Tiger as personalised metaphor

Reflections on an "unsuccessful" safari

The monkeys have given out the call. Arrowhead and her cubs are definitely on the move in Ranthambore National Park’s Zone 2. Ram Avatar, our guide, tells us that the cubs are 21 months old and nearly as big as their mother, who is named after the arrow-shaped mark on her forehead.

Ram Avatar’s stories have built the anticipation well, but we are not lucky enough to sight Arrowhead and her grown babies today. Now the monkeys call from further, higher, where the tigers have retreated to rest through the day.

The canter gives up and speeds towards the exit. A silence envelops us all…

Our disappointment is heightened by the sight of a gaggle of white-skinned foreigners high on a successful tiger sighting. Seated in their jeeps, they await a second sighting, waving their ostentatious telephoto lenses about, and jocularly swapping stories like they are in a downtown bar. Their foolish optimism mocks us.

Packed close alongside fellow tourists inside the rickety canter, I try to process the disappointment around me. The lady with the red lipstick who has smiled at me through the ride is now sullenly berating Ram Avatar, questioning his route decisions. Loudly, she is wondering why her luck, otherwise so spectacular, has failed when it comes to sighting a tiger today. Another woman is finding it tragic that the “only objective” of her trip has not been achieved. Her son is trying to pacify her. He looks apologetic while doing so. A couple sitting behind us all appear unfazed, a family of four right at the back is struggling to take this all in their stride.

I, least stoic of all, am pacifying Ram Avatar, challenging the tiger-centric objective of Lady 2, and ignoring Lady 1, whose smiles I had hitherto been returning…

The Tiger, I reflect, is a personalised metaphor.

The Tiger is more than power, grace, dominance. The Tiger is also luck, the thrill of the chase, a lifelong elusive goal. Different meanings for different people. For a gentleman we met the day before, Tiger was Paisa Vasool.

The Tiger is a metaphor for expectations. For the ones we unnecessarily place on our lives. While life sets its own pace and defines its own goals, we, pressurised by the external world around us, set expectations that are divorced from our capabilities and realities. Like the tiger, these goals are often mirages, elusive, tantalisingly out-of-reach. A rustling in the grass, a swishing tail behind the tree, a monkey call close by, a not-so-fresh footprint that offers hope. We tighten our belts and soldier on.

Life goals are wily. Achieving them is not so much about capability and efficiency. These magic mantras that the world had peddled to us are useless against their guiles.

The teeming, yet calm, forest is a fount of positivity…I allow it space, letting disappointment leave me…..

The path to success is lined with a different set of attributes - kindness, introspection, alertness, empathy and patience. The Tiger rewards us with a sighting when we read the signs of his presence closely, when we lie silently in wait, when we respect his will, and submit to it. Arrowhead and her cubs, at home in resplendent Ranthambore, offer us a lesson in humility we would be foolish not to learn.

I want to dwell on the sheer arrogance of construing the Tiger’s absence as disappointment! The ability to be disappointed at not getting something that was never ours to receive appears to be uniquely human. Its not something we should be proud of! I am not….and its something I will think about for a long time.

The Tiger as a metaphor for missed opportunities….

Chasing the Tiger distracts us from the immense rewards of the forest, the rich bounty of sights and sounds and smells that we can savour if we only pay attention. The rock formations, water bodies, flora, animals and birds tell us - We are here, as we have been for thousands of years. Acknowledge us. Be one with us.

Earlier in the safari, as we were bumping along searching for another elusive and shy tiger, Noori, a special hush had befallen the inhabitants of our rickety canter. It was a moment of quiet appreciation and camaraderie that I wish our guide had converted into an opportunity for illustrating the larger story of the magnificent Aravallis.

As we completed our safari and drove away from the park, I thought about how wonderful it would be if Ranthambore had an interpretation centre where all safaris began and ended. A centre that captures the diversity of the forest, narrates the fascinating interdependence of its inhabitants, and reminds us of how liberating and joyous humility can be. Perhaps then the Tiger could cease being a metaphor, and just be!

PS: The previous evening, we had forayed into the park with another guide, who had done better justice to the biodiversity of the forest. Without the pressure of a Tiger to chase (it was not a route where sightings are common) we were far more relaxed and observant. Focus is overrated, friends! Being in the moment, however, is being the best version of yourself.