In the last week of April in Ranthambore National Park, the forest was reeling from summer, recovering from a recent unfortunate incident on its famous Trinetra Ganesh temple route. A subadult tiger had attacked people who were passing by on foot, on the road that crosses through at least four core areas of the world famous park. Numerous narratives and concerns were going around the incident when I arrived there, for a series of seven safari drives that we had managed to book months in advance. The realities of India’s wildlife tourism often intersect with that of the local inhabitants, who not only share their lives with the wilderness but show much resilience when it comes to such unpredictable encounters. This time, my journey started with a focussed goal. I wanted to see a particular family of tigers, for their lives and tales unravel complexities that involve a healthy dose of drama, intelligence and confidence, if observed closely.
Guided by my partner (a wildlife photographer and tracker), I knew I was in good hands. We had the permits for the zones where the family lives and roams and as a result of pre-planning and excellent tracking by the guides and drivers of the park, we found them all, with a few bonuses! A streaking sub-adult resting under a fruiting mango tree, two cubs play-fighting along a pool, a matriarch on a mission, a new mother on a kill, a silent face-off at the lake’s edge, and a few incredible hunts. The thrill wasn’t just in the sightings, but in the story the forest was telling. We were tracing the territorial rivalry of two royal tiger families—descendants of the legendary Machli—fighting not just for space, but legacy.
Yet what struck me just as powerfully was the mobile phone supremacy. I noticed how most tourists barely looked up from their phones even when the big cat came as close as 20 feet! Some even demanded to get closer so they could get selfies. Their guides pointed, whispered, pleaded, but the wild had been reduced to a checklist, a snapshot, an Instagram reel. And that's where the problem begins.
In the times of viral clips and entitlement-driven tourism, it's time we re-oriented our approach to India's wilderness. Because the truth is, the most rewarding wildlife experiences don’t come from demanding sightings, but from understanding the jungle. I am not saying this. Naturalists, who are experts in their regions and habitats, who accompany guests daily on safaris across India’s tiger-rich habitats, are saying it.
Start with Why: Choosing the Right Park
"The first question I always ask a guest is—what do you really want to see?" says Khadir Khan, naturalist at Jehan Numa Wilderness, Bori Safari Lodge. "Identifying your priority species is essential."
For the first time safari goer, the choice is often influenced by friends or family travelling along. Increasingly, viral posts of wildlife are raising interest among adventure loving travellers. In India, there are national parks in almost every state. But if you have visited a few parks already, you would know that each national park has different zones and gates. Terrains and landscapes often determine the species who thrive in it. A good instance would be of the one-horned rhinoceros, flourishing on the eastern side of the country in the Terai habitats of Kaziranga, Manas and Dudhwa. Leopards, an elusive but resilient cat, can adjust in every type of habitat, but thrive in places where they have lesser threat from tigers or lions - like Jawai in Rajasthan or Rajaji National Park in Uttarakhand. And tigers? Well, they are spread across the country in diverse habitats of 58 tiger reserves. Central India remains unmatched with parks like Bandhavgarh, Kanha, Panna, Tadoba, Pench and Ranthambore. But even among these, each park offers a different experience. "Bandhavgarh is a moist deciduous forest with dense sal trees while Panna is dry deciduous and has plateaus with better visibility. The forest changes, and so does the wildlife behaviour”, explains Khan.
If you’re someone who prefers solitude over safari traffic, parks like Sanjay Dubri (MP) or Simlipal (Odisha) offer quieter, more immersive experiences—even if sightings are less predictable. The best strategy? Book your safaris first, then your stay. "Safari slots are limited but rooms are easier to find", warns Khan.
If you are not after the tiger, then the options increase manifolds. Nameri in Assam offers incomparable views and landscapes, riddled with a variety of birds so wide and rare, that it is never a bore. Singalila and Jaldapara in West Bengal offers charming elephant and rare red panda encounters among rhododendrons. Anamalai in Tamilnadu offers fabulous trails where birding is an incredible experience while Kanger Valley in Chhattisgarh offers a tryst with mythology in its flowing dharas and ancient limestone caves. Of the 107 national parks in India, the commonality remains to be boundless nature engulfing your senses wholly.
Seasons of the Wild
There’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to timing your trip. April and May bring blistering heat—but also the best chances of predator sightings, especially in dry forests like Ranthambore, Tadoba, and Panna. “Animals are drawn to remaining water sources, making their movements more predictable during the summer months”, explained Amith Bangre, a conservationist and wildlife educator. Contrarily, parks like Kaziranga and Jim Corbett, with large rivers flowing through them offer more unpredictable sighting opportunities, due to grassland growth and management.
Bangre, who also manages the Jaagir Manor near Kishanpur Wildlife Sanctuary in Uttar Pradesh, recommends the transition seasons. "March and April are beautiful. The forest still holds some green, but the sightings begin to spike. November and December, post-monsoon, are equally magical as the jungle feels much more alive", he shares.
Different parks peak in different seasons. Satpura is best between November and February, while Bandhavgarh and Pench shine in summer. Do your homework—or better yet, ask a naturalist.
Let the Forest Reveal Itself
“No matter which park you pick, the best sightings are earned—not forced,” says Bangre. He cautions against chasing specific tigers or pressuring guides. “A good safari is about patience and presence. The more you tune into the forest’s rhythm, the more it shows you.”
The sentiment is echoed by Shaheen Shaikh, a naturalist who’s spent over a decade observing India’s jungles. "People obsess over tigers and miss everything else—the chousingha, the pangolin, a bee-eater building its nest. There’s so much magic beyond the stripes, I feel it is critically important to point out the lesser beings as often as possible", she ascribes. Shaheen takes guests of Waghoba Eco Lodge on safaris in Tadoba Andhari National Park, a popular park. And she has a few golden rules of safari etiquette that deserve framing.
● Explore the lesser-known zones: "That sloth bear you see digging for termites on a quiet trail? Worth more than ten vehicles crowding a yawning tiger."
● Bring binoculars, not expectations: "Be an observer, not a collector."
● Don’t compare jungles: “Each forest is unique. Comparing Kanha to Corbett is like comparing a desert to a delta.”
● Never pressure guides to break rules: Off-roading or making animal calls is not just unethical—it’s destructive.
And above all, go with a naturalist. Dimple Bhati of Kanha Jungle Lodge had explained this to me. "They add layers to the experience—behavioral cues, ecological insights, even folklore. They turn sightings into stories.”
Beyond the Jeep: Alternate Ways to Safari
India’s safari experience is evolving. Parks like Satpura, Sunderbans and Periyar allow canoe and boat rides. Some parks offer mobile camping and even walking safaris—giving you a more grounded, sensory connection to the wild. The Western Ghats offer incredible birding on foot. “In places like Dudhwa or Kishanpur, your best moments might come not from a tiger but from the stillness of the swamp, the sudden flight of a sarus crane”, Bangre said.
He also adds that "Safaris should be a process of quiet discovery. That’s what makes them unforgettable."
The Last Walk
Our last drive in Ranthambore gifted us a sighting that felt fortuitous. By the still waters of Rajbagh lake, late in the afternoon—the forest turned amber, when she emerged. Arrowhead (T-84), granddaughter of the legendary Machhli. Her frame was gaunt, bones outlined beneath her striped coat, the weight of two surgeries still visible in the limp of her leg. Yet she walked with unmistakable grace, carrying not just her years but her bloodline like a crown.
At a distance, three sub-adults huddled by the water—perhaps her last litter. She was showing them her kingdom, tree by tree, trail by trail, as if handing down a whispered inheritance. There were only a few jeeps around, and none dared break the silence. We followed slowly, reverently, as she moved along the lake's edge for what felt like hours.
No drama. No roar. Just the rustle of dry leaves, the hush of the wind, and a matriarch on her farewell tour—still wild, still sovereign. A fading queen who, even in her frailty, chose to lead.
That’s what the Indian wild gives you, if you’re lucky—and quiet enough to receive it. Stories that tremble with soul. Not just photos, but moments that haunt you gently, long after the forest has disappeared in your rearview mirror. So the next time you venture into the wild, go not just to see—but to witness. The jungle has a way of giving you exactly what you didn’t know you needed.