It took us three weeks to get to the Tiger Reserve. We walked, we hitched rides, and sometimes, we managed to catch buses headed in the right direction. We’d squeeze in between people who looked completely different than us. They’d stare, wondering where we were going. We couldn't talk to each other. I wanted to ask them about the tigers they’d seen, but we were in the middle of India. No one spoke English. We hardly even had internet. We could only imagine tigers in our minds.
Every night, we'd speak about what was coming. We were gonna see tigers! We’d whisper in awe. We spoke about their muscles, the way they moved, the way they hunted for prey. We marveled at their quiet reputation. Someone in our group told us about the respect Indians have for the tigers. When they go and try to sneak a peek at these glorious animals, they don't even carry sticks with them. They don't want to harm them. If a tiger attacked a human, no one would try and stop it. We were going to tiger territory. If something happened, it would be on us.
We got to the Tiger Reserve one sunless afternoon. 14 tents were spread out a kilometer away from the next. They were set that way to encourage sightings. Guests would keep an eye on the fields and when one tent saw a tiger, they would pass the message on to the others with a ping. We took a tent on the far east side. And after three weeks of travel, we finally settled in.
The very first morning, and every day after that, a ranger would prod us awake at 5 am. He’d instruct us on the best angle to watch as we sat outside our tents. Under the gently rising sun, we’d strain our eyes. We wouldn't talk. We'd try to keep as quiet as possible. And we'd watch. And we'd watch. We’d watch to see if we could spot a tiger. There was nothing to do during those long hours. We were really there only for one thing. We couldn't walk around. It could be dangerous.
Every day at lunch, someone would deliver food. They would bring dal and Rogan Josh and mutton curry and delicacies. I couldn’t believe the tigers didn't sniff out the food and come try to take some. Between the packed dishes, they always gave us a plate of vegetables. There were some cucumbers, some turnips, a few onions, and tomatoes. One time, we had a bamboo pickle that a distant village made. We’d eat lunch together in the tents, away from the boiling sun. I didn't bring much with me from home. Along with the essentials, I packed some comfy pajamas and a cooling rose mist water. But deep at the bottom of my backpack, away from custom guards’ eyes, I hid a bottle of sweet tahini dressing. I love unfamiliar food. But after weeks of travel, I was prepared to miss a taste of home. Every day at lunch, I'd sprinkle some sweet tahini dressing on the cucumbers or turnips or whatever vegetables were brought that day. I'd hide it as I ate it with my Rogan Josh and mutton curry and fresh rice. I didn’t want others to think I wished for home.
After lunchtime, we'd nap, catch up on sleep. We spent so many hours outside, just watching. We needed our eyes to rest. Our skin got a bit crinkly through the sunscreen. Towards evening, we'd leave our tents and come outside again. The tigers sometimes gathered at night. As the sun set deeper in the sky, we'd sit outside our tents for hours and hours, just staring and staring.
Every day, we'd do the same thing. We'd wake up, we'd look for tigers. At lunch, I'd have my sweet tahini dressing. And at night, we'd try to look some more. Every day for three weeks, we kept looking for tigers.
People in tents on the west, north, and east saw tigers. Most saw more than one. They sent us many pings. We thought the tigers would come our way. They never did. We'd sit and stare into the vast expanse of the Indian forest. And we saw other animals. We saw cute little monkeys and other spotted deer. They'd look at us, shyly, but almost as if they were used to us. There were often visitors at the reserve just sitting. We weren't threatening.
I could only be there for three weeks. The reserve had strict rules to ensure everyone had their together experience. I had two more days left before my three-week trek back to the nearest airport. I still hadn't seen a single tiger. I must have sat for hundreds of hours, looking, staring, watching. I hadn't seen a tiger. I didn't see the muscles that we spoke about. I didn't see the eyes. I didn't watch a tiger watch me. I decided to switch tents with someone. Maybe my tent all the way in the east wasn’t good luck. Silently, when the tigers were most likely to be asleep, I slowly trekked 14 kilometers all the way to the other side. Me, alone, with my belongings and my sweet tahini dressing. I settled down in the new tent that smelled of other people's sweat and had body dirt caked in the sleeping bags.
That night, I went outside to look for tigers. I heard a ping. Tigers were spotted all the way in the east at the tent I just left. They always came from the west. Maybe I hadn't looked hard enough. I waited that night. I waited all night. I didn't go to sleep. And the next morning, I stayed outside, waited through the hot lunch sun, let my skin burn. I wanted to see the tigers. Everyone else had spotted them. The last day there, I finished my last drops of sweet tahini dressing with some cucumbers and packed my bags. I was leaving with only the memory of tigers I wanted to see.
As I trekked back out to the nearest car or bus to take me to the next nearest car or bus that would take me to the next car or bus until I got to the airport, I looked around. Maybe I'd spot a tiger at last. I looked, I looked, I looked around. I looked up. I got desperate. Maybe tigers could fly. I looked down. Maybe they’d crawl through the dirt. I looked and as I got to the very edge of the tiger reserve I saw a lone sign in red. It had the same message written in 17 different languages. Tigers hate sweet tahini dressing, it read.
Ahh so beautiful
😂😂 Great ending, unexpected. And this was even more creative and profound than I'd imagined :) I'm sure you'll see tigers someday!