Let the tiger be!

 (An edited version of this piece appeared in TOI, Pune, on June 24, 2024)

As a wildlife and birding enthusiast, I take every opportunity to escape the dystopia of our concrete jungle and find refuge in green spaces. My outings have always been deeply rewarding, for the forests are full of blessings. I’ve seen hundreds of butterflies descend, angel-like, under dense river-side canopy for mud puddling and witnessed plum-headed parakeets flock to a leafless tree dotted with hollows that make up their nests. When a paradise flycatcher suddenly crosses your path, its long white tail flying like a streamer, the moment feels touched by magic. The trees have stories to tell too - the ghost trees (Karu) of Central India light up like spirits in the moonlight, the Sal forests of Corbett tower over like gentle green giants, the crocodile bark trees have water running inside them (a few strikes at the wood are known to send a gush flowing out) and oh, the meadows, with their dewy grasses and deep secrets! The jungle offers peace to anyone seeking it.

Yet, this peace is shattered the moment the tiger enters the scene. The singular, targeted chase for the tiger is the very anticlimax of the excitement one feels when this gorgeous big cat shows itself, as a part of the bigger jungle story. The forest, a slow reveal full of drama and little subplots around every corner, is rendered a big blur by safari vehicles zipping through the mud tracks in the mad rush for the tiger. At one point in my recent trip to Jim Corbett National Park, the famous Paarwali weaved her way through the grasslands, her agile body shining golden in the morning sun. Hordes of tourist gypsies began crowding, predicting her movement and when she’ll hit the road “for a head-on shot”.

She did eventually come to the mud track. By then, forest guides and drivers, spurred on by excited, competing tourists, had lined up their vehicles bumper to bumper on the road. The tigress, mother to cubs whose playground currently is the Dhikala grassland, looked on nervously at the man-made traffic, putting one unsure foot after another till she found a clearing. For those few moments, in her own mighty kingdom, she looked diminished. It was a heartbreaking sight.

The recent picture of a tiger from Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve, lost in a sea of tourist vehicles, tells a similar, distressing story. Everyone deserves to see the tiger in its natural habitat, but could we please step back a little? Follow the rules, maybe? This mad quest to get ‘just a little’ closer to the animal amounts to harassment of a beautiful, wild creature. The forest department, when willing, can often curtail these excesses, as we witnessed in Nawegaon-Nagzira Tiger Reserve just a few days ago. They efficiently rationed out safari vehicles in batches of 3 to see a tigress and her cubs cooling off in a water hole. The forest staff, perched on a machan in 44 degree Celcius sun, kept an eye on the watch, motioning the vehicles to move away once they’d had their fill. But, as wildlife biologist Neha Sinha tweeted, “The government can’t be everywhere, practically speaking.” The buck stops with us, the tourists. “…We need to speak up when there and stop others. This is really about keeping voluntary standards.”

 We owe the tiger respect and some space. Let’s show some grace to this graceful animal. Let it just be.