Canters v/s Gypsies (And why both are mobsters)

Last week I returned from Ranthambore, one of the National Parks in Rajasthan. It's best known as a tiger reserve and lays a huge amount of their tourism marketing strategies around the large, striped mammal. Nearly every Tom, Dick and Harry that visits the park has but one goal in mind, "Bhai, aaj tiger dekhna hai." The trail guides have been conditioned to give top priority to the tigers as well and will do anything to satisfy the tourists' desires to rendezvous with the big cats.
So, now would be a good time to inform you about the other extremely fascinating wildlife present in the park.

Leopards

Sloth bears

Nilgai

Spotted deer

Sambar deer

Indian gazelle

Crocodiles

Monitor lizards

Langurs

More birds than you can count on the fingers of all the people in a rickety canter

Mind you, this is a tip-of-the-iceberg list. The animals and birds I spotted over the course of four days itself runs into six pages of my trusty diary. YET, the only thing to see there is the tiger.

The tiger is a beautiful animal. Arguably, the most beautiful. When I laid eyes on the first tiger we saw, my heart began racing faster than when I perform and my hands were trembling far too much to steady my camera. We were in a gypsy at the time and we had sped from the entrance of the park for ten minutes to reach this spot. Word had got out that a tigress and her 17month old cubs were by Rajbaug lake, and it was no rumour. Steadily, more and more vehicles pulled up by the lake to look at these graceful, oversized felines chase lapwings, sniff at the ground and trot by the lake with their backsides smeared in cool mud. They strolled unbelievably close to us and drank from the lake. I could just imagine how this had to be one of those sights that one never gets used to watching. But what was becoming painfully evident was that the tigers were extremely accustomed to the sight they were beholding. People were not new to them- nor were their large and noisy vehicles. We were but another mob of camera-clickers and oooh-aaaah exclaimers that they were all but alien to. It seemed wrong. So, so wrong.

As the tigers moved away, our gypsy did too. And I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds to fully assimilate what had just transpired. I felt honoured, humbled and positively shaken. It was surreal. Even to have had a faraway glimpse would've been incredible, but to have within a few meters creatures that I grew up worshipping gave me indigestion. At this point, I noticed that we weren't driving away from the tigers but after them. The gypsy was repositioned now at another end of the lake, surrounded by other vehicles teeming with cameras and humans. For the next hour, we sat there, watching a patch of tall grass within which the cats had retired for an afternoon siesta. No one was content with that hair-raisingly close encounter. Everyone wanted more. More photographs. More time. More everything. 

It was frustrating to see how these people infringed upon their space. The main problem we face is lack of respect toward the animals we are so desperate to lay our eyes upon. And once spotted, no one took the time to look up from their viewfinders and just stare at the tigers with their naked eyes, taking in the sheer beauty they carry with their every movement. When the tigers emerged once more and the cameras clicked in unison, I sat there staring at its gentle face still groggy from its nap. My guide was perplexed about why my camera with its able lens lay silent in my lap.

The following day, we were fortunate to have keen, interested and ethical folk for company into zone six of the national park and together we proved how keeping away from the hoard of vehicles enhances chances of spotting everything. It was on this very day that we were fortunate enough to have sighted the extremely elusive sloth bear. An animal seen even rarer than the tiger, it is far more dangerous and manages to keep even the former on their toes. It's hard to imagine a small, sluggish bear with a face akin to Winnie the Pooh slicing up your face to smithereens with one swipe of its paw. But it can, and we need to respect that fact and keep away. 

The third day was an absolute disaster. We rode in a canter- a large, unwieldy machine that can seat about thirty people. It was a disaster not only because the vehicle made more noise than all the cicadas in the jungle or that it gave us body ache in places we never would've imagined. It mostly had to do with the fact that NOBODY on the canter gave a tiny rat's ass about the environment they were in. Our company was a mixture of uninterested, middle aged people, large families in larger hats and infants. Yes, infants. Infants that howled and cried and sent full-grown stags running like a tiger was coming for them. (As a side note, if you are the proud parent of a baby girl or boy younger than seven years old, do not bring him/her into the forest. If I am with you at the time I may punch you in the face politely ask you to leave.) I was particularly miffed by a woman who tried to take a selfie with a tiger that was over ten meters away and who complained painfully loudly about how it didn't turn out right. WELL, MAYBE THAT'S BECAUSE YOUR FACE IS TAKING UP ALL THE ROOM IN YOUR FRAME, HAT LADY! (Obviously, I didn't say this to her. I'm a nice person.) It wouldn't surprise you to know that I wanted to plot the murders of several people on that dreadful vehicle or that we hardly saw anything apart from spotted deer and sambar. I was overcome by the guilt of having paid to go on a safari that simply disturbed the wildlife I had hoped to silently observe. I pledged never to be party to another noise-fest again.

On our very last day there, we found a hurt chittal that was confined to the banks of a lake, unable to move. There were crocodiles lurking in the water. What was to happen was inevitable. The deer would either fall prey to one of the big cats or the near-sighted crocs, or she would die of dehydration during the night. It was a sorry sight, but this is nature. The 1500mm-owning photographer with us wanted to spend the entire safari waiting by the lake for something to kill the deer. He wanted photos of the 'action'. I couldn't understand how someone could hope for the brutal death of another creature simply to get some pictures of it happening. There is little compassion in wildlife photography, and I doubt I'll ever be professional for that very reason. I watched as two crocodiles walked slowly toward the deer, followed by them dragging her into the water and disappearing underneath. I heard in muffled morbidity as the water in the lake turned to a hue of red, haunted by the last cries from the wounded deer. I know this had to happen and that this is the cycle of nature. But not once did I reach for my camera.

To end, I want you to know that those four days were undeniably some of the best days my senses have ever lived. I saw before me what I want to spend the rest of my life within and I know for certain that I will. I believe that this trip was the beginning of an incredible journey to many more places like these...soon. I just wish people weren't such undefeated assholes.