People in the office often ask me where to go in India. And I always
recommend Ranthambore. It carries a powerful memory for me. And it's
always good to hear back from people that they loved the place. Holly
just came back and said how much she enjoyed Ranthambore.

1987
The trip to Ranthambore stays unforgettable in my memory. There was a
Hotshot camera that we had. Point and click. And my sister pointed it
at deer and held on like a professional photographer and when she
clicked, the deer had hopped out of the frame.
Spotting bears is difficult. But we were lucky to spot two. Eating
berries. I passed on the camera from behind to my Harvard returned
uncle. He pointed the camera at the bears but did not click. He too was
delusional about being a pro photographer and took his ambition out on
that Hotshot.
I have a picture. But I can’t convince you that the two black dots you see in that are actually bears.
And then the tigers came along.
Two cubs crying for their mother. The mother hurrying to meet them.
And that is the image I carry in my mind.
And that is the image that is brutally killed every time I see the word ‘poaching’ in the newspapers.
It’s been 22 years since that day. And so many tigers have been killed mercilessly in the jungles of India.
I have read stories of how tigers are tortured before they die. I have
read accounts of people who have seen poachers go about their business.
I have heard of corruption and I have resigned myself to the fact that
tigers will no longer roam our forests.
And slowly, painfully a memory is getting created in my mind.
The cubs calling out to their mother. And the mother being killed before she can reach the cubs.
I cannot shake off the imagined memory.