s when it dawned on us that this probably wasn’t the first time they were playing with him. They poked him with their tiny paws, licked, and nuzzled against his enormous body before plonking themselves beside him, thereby quashing the belief that the male tigers don’t play an important role in bringing up their cubs. This family was a picture of love and devotion, sharing not just territory, but also food. The overpowering smell of a decaying carcass and their tiny bellies bulging from a recent feast proved that they’d dug into Mahadesha’s prized gaur kill.

I put my down my camera and simply watched them, trying to imprint this scene in my memory. If good fortune prevails, I know I will see many more tigers and tigresses in the future, and possibly tigresses with cubs too; but I realized that an experience like this, where I’d observe and photograph the whole family together, was perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

Spending time with these magnificent cats in the jungles of India has changed my outlook and perception about tigers. It’s made me understand the strong familial bond that exists between these otherwise solitary hunters, and that they are, under normal circumstances, tolerant to human presence. That said, it would be half-witted and foolhardy to take their instinctive, predatory disposition for granted. 

Of course, in today’s age of convenience, it’s easy to read more about tigers from the comfort of your home or drive to the closest zoo to look at them pace restlessly in miserable little enclosures; but the thrill of the wait, the excitement that the first glimpse of the tail or the rich coat in the sun-kissed jungle, and the call of the tigress as she looks for her cubs, is a matchless experience. 

Tiger Tales from Corbett

Sometimes you drive into the jungle for hours without so much as a glimpse of the big cats, elephants, or the nervous ungulates. There are times when your luck runs out and the birds, which would otherwise fill the air with a cacophony of calls, decide not to make an appearance either. In times like this, the naturalist or driver accompanying you tries to drive the boredom away and keeps you interested by recounting thrilling experiences or jungle lore.

The breathtaking landscape of Corbett

I returned from my trip to Corbett Tiger Reserve with not only a memory card full of wildlife pictures, but also with some exciting, and sometimes frightening and tragic stories from the jungles. Perhaps some of the stories that I recount here are true, perhaps some peppered with exaggeration from the narrators; there’s no way for me to corroborate. That said,I do believe that those who narrated these tales had no reason to spin a yarn, for I have read about experiences such as these in several books. They certainly don’t sound far-fetched to me.

Our driver Dilsher was a man of few words. He spoke when spoken to, and refrained from what he considered an unnecessary use of the vocal cords. It was only towards the tail end of our safaris, as he got to know us better, did he open up, narrating some gripping tales about the tigers that walk this jungle. 

“I was a young boy when this happened,” began Dilsher. 

“My uncle gathered twigs, dead wood, and dry leaves from the forest floor. A friend of his usually accompanied him during these trips, and they would go deep into the woods, mounted on elephants. We wouldn’t worry so much about their safety, because tigers, as a rule, don’t bother humans unless provoked or if they’re physically incapacitated to hunt. Moreover, the elephants acted as deterrents to the big cats. That fateful day, he gathered enough twigs and wood and decided to call it a day when he noticed one piece that he’d missed. As he bent over to pick it up, a terrible roar reverberated through the jungle and a big male tiger pounced on him, its powerful claws gripping his skull.”

Dilsher closed his eyes, trying to recollect what must have been a painful memory.

“His loyal elephant, hearing his master’s screams struggled to break the chain that bound its legs while precious seconds ticked by. His friend, who was not too far away when this happened, heard the commotion and rushed to his aid, thankfully riding on his elephant. Meanwhile, the chained elephant managed to break free and rushed to his master’s rescue. The disturbance annoyed the tiger, who mercifully failed to break its victim’s neck as tigers usually do, and the shaitaan scampered into the thicket. His friend brought my uncle back, profusely bleeding, but alive. Despite the multiple reconstructive surgeries, he lacks one ear and has a fleshy mess for a scalp,” finished Dilsher, as we drove into the forest rest house premises for the night. 

The Gairal Guest house 

I’d like to believe that providence kept Dilsher’s uncle alive. Perhaps it was the crouching position assumed by the man as he bent down to gather firewood that led the tiger to attack, mistaking the human to be one of the four-legged herbivores that are part of a tiger’s natural diet. However, when it comes to wild animals, there are no rules that apply. Just like there are people among us who exhibit deviant behavior for no reason whatsoever, sometimes perfectly healthy tigers also resort to behavior that’s unbecoming for their species. 

The following day, after a good night’s sleep at the forest guest house, we set off on what was to be our last safari in the Dhikala zone. We drove around for a while before coming to a halt at a spot that was said to be frequented by a particular tiger. To our right was a small, albeit picturesque waterhole, carefully covered by trees and shrubs. To our left were the sal trees casting their long shadows across the jungle floor.  

"Let’s wait here," said Dilsher, turning off the engine. 

We waited in silence, enjoying the cool morning breeze that gently caressed the leaves. A couple of minutes had passed with no sign of the tiger, when Dilsher, uncharacteristically, started to narrate another tale involving the same tiger that we were waiting for. This time the incident involved him and another tourist. 

“Last summer, we halted at the same spot, waiting for the tiger to make an appearance. It was after lunch, and the combination of the summer heat and the occasional jungle breeze lulled me to sleep. I’d turned off the engine, and after waiting for almost 30 minutes, dozed off. A couple of minutes later, I woke briefly and turned around to see that my guest, a lady was also asleep. The tiger wasn’t coming, and the heat was oppressive. I thought another short snooze would be nice. Soon, the two of us were fast asleep, when all of a sudden, I felt an inexplicable sense of danger. I opened my eyes slowly at first, and then wide in shock, as I saw before me a fully grown tiger, its forelegs outstretched on the bonnet. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Avoiding all eye contact, I lowered my head, hoping it would go away. The lady, in the meanwhile, also awoke and let out an audible gasp. I suppose I was relieved she didn’t scream. The tiger, its curiosity aroused, decided to investigate and circled the vehicle, sniffing it with great interest. My body felt like ice, and I am sure the lady felt the same too, for there wasn’t the slightest movement from us.”

“The tiger, by now, was bored, and just as suddenly as it had appeared, it walked away nonchalantly. We thanked our maker as we watched the beast vanish into the thicket. I asked the madam if she’d like to finish the rest of the safari. She told me to forget it and head to the nearest forest rest house, as she had to use the bathroom. Truth be told, so did I. I’ve never been more terrified in my life as I was that day,” he finished. 

I’m not sure how I’d react, should something like that happen to me. I looked around, imagining the tiger stretching itself on the bonnet. Something between excitement and fear ran down my spine as I replayed the story in my mind.

We did see a tigress that day, but from a reasonably safe distance. That was our last safari with Dilsher, but we did have one more in the Bijrani zone and one in the Jhirna zone. I hoped that the other driver had more stories for us. I wasn’t disappointed. 

The following morning, we met Jalees, a cheerful young man, who was to be our driver for the next two days. Jalees, it turned out, enjoyed conversing with guests, and regaled us with interesting stories and trivia during his tenure at the Corbett National Park. Of all the narratives we heard, one stands out from the rest. It’s the story of his unfortunate neighbor. 

There are some parts of Ramnagar town that borders the Tiger Reserve. In one place, I observed the human habitation is demarcated by a concrete wall that overlooks the jungle. It was apparently here that this incident took place. 

“Summer in North India is merciless,” began Jalees, warming up to the subject.

“Sometimes on an unbearably hot day, some people sleep with the front door open, although that’s not the smartest thing to do. This happened many years ago to the man who lived opposite my house.”

“We awoke to the sound of someone screaming in the middle of the night. My father and I rushed outside, and what we saw chilled us to the bone. Our neighbor, on a particularly hot night, had left his front door partially open. A wandering tigress, her curiously aroused, peeked in and grabbed the sleeping man by his ankle, yanking him like a rag doll. Dragging her surprised victim, she managed to pull him out into the open, while his family screamed in terror. The village was up, and soon, some of the brave men pelted the tigress with stones, hoping she’d let go of her prospective dinner and bound back into the jungle.”

“The tigress,  brave as she was, stood her ground. While she let go of her grip on the man’s ankle, she didn’t flee from the spot. Instead, she just sat down, possessively guarding my neighbor, who by now, had gone into shock.”

“Then what happened?” I asked anxiously. 

“A forest officer, whose residence was close by, was alerted. It was only when he shot twice in the air did she make a hasty exit,” said Jalees.

“My neighbor, though, did not survive. The trauma and loss of blood killed him,” he concluded sadly.

As we drove back through the Bijrani zone that evening, I noticed several hutments and small homes within the reserve, just a couple of meters from the exit gate. I saw women gathering leaves, and children playing with gay abandon. I am certain that if I had the opportunity to talk to some of the people who lived here, I’d return with many more stories, some perhaps unfortunate and alarming. Why do these people choose to live in such dangerous proximity to wild animals? 

“We understand wild animals. They seldom attack without provocation. If a tiger chooses to maul and kill one of us, it’s because we’ve occupied their homes; but where else do we go? We do not understand why people molest, loot, and kill each other. It’s complicated. This jungle has been our home for generations, and if sharing the space means skirmishes with wildlife, then it’s kismet,” a naturalist employed from a tribal village once told me. 

The simplicity and wisdom of his thought made me realize that human-animal conflict has been and will continue to be an unavoidable part of the lives of those who share their living space with animals. Yet, these wild animals, including tigers, are noble beasts that bear no malice towards the two-legged creatures that walk these jungles with their rifles cocked, their chests puffed up, and senses alert for the slightest movement or sound. 

The Pachyderms of Jim Corbett National Park

The journey from paperback editions of various books penned by the legendary hunter-turned-conservationist Edward James Corbett, or Jim Corbett, as h's popularly known, to actually driving through the very place he once walked, was nothing short of exhilarating. During my growing years, I devoured his books, often closing my eyes between chapters to imagine what it must have been like to cover mile after mile, letting the jungle sounds course through his senses.

The matriarch warns us to stay away - Dhikala zone, Corbett National Park

You can imagine then, how it must have felt for someone who’s dreamed of this moment their whole life, to breathe the very air that Corbett once breathed, to drink in the beauty of the varied landscape that was until a short while ago, just a place that existed in my mind. 

I could wax eloquent about the park, and still not do justice to the breathtaking landscape that includes a diversity of flora and fauna.  Perhaps I’ll save this for another time.  Although the vast grasslands, riverine beds, and the towering Sal trees seduced me completely, what blew me over was the sheer density of elephants that roamed these jungles. The pachyderms were everywhere. Almost every turn, every patch in the grasslands had large herds or lone tuskers eating their way through the jungle. What amazes me about elephants, irrespective of the topography or location, is their ability to hide. A creature as large and noisy as the elephant can melt into the vegetation or stay absolutely silent if it wants to. I have encountered this behavior several times, whether it’s the dry, deciduous forests of  Bandipur, the dense, hilly terrain of B R Hills or the diverse jungles of Corbett, the elephant emerges from behind a shrub or the lantana, swiftly and silently, taking you by complete surprise. 

I remember the time when we were following fresh pug marks, our jeep hurtling through the jungle track, when all of a sudden, from around a bend came a loud crash. This happened just as the jeep passed the bend. An extremely annoyed female elephant emerged from the thicket, startling all of us completely, for there wasn't the slightest sound until moments ago. We were even more surprised when she was followed by a small herd of five or six females, including a calf. Of course, we left from there in a hurry, relieved that the matriarch decided to make her presence felt after we’d passed. Had it been a few seconds earlier, the consequences could’ve been disastrous. 

Besides the fact that the herds I spotted in the Dhikala zone of the national park were enormous in number, the other unique trait I noticed was the size of the elephants. Now, before you jump to counter my observation, let me clarify that this is purely a subjective pronouncement. Somehow, the elephants here appeared marginally larger than their South Indian cousins, especially the males. 

Speaking of male elephants or tuskers as they’re popularly referred, I had the opportunity to observe and photograph two large, lone tuskers on different occasions. The first one, a  handsome, albeit full grown male, blocked our path on the Dhikala-Gairal road.  At first, he ignored us, feasting on the succulent leaves from a tree. Then things got interesting when another safari vehicle blocked his path from the opposite direction. I expected him to lose his temper and express his annoyance. Our tusker though, remained calm, composed and in no rush to get anywhere. He continued on his way forward, while we followed slowly. The other vehicle had no choice but to back up as the elephant ambled along, stopping on and off to grab a tasty snack from the infinite jungle pantry. My husband and I clicked away furiously, hoping to somehow get some good headshots. 

“Headshots? Why didn’t you say so before?” ...is what I think the fellow thought, as he stepped into the thicket for the briefest moment, allowing us to pass. Once we drove past, he got back on the jungle track, now following our vehicle as we managed to get some excellent headshots. After a while, I put down the camera and simply gazed at this attention-seeking tusker. I could’ve sworn he enjoyed every minute of it. 

That’s when things changed from interesting to exciting. A tigress, clearly disturbed by the elephant’s presence, emerged from the undergrowth and walked right between our jeep and the elephant! Awestruck by the unexpected appearance of the tigress, I missed the chance to get both animals in one frame. It would’ve made such an excellent picture! Quickly regaining my composure, I did manage to get her on film before she slinked away from her nemesis.

If the Dhikala zone was teeming with herds as large as 40, the Bijrani zone had some formidable tuskers of its own. Considered to be the best zone to spot tigers, after Dhikala of course, this zone has an ethereal beauty that leaves visitors mesmerized. Boasting sky-high Sal trees, small water bodies that run through rather hilly terrain, the Bijrani zone is marked by unexpected curves that hold the promise of something exciting right around the corner. This was where we saw the second tusker. If his Dhikala cousin was large, this was one bulky. His trunk was thick and his beautiful, but deadly, tusks gleamed as he walked, rapidly and purposefully towards our vehicle. I was sure he would charge, for he was in the state of “musth”, a condition where a mature bull has up to 60 times its normal testosterone levels. It’s highly dangerous to approach bull elephants during this time. Their aggression levels rise to a great extent, so much that they attack with the intent to kill. It’s not uncommon for elephants, both wild and tame, in musth to attack and sometimes kill one of their own. 

I noticed the telltale temporal discharge close to its eyes, right in front of the large ears. The determined gait with which it marched towards us and the fact that 4 other safari jeeps blocked our path in front, naturally made me very nervous. The driver left the engine on, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. This one, strangely, didn’t display the typical aggressive behavior of an elephant in musth;  although we weren’t sure what he’d do if he got too close to us. Well, we didn’t wait to find out.

Our naturalist was a man who’d worked with the forest department for nearly 20 years. His experience told him not to take any chances with the formidable battle-tank forging towards the jeeps. Gesturing the other drivers to move ahead, he instructed our driver to step on the gas. Once the jeep was at a safe distance and my adrenaline subsided, I realized how fortunate I was to be able to photograph these intelligent, temperamental creatures in the wild.

Sure, the Jim Corbett National Park’s biggest attraction is its tigers; but the highlight of my trip was the elephant encounters. From the endless herds feeding placidly and the little calves indulging in juvenile games, to the testosterone-charged handsome bulls, the pachyderms of Corbett stole my heart. 

The Christening of Tigers in India

Wildlife photography aside, a well-informed naturalist can make all the difference between a good safari and a mediocre one. A well informed as well as communicative naturalist ensures you don’t just enjoy the safari, but also return with a profusion of interesting trivia. Fortunately, we’ve had the well informed and the communicative kind accompanying us on most of our safaris. Their vast knowledge of every plant, animal, and even insect species never ceases to amaze me. Of all the trivia and tidbits of information that I’ve picked up over the years if there’s one thing I derive great pleasure from, is understanding how a tiger was christened. There’s always an interesting and sometimes amusing story behind this.

The famous Spotty scent marks a tree

Tigers, once identified, are given unique IDs by the forest department. You have the usual T series such as T - 31, T-2 and so on, which are used for official purposes such as tiger census and record maintenance. That said, the naturalists and forest guards usually christen the resident cats with names that are assigned either because of an incident, a unique personality trait, or sometimes because they think it’s endearing to call a tiger by a particular name. This blog is the story of these tigers and how they earned their names. While I’ve had the privilege of photographing some of these big cats, there are others I wish to see very soon and some others I can no longer hope to see because they’re now dead.

Our guide and driver Sultan, who accompanied us on 6 safaris in Bandhavgarh, was a man of few words and many years of experience, first as a forest guard, then a mahout, and finally as the driver of safari jeeps. That said, a little persuasion and small talk later, he opened up with some rather amusing anecdotes about the popular tigers at Bandhavgarh.

Charger, the dominant male that breathed its last in September 2000, earned its name because of his aggressive disposition and penchant for charging at safari jeeps and elephants. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me make it clear that he did not, in the 17 years that he lived, harm any humans.

“Charger would silently await the unsuspecting jeeps to come close before jumping out from behind the tall grass and rushing forward. He always stopped short a few meters from the vehicle, growling menacingly at the terrified tourists. He was a large, handsome male, albeit a ferocious one,” explained Sultan.

Once familiar with Charger’s antics, the guides and drivers were extra vigilant when they drove into his territory, always on the lookout for an impending charge or an unexpected roar. It is said that this fearless beast didn’t refrain from charging at elephants either. I wonder how I’d have reacted if I were in the jeep that ran into Charger. Would my hands shake with fear, would I manage to take photographs? Sadly, I’ll never know the answers to this questions, for the legendary Charger, after the death of his mate Sita, the matriarch of Bandhavgarh, met his end too.

Hungry for more, we requested Sultan for more stories. He grunted incoherently, before clearing his throat.

“Then there’s Pannalal…” he began.

“Pannalal?” I quipped, intrigued and amused by the personification of the animals.

He threw me an annoyed glance before continuing.

“We named him Pannalal because he wandered from the Panna Tiger Reserve into Bandhavgarh.”   

Well, so much for creativity, I thought, disappointed because Sultan settled into one of his long silences again. Traversing a distance of almost 210 kilometers is a bit too much for a tiger, whose territory normally ranges from 60 to 100 square kilometers. Was he in search of a mate? Was it the lack of prey? Or was he driven out by another more dominant male? No one really knows, for not much has been documented about the reason behind Pannalal’s migration from Panna to Bandhavgarh.  

While Pannalal and Charger were two tigers I haven't photographed, the former because I haven’t been fortunate enough to see him yet, there’s one rather popular tigress I did see and capture on camera - Spotty, a tigress I have written about in detail previously. Now, it makes sense if a leopard were to be named Spotty, evidently because of the rosettes that adorn its sinewy body. But Spotty, the tigress?

Spotty, along with one of her daughters

“There’s a ‘T’ shaped spot on her forehead,” explained Sultan, “hence she’s Spotty!”

I barely managed to suppress a smile. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out the so-called T shape, but I wasn’t about to argue with the expert.

“Spotty has a sister, Dotty. It rhymes,” he shrugged.

That evening, as we huddled by the bonfire, munching delicious paneer fritters and sipping some piping hot ginger tea, I thought a chat with the resort manager might throw some light on the tigers of Bandhavgarh.

“We’ve known and track these tigers right from birth. The naturalists coin unique names for the big cats, and the most popular ones stick,” he explained, the tea having loosened his tongue.

“For instance, there’s ‘Bhagodi’...she bolts into the nearest thicket every time she hears a jeep and Solo… no prizes for guessing why it’s called Solo,” he guffawed. Clearly, the person who christened these animals wasn’t having a very good day.

Closer to home, the Nagarhole and Bandipur Tiger Reserves boast a very healthy population of tigers. The Tiger Tank Tigress and her cubs, as well as the Powerline cubs, enjoy a celebrity status in Nagarhole and it’s safe to assume that almost no photographer who spends a couple of days patiently waiting to capture them on camera goes home disappointed. Celebrity status aside, their names elicited not more than a yawn from me. Unlike the naming of the dominant male in Bandipur, the naming of the Nagarahole Tigers that I photographed didn’t have a story that interested me.

Speaking of the dominant Bandipur male, after the passing of Prince, the famous tiger that attracted photographers from far and wide, another male soon acquired his predecessor’s territory. Such is the way of nature. He was the Basavanna Katte male, also addressed as Mahadesha.  

When I first laid eyes on Mahadesha, I was astonished by his size. He was handsome and big for a six-year-old tiger and very confident in his stride. Mahadesha settled down behind a bund, giving us ample time to admire and photograph him. Satiated, we drove back to camp, my head full of questions about his rather interesting name.

"There was a forest officer, who’d decided to name his son Mahadesha. However, when he had a daughter instead, he christened this cub ‘Mahadesha’, which coincidentally, was born around the same time. Mahadesha is like his son," one of the naturalists explained when I enquired. A delightful story indeed!

Although I’ve had the good fortune to spend time and photograph some of these tigers, I wish I could travel back in time to observe this one tigress that Valmik Thapar discusses in great detail in his book, The Secret Life of Tigers. She was the tigress, Noon.

Noon walked the jungles of Ranthambore in the 80s before she was killed by poachers. Her diurnal hunting nature earned her the name, as she mainly hunted during the day, especially between mid-morning and noon, a behavior unlike the rest of her kind. Trained by their mother, Noon’s cubs emulated similar hunting techniques, stalking and killing their prey during the day. Perhaps it was Noon’s bold and trusting nature that led to her unnatural demise, robbing many wildlife lovers and conservationists of their chance to spend time with her.

Compared to the numbers in the 80s and the 90s, there are many more tigers that walk the jungles of India today. Some like the late Noon, Prince, Charger, Machali and Genghis Khan were famous, while there were others who were born and lived in anonymity. I only hope that I’m fortunate enough to observe, photograph, and write about these majestic cats in time to come.

From the Bandhavgarh Diaries : Tala Tales and Tiger Trivia

Writing about Bandhavgarh wasn’t easy. I wasn’t sure where to begin. Should I describe the beauty of the jungle that’s home to huge Sal trees and small nullahs that traverse through the vegetation, or should I talk about the vast grasslands that conceal both predator and prey? Perhaps I should begin with the astonishingly high tiger movement and instances of pugmarks everywhere that make Bandhavgarh unique or mention the safari through the forest on a cold winter morning that began with a drive through the grasslands and ended up with the jeep negotiating some steep, rocky curves like a mountain goat. 

Spotty calling out to her cubs

Our journey began with two plane rides ( from Bangalore to Hyderabad and Hyderabad to Jabalpur) and a 3-hour drive to Umaria district in Madhya Pradesh, after which we finally reached our resort that was located at a convenient 15-minute drive from the famous Tala zone. Exhausted as we were, we couldn’t wait for the safaris to begin. 

Boasting the highest tiger density in the world, Bandhavgarh National Park gets its name from the Bandhavgarh Fort that’s nearly 2000 years old. Of the 3 zones in the core area, namely Tala, Magadhi and Khitauli, Tala is most popular owing to the high probability of spotting the majestic tiger, closely followed by Magadhi. Considering this was our first visit to Bandhavgarh, we wanted nothing but the best and naturally chose Tala. 

The diverse vegetation of the Tala Zone allures you with its lakes set against the backdrop of vast hills and endless grasslands. If you’re fortunate enough to drive through this part of the forest towards the end of your safari, you can witness the captivating sunset that envelopes the tall grass in its warm glow. 

The Tala Zone is further divided into 4 routes, i.e A, B, C and D according to their respective carrying capacities and to further regulate the number of vehicles that enter the park. Although each route has its resident tigers, we were hoping to spot one of the most photographed and bold tigresses in recent times - Spotty. As we entered the B route on that memorable day, little did we know that a treat awaited us. Following a rather uneventful hour, we’d resigned ourselves to the fact that the rest of the safari would be like the first half, with nothing to see but a couple of chital grazing peacefully. 

As we drove on, with just 30 minutes to go before we were to head back, we spied a couple of safari vehicles congregated at a bend, the people excitedly clicking pictures. Not to miss out on the action, we caught up with them, only to find two of Spotty’s daughters regaling in the limelight as the tourists furiously clicked away. 

My husband and I whipped out our cameras and tried to get a good shot, only to be blocked by several safari jeeps that simply refused to budge. My heart sank at the prospect of going back without a single good picture of two nearly grown tigresses in a single frame. That’s when our driver, a burly man who knew that jungle and its denizens like the back of his hand, stuck the gear into reverse and backed up in the opposite direction. 

“Why are we going away from all the action?” I asked, flummoxed. 

“Patience madam. You’ll get some great shots in some time,” was all he said. A man of few words, our determined driver purposefully drove ahead, while we kept our cameras ready, just in case an opportunity presented itself. We soon reached a bend, to the left of which were trees and tall grass, while the right had a small, dry streambed surrounded by more trees. Here we came to a halt,  the occupants of our jeep still and alert for the smallest movement or sound. 

One of Spotty's sub-adult cubs responds to her mother's calls

Sure enough, a few seconds later, emerged a tigress, walking nonchalantly towards the track. Sniffing the air, she moaned, her deep throated calls reverberating through the forest.

“She’s calling out to her cubs,” whispered our driver. 

I was trembling with excitement. The two large, female sub-adult cubs, upon hearing their mother call bounded happily towards her, closely followed by the third one. I hoped for one tiger, and managed to see four instead! This encounter, however, wasn’t just about photography. It was also a valuable and rare lesson on tiger behavior in the wild. Until now, I’d only read about how social tigers can be. Although solitary hunters, they have a very strong family structure and bond. This was evident when the mother, none other than the popular Spotty, licked and nuzzled her cubs for a very long time. The cubs, gamboling playfully, were oblivious to their human audience. Our reverie was broken by the driver who reminded us that it was time to exit the reserve. As we proceeded to the exit, my heart longing to spend a little more time with this family of tigresses, I knew that on our next visit, we probably wouldn’t see them together. 

Nature grooms every animal for survival and procreation. In the case of tigers, once the cubs are old enough to hunt on their own, normally when they’re between 24 to 30 months old, the mothers push them out of their territory. It is very common for the dominant adult offspring to fight and often win over their mother’s territory, relegating the older female to the fringes or in search of a new place to mate and litter once again. It’s a tough battle for survival out there; but such is life in the jungle. Whether Spotty’s cubs will survive another monsoon by themselves and carry her strong genetic pool forward or if they’ll succumb to the perils that await them, only time can tell. Until such time, we were content in the knowledge that they had a couple of more months of frolicking and hunting lessons ahead of them. 

Wildlife of India: The Past, Present, and the Future

I must’ve been in high school when I was first presented with my very own copy of Jim Corbett’s book, “The Temple Tiger and Man-Eaters of Kumaon.” I devoured the pages in no time, and soon, hungered for more. My love affair with the jungles of India had begun. Corbett followed Rudyard Kipling, Kenneth Anderson, Valmik Thapar, and the list grew lengthier by the day. Little did I know back then, that someday I’d tour these incredible jungles with a camera in hand and a wild imagination in tow, looking for a good picture or a subject for an article.  Until then, my imagination was peppered with thoughts of tigers stalking unsuspecting deer, herds of gaur grazing peacefully, of leopards leaping from one branch to another, and of crocodiles slinking into the murky depths of a vast river. 

Jungle fowl engaged in a spat

Today, as I listen to the alarm calls of a spotted deer, sitting patiently in a safari jeep, I consider myself to be one of the fortunate few whose dream of capturing these memories on camera has finally come alive. A huge credit for this goes to the conservationists, forest department personnel, and all those who’ve battled for the protection and preservation of Indian jungles and its wildlife, making it possible for the likes of me to enjoy what remains of the flora and fauna in modern India.

The protection of endangered species and the forest cover is an ongoing battle, one that must be fought relentlessly at all times so that the generation after us isn’t relegated to photographing animals and birds at the zoo. Before the former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi launched Project Tiger in 1973, the population of these striped cats was on a rapid decline. By 1971, it is believed that a mere 1800 tigers remained in the wild. The demand was such that tiger skins adorned the living rooms of bureaucrats, nawabs and the elite of India and abroad.  It wasn’t just the taxidermists who had a field day, but also poachers who hunted and sold various body parts of tigers, monitor lizards and elephants, and a host of other species, to anyone willing to buy them. From marketing them as powerful aphrodisiacs to talismans, 19th century India saw a vulgar display of wild animal body parts as ornamental pieces.

An elephant herd by the banks of Kabini

Over the years, having toured numerous jungles across the sub-continent and read innumerable books on wildlife in India, I have come to the conclusion it isn’t all black and white as far as wildlife conservation is concerned. On one end of the spectrum are the experts who raise awareness and invest their heart and soul in the protection of critical species, and on the other end are the hapless villagers and tribal people who’ve lost crops, livestock, their homes and in some cases, lives to wild animals. Caught in the crossfire is the Forest Department whose main purpose today has become to strike a balance between the two.

A leopard in Nagarahole National Park

What then is the future of wildlife in India? Are we doing enough to put an end to forest degradation and wildlife protection? A small, but crucial, part of the answer lies in Wildlife Tourism. Thapar, who invested over 35 years of his life battling for the protection of Tigers in India, said that the future of Indian wildlife lies in Wildlife Tourism. For many, wildlife tourism may be a double-edged sword, a matter of debate... but I couldn’t agree more. When I think of the future of wildlife in India, I not only envision a thriving tiger and leopard population, but also a healthy percentage of endangered species such as the Barasingha, Black Buck, and larger mammals including elephants and gaur, living unmolested by man. To make this possible, it’s imperative that we protect their homes and ensure they have enough space to establish territories. I emphasize on the importance of territorial space, because animals, especially predators, in most cases are territorial. In the case of elephants, they are creatures of habit, migrating from one part of the forest to another, looking for food and water. As for tigers, the lack of territorial space means an increased risk of human-animal conflict. Simply declaring tigers as protected will not suffice. A sustainable and practical future for these animals starts with prevention of forest degradation and establishing critical animal corridors. All of this boils down to responsible wildlife tourism. For the jungles of tomorrow, the India of today needs to educate the generation of the future. We need to teach them to revere the jungles, love and respect our wildlife. I believe that the foundation has been set by our predecessors who dedicated their lives for preservation and protection of wildlife in India. I’m optimistic that the day is not far when the jungles as I envision them, will become a reality. 

Nandi Hills: A Bird Watcher's Paradise

Back in the 80’s and some part of the early 90’s, Bangalore was a city that operated at an unhurried, relaxed pace. The lack of malls and shopping centers meant that weekends were spent either climbing trees in Lalbagh or riding the emancipated ponies in Cubbon Park. We’d wait for the summer holidays because this meant a special treat in the form of a day trip to Nandi Hills. We’d squeeze into my uncle’s vintage car and drive up, stopping multiple times either because the radiator threatened to erupt like a volcano or someone had motion sickness. Once we were afflicted with the disease called ‘growing up’, no one had the time nor inclination to drive to this picturesque piece of paradise.

Bulbul 

So nearly 20 years later, I revisited this holiday destination from my childhood at the behest of my husband, who’d never been here before. Of course, it would’ve been silly to expect the place to look the same. That said, the degree of change amazed me. To begin with, I was very surprised at the sheer number of people who’d thronged to watch the sunrise or check out Tippu Sultan’s summer retreat. Our agenda for the trip was, however, something else.  

Armed with our cameras, we broke away from the crowd and began exploring the vegetation for birds. I’d heard from a couple of our friends that Nandi Hills was a great place to photograph birds.  Although we heard a cacophony of bird calls, spotting them wasn’t easy because they’d hop onto to the highest branch at the slightest sound of a human voice. Apparently, some of the birds that are endemic to the Western Ghats are found here. Eager to leave the people and the innumerable monkeys behind, we looked for quieter places where we’d most likely find our feathered friends. Soon we found ourselves in a nursery attached to a small park. Attracted by the chirping and singing from within the trees, we tiptoed inside and stayed absolutely silent.

The Paradise Flycatcher

Sure enough, our patience paid off and we managed to get some wonderful shots of a bird that had long eluded us  - the Paradise Flycatcher. Although we’ve been on many trips to the jungles along the Western Ghats of Karnataka, somehow this species of the Flycatcher has dodged all our attempts to capture it. Little did we know that there was one right in the backyard of the city. We managed to get some beautiful shots of not just the Paradise Flycatcher, but also a couple of other birds including a Tickell’s Blue Flycatcher, some Bulbuls, and a Grey-collard Oriole, among a host of beautiful birds that throng the hills. If you’re into some serious birding, then you’d understand when I say that this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are so many species of birds that have made Nandi Hills their home, and we’re yet to photograph more than half, giving us all the more reason to come back.

That said, if birding is not your thing, then you could do a little bit of time travel as well. While the crumbling relics do little to take you back in time, they stand testimony to what was once Tippu’s Tashk-e-Janant that translates to the Envy of Heaven. The initial construction was started by his father, Hyder Ali, and later completed by his son. Following a quick glimpse at the summer rest house, we headed to the famous Tippu Drop. It is believed that prisoners condemned to die were forced down the 600-meter cliff. As the crowds started to build up, we decided it was time for us to head home. Before we decided to call it a day, we did check out the lovely nursery that was, unfortunately on that day, closed to visitors.

Nandi Hills has something for everyone. Fitness aficionados can hike along the numerous paths that traverse through the hills or join one of the cycling clubs that offer customized packages. You also have the Nandi Temple that’s dedicated to Bhoganandishwara and Yoganandeeshwara, and of course, a number of places to sip a hot cup of coffee during winters or a cold soda in the sweltering summers, although I wouldn’t recommend picnics, considering how audacious the monkeys are. Speaking of monkeys, I remember this rather amusing incident from when I was a little girl. A large group comprising my parents, grandparents, various aunts and cousins planned a picnic in Nandi Hills. No sooner did we open the food hamper, a dozen monkeys screamed and bared their teeth from the trees above, although they didn’t dare come down owing to the size of our group. This, however, did not deter the monkeys from calling out and watching the hamper from a safe distance. This continued for a few minutes, while my family, ignoring the bedlam, heartily tucked in.

This angered the monkeys who were used to terrorizing the smaller groups into parting with their food. One of the more enterprising ones then decided that he’d relieve himself from above. For reasons of privacy and respect for my family, I will not name who the recipient of the unwelcome shower was, but it was enough to send us scurrying into the car, packing the leftovers in a hurry.

Nandi Hills holds some fond memories for me. It is a reminder that not all vacations require complex planning and traveling all over the country or the world. If you’re looking for a quick and affordable getaway or some good locations for serious birding, there are several picturesque locations at a distance of between 60 to 100 kilometers from Bangalore that are ideal. The best part of such vacations is that they don’t burn your wallet!