A wild tamasha

Even as we virtuously set ourselves goals to arrest climate change, the middle class Indians' knowledge of nature, appears to have barely progressed from 50 years ago

India is one of the few densely populated countries to enjoy unique proximity to a rich variety of wildlife, birdlife, insects and flora. But Indians who appreciate this rare bounty are a rare species. On the contrary, the average Indian’s visit to a wildlife reserve appears to provoke what we humans may describe as animal spirits, though it is doubtful if any species in the animal kingdom would recognise it as such. Nowhere is this boorish ignorance more on display than in a tiger reserve, a sign of how little the success of Project Tiger, now celebrating its 50th anniversary, has contributed towards genuinely educating the Indian public.

The last tiger census revealed that there are approximately 3,167 tigers in the Indian wilds, the highest wild population in the world. Among Project Tiger’s collateral impacts has been the rise and spread of wildlife tourism. At one level, this has been a good thing since it created local job opportunities, especially for those who lost their lands for the creation of sanctuaries. At another, it offers a disagreeable study of the behaviour of the Indian Middle Class outside their natural habitats of malls and multiplexes.

Unfortunately, wildlife tourism has developed almost exclusively around the tiger to the exclusion of all else. The problem here is this: In general, the tiger is a retiring sort of creature at least as far as humans are concerned. Located in dense jungle or well-disguised in tall grasslands, spotting the tiger is a matter of patience, local knowledge and luck. It is possible to drive for hours on routes or wait at waterholes at which a tiger is known to be a habitue but with no luck. As a character in the film Sherni  quipped, “You may look for the tiger 100 times and see it only once; but the tiger has seen you at least 99 times.”

This scarcity value, in turn, drives desperation levels among sanctuary visitors to fever pitch. This means they ignore all the other natural bounty — the wondrous variety of birds, insects and plant life, or the other animals that inhabit the jungle from leopard cats and caracals to antelopes, wild dogs, hyenas and even elephants (to be fair, leopards attract some excitement). The less sophisticated may demand of their guides an instant view of the “strip loin”; the well-heeled plaintively compare the experience to the abundance of wildlife they have spotted in the great African plains. Recall how a tigress was obligingly provided with bait so that a busy US president could “spot” one in the wild.  

Either way, the result is the same: The average wildlife guide makes no effort to teach himself (there are few female wildlife guides) much about the natural world beyond keeping tabs on the probable whereabouts of the big cat. His earnings depend on it, since a tiger sighting invariably adds a premium to the tip he will receive from a grateful tourist. This can be a bane for a tourist looking for what management experts like to call a “holistic experience”. If you happen to be in a jeep or canter safari vehicle (at ~700-800 a seat), so much the worse. There’s no stopping for anything except the pursuit of the tiger.

A group tiger sighting, though, is rarely a happy experience. Though strict silence is essential, and tourists are advised as much, most immediately begin shouting in excitement. In less visited sanctuaries, the human din sends tigers crashing back into the undergrowth. In Ranthambore and Kanha, where tigers have, curiously, become habituated to gawking, yelling humans, the spectacle is at once amusing and disheartening.

The tiger or tigress in question completely ignores its excited audience, rather detracting from the experience. But the audience itself is unwittingly putting on a show. Ignoring pleas for quiet from responsible guides, some tourists venture to bark at the tiger; others hiss or whistle or emit catcalls, and some want to throw stones at it. All the while, children shout, babies howl, self-styled experts confidently express their flawed views molto forte, and the more glamorous focus on taking selfies.

This same rowdy tourist sentiment of wildlife as a tamasha is informing our policies today where governments seek to score political points from wildlife policies. Some state governments are planning “safaris” on the lines of the ones they have witnessed in Africa, betraying a deep ignorance of the characteristics of Indian wildlife. We import African cheetahs into a relatively small area in cruel disregard of their survival capabilities in an alien habitat even as our own lions languish in the Gir forests. And even as we virtuously set ourselves goals to arrest climate change, the middle class Indians’ knowledge of nature, which undergirds the planet, appears to have barely progressed from 50 years ago.