It's a dog's life for Sher Khan as humans mess up Corbett Tiger Reserve

Anjuli Bhargava morphs into a big cat and finds out how difficult it is to survive as one at the once-iconic habitat

WTH!! I open my eyes wide and look closer. A lady dressed in a shocking pink palazzo emerges from the door. It’s paired with a shimmery gold blouse. She’s lit up the outside with her gaudy jewellery. She has some strange headgear on. There are enough diamonds on display to make DeBeers cringe. The gold bangles are almost up to the elbows. Her lips are ruby red and face painted. I can hear loud, blaring music bellowing from the door. I can picture the mayhem inside. 

I do a quick retreat. To hell with exercise and my other plans for the day. I’ll just eat whatever is in the vicinity. Turn vegan, if need be. It’s safer to stay inside the park, safe from these crazy humans.

Where on earth is that silent zone the forest chaps keep harping about ? Around the Corbett Tiger reserve (CTR), there’s supposed to be a two kilometer silent zone but it’s ignored by all concerned. Resorts that are within the vicinity simply bribe the relevant officials and loudspeakers blare at any time of the day or night. Some of these resorts have even tried to sound-proof the wedding halls to reduce the racket.

As a Bengal tiger, in Uttarakhand’s CTR, I really have seen it all. The place I’ve just run away from is one of those ghastly resorts in the area. Every week, new eyesores with glass, chrome and steel come up, each more hideous than the previous. This strange and ugly brown tint on glass is very in. These places are mostly wedding venues that host loud, raucous parties. It’s here that India’s gold craze is at its most glaring: even their hair is mostly golden! There may be a few odd exceptions, but in general, a lot of them could do with a good dose of manners and civic sense, instead of all the rich food they consume.

My great-great (to the power many) grandfather tells me there was a time when there was just Jim and a handful of other very civilised and considerate people in these parts, mainly locals who preserved their environment.

It is really only through Jim’s books that I can imagine this park in its old avatar. My ancestors tell me the locals who were nice and simple (they still are actually, it’s the outsiders who are a problem) managed to live peaceful lives in harmony with us. The park, they tell me, was full of delicious meat back then. Lots of game for them to chase –tasty spotted deer, sambar deer, foxes and leopards of all shapes and sizes, golden jackal, fowl, nice plump wild boar…the list was endless. Now even when I find one of these, they succumb like lambs and hardly have any juice. It’s like biting into a bag of bones.

Water. It sounds like something out of a movie or a dream. Were there actually streams, ponds and riverbeds full of clean, shimmery water, as the books describe? Crystal clear, sparkling cool water. I find it hard to swallow. Ponds I find are usually dry and streams are only to be found in the monsoon. These days even the riverbeds are dry except in the monsoons. Water, if one is lucky enough to find it, is grey in colour, warm to the touch and brackish. Now on some days, I actually think I’ll have to walk into one of these garish bars for a beer to quench my thirst. Streams and waterfalls with water flowing are definitely a thing of the past.

In fact, the only thing overflowing around here is the garbage. Now, here I really need an answer from one of these forest or municipal authority chaps. What on earth are we going to do about this never-ending garbage? No matter where I look, I see piles of plastic, fruit peels, bottles, broken glass, rotten food, chips packets – all intermingled and cows, pigs and stray dogs poking their heads in. I don’t even feel like digging my teeth into these animals that hang around the dumps, considering the filth they are surrounded by. They smell foul and look as dirty. Better to starve, I tell you. It probably explains why some of us – the leopards in particular – have taken to eating plastic around here of late!

I know there’s a group of committed people led by the lady who set up the nicest camp in the area – Forktail Creek – which she and her husband later shut in disgust – but as I see it, they are running around like headless chickens. She and her dedicated team are busy trying to educate all the village kids on how to manage their own waste but it’s not really them or their parents who are the main culprits. It’s this endless stream of city dwellers in their music blasting SUVs and garish outfits who are a menace. Their children seem to be perpetually munching on something out of a polypropylene packet. With six- and eight-year-olds weighing 60 kilograms and looking like mini-hippos, no good it seems to be doing them either!

The ones who are really in need of education – and a tight rap from my paws – are forest and district administration officials who do nothing about anything. There may be the odd exception, but never have I seen a more apathetic and corrupt bunch than here. These are the ones that I have been trying to tell my fellow tigers to spare. Most of my council members want to dig their teeth in and take one good chunk out of this lazy lot, just to teach them a lesson for not doing their job. It’ll be counterproductive I explained at our last meeting. But hey, I can’t convince everyone to be good at all times. With food and water running out, sheer hunger and thirst may drive one of the council members to this. I can’t be held responsible.

Meanwhile, for all of us here, it’s a toss-up between Ranthambore and Nagarhole. Either way, we have to clear out of here pretty soon. As a wise Tibetan once said, better to live one year as a tiger than a thousand as sheep.

Pictures used in this report and accompanying video: Courtesy Waste Warriors, Corbett