What the Tiger Didn’t Give Me
What Happened Instead
“Jungle safaris are always fun,” my friend Harry said, trying to convince me to go for one. “And you never know when you might get to see a tiger.”
“A tiger in a safari?” I clenched my fists and shook my head as hard as I could, memories of lost money flooding back. “No, thank you. I’ve tried at least five safaris just to spot a tiger and never found even one.”
Harry stepped closer and tapped me reassuringly. “This time we will surely find one. I promise. I have a plan,” he said, raising my hopes despite myself.
I agreed hesitantly, promising myself that if I didn’t spot a tiger this time, I would never go on a jungle safari again—like a man trying to spot God from a different planet.
***
We travelled 250 kilometres with the expectation of spotting a tiger on at least one safari. I also expected to get my money’s worth—unlike the past many years, when I had wasted a lot of money and never spotted His Majesty, the tiger.
Harry’s plan was to cram in as many safaris as possible over two days, without worrying about what would happen to our middle-aged bodies, already worn out by office work.
Although the journey took us almost six hours, we weren’t tired. We were too excited to wait and insisted on going on our first safari immediately.
It was an afternoon safari. The temperature hovered around 25 degrees Celsius, which felt cool by Indian burning standards, where summer temperatures casually soar to 45 degrees.
An open safari jeep carried us into the jungle after our tickets were verified. As we entered, a cooler stream of air hit us, reminding us we had left behind the cacophonous, polluted human world and entered a place closer to how God might have intended it.
We immediately lifted our binoculars as the guide steered the jeep toward an area that was supposedly isolated but now crowded with other safari vehicles. He promised the tiger would appear any moment—as if the tiger cared about the enormous money tourists had paid for tickets or about the guide’s enthusiasm. The tiger, it seemed, had chosen to feast elsewhere.
The guide kept taking us from one spot to another, raising our hopes and then crashing them, like kids trapped on a giant wheel. Our eyes stayed fixed, desperate to spot the majestic animal—like lusty eyes glued to a porn film. Our ears strained for animal sounds that might guide us toward the tiger, as if the forest itself pitied us for the money we had spent. I kept checking my watch, alternately encouraging and criticising the guide, hoping to squeeze some competence out of him.
After three hours of mindless wandering, we discovered two things:
the guide wasn’t as knowledgeable as he had claimed when he boarded the jeep
our safari was wasted because His Majesty had chosen not to shower his blessings on us.
In short, we found no tiger, no tigress, and not even any of their unwanted children.
I was terribly disappointed. My expectations crashed. Meanwhile, my irritating mind began calculating how much money I had wasted on safaris over the years, even reminding me of the soothing massages I could have taken instead.
Harry, who had promised me a tiger, seemed more determined than ever for the next safari. I had never seen him this committed—even when every possible girl rejected him for marriage, including the ones who supposedly liked ugly men. Anyway, my friend went off to search for something in the nearby village that he believed would help us spot the tiger, while I slept like a tiger that had just finished a wholesome meal.
***
The next morning, at exactly 5 a.m., my friend knocked on the door. He looked as excited as a tiger who had just spotted a tigress after a month of searching.
“Get ready. We have the morning safari, remember?” Harry tapped my arm so hard that my sleep ran away like prey that had just seen an approaching tiger.
“Why the hell do you look so excited? It’s just a stupid safari.” I yawned as I took the brush to my filthy teeth.
“Told you I would bring someone who will help us spot the tiger.” He smiled as wide as he possibly could.
“You’ve got God?”
“Even better.” He winked, smiled, and pushed a man forward. “I’ve got the best guide from the village. His name is Ashok. We will surely spot a tiger today.”
Ashok was smaller than average, his head balder than average, but his smile wider than average. I almost choked on the toothpaste. But Ashok smiled calmly and convinced me to trust him.
***
In the next hour, we threw the breakfast the resort had packed into our bags, verified our safari tickets, shoved our newfound best guide Ashok into the jeep, and headed toward the jungle.
It was 6 a.m., and the cold air reminded us how it felt to breathe air not polluted by our industrial aspirations. The temperature hovered around 10 degrees as we entered and dropped to 7 as we moved deeper into the core area of the forest.
The guide spoke very little. His eyes seemed fixed on listening rather than seeing, as if he were guessing the tiger’s path through sound alone. Without saying a word, he kept directing the driver—left, right, straight. For a while, other safari vehicles appeared ahead and behind us. Then Ashok guided us onto a path where ours was the only jeep on the road.
When we dared to ask, he simply gestured for us to trust him.
After fifteen minutes, he asked the driver to stop. He motioned for us to be quiet and closed his eyes, listening intently.
We looked around. There was no one. Only tall trees whispering in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped. A monkey made fearful sounds, as if he had just seen a naked man making love to another monkey.
I stood up on the seat and swept my binoculars in every direction but saw nothing. I lowered them and looked at the guide instead. His nostrils flared, testing the air. Then he opened his eyes and pointed.
We heard something moving through the dry leaves.
And then we saw it—an ugly, hairless dog, caked in mud, casually crossing the road.
I gritted my teeth so hard that the dog ran away, its remaining hair vanishing more out of fear of getting eaten along with its master.
The guide apologised and steered us toward another part of the jungle. He took us to a lake where several safari vehicles waited, hoping the tiger would appear to quench its thirst.
After another hour of waiting, napping, and silently cursing the guide, we realised the tiger wasn’t thirsty after all.
Another safari wasted.
As always, I was crestfallen and cursed my friend for wasting my money. He was doubly disappointed—once for failing me, and again for failing to spot the tiger.
Then the guide said something so novel that my hopes rose once again.
***
“Night safaris,” Ashok said, nodding. “Very few people book them—and those who do spot a tiger every time.”
I had never booked a night safari before. But Ashok convinced us, and we immediately arranged the tickets, cancelling our morning safari for the night one.
Ashok also promised to guide us without charging a penny. He was ridden with guilt, and his reputation as the best guide was at stake.
In a night safari, nobody can see anything beyond the beam of the vehicle’s headlights, so we didn’t carry the useless binoculars. The jeep moved through darkness—or at least that’s what I remember—because we couldn’t see the trees or anything around us.
Every other minute, the vehicle stopped, raising both our hopes and our fears. I was afraid of an irritated, jealous leopard jumping from the trees onto our car and robbing us of the chance to see his boss, the tiger, before we could recover our money’s worth.
Each stop revealed animals crossing the road. Once, a herd of deer passed silently. Another time, a huge, muscular bison blocked our path. Every time, I hoped the tiger would appear from behind like a villain and pounce on the animal. But it seemed the tiger had better plans—lying down somewhere, fornicating in the dark, and most importantly, wasting my money.
We returned from our last safari without a word exchanged between me, Harry, or Ashok—or any combination of the three. We simply nodded and went to our rooms, our expectations burned to the ground.
The resort receptionist promised a surprise, but I didn’t care for anything anymore.
***
The next morning, I woke up to a knock on my door.
“Sir, there’s a safari vehicle ready to take you,” the resort manager said.
I yawned, struggling to keep my eyes open. “Wrong room. We’ve finished our safaris. We’re leaving today, remember?”
The manager called the desk while I stood half-asleep, balancing against the door. The receptionist from the previous night appeared.
“Sir, remember I talked about a surprise?” she said, smiling, her teeth freshly minted. “The family who booked the safari next door had to leave because of an emergency. You can take the safari.”
“I don’t need it. Thank you.” I almost closed the door, but the manager interrupted.
“Take it for free, sir. We won’t charge you. The driver has already arrived from the village. We don’t want him to lose his day’s pay.”
He rushed off to confirm before I could protest. Maybe he noticed I was greedy enough to accept whatever the world offered for free—even when it was usually not worth it, like my worthless free SIM card that promised network everywhere.
I woke my friend and told him about the free safari. He jumped into the jeep with his binoculars. I left mine in the room on purpose. I had no expectations of spotting anything.
While the tickets were being verified, I insisted we skip the guide. But the government apparently believes tourists must pay for their stupidity, so we were forced to take one. I simply gestured to the guide to remain quiet and mind his business while we minded ours.
***
As we entered the jungle, I closed my eyes. My plan was to sleep for the next three hours.
Then I felt the cold air brushing through my hair, as if someone were gently blowing on it. The wind kissed my cheeks, and I found myself smiling. I slouched deeper into the seat, my head tilting, my eyes still closed.
When I opened them, the tall trees were dancing with the wind. Leaves sang softly above us. Birds chirped merrily, unconcerned about whether they would see another day. Monkeys leapt between branches as if nothing else in the world mattered.
My friend pointed to a herd of deer crossing the road as the jeep slowed. For the first time, I noticed how they sauntered through the forest, unbothered by the danger around them.
The jeep moved through different parts of the jungle. For the first time, I noticed everything—the tall green trees, the playful wind slipping past them, the varied songs of birds, the restless dance of animals, the forest offering itself without asking for attention. Maybe I had missed all this before because I had arrived with an agenda, a goal, an expectation to see only what the world had taught us to care about.
I was so absorbed that I forgot we had only thirty minutes left.
Then, the jeep followed a few other vehicles. Someone claimed they had spotted the tiger.
I didn’t care. My heart already felt full in a way I hadn’t felt before.
We stopped near the other vehicles. My friend pulled out his binoculars. I watched tourists scan the grass desperately, trying to locate where the tiger had vanished. Some lowered their binoculars in frustration, exactly the way I had the day before. My friend sat back, dejected.
I stood instead, taking in the forest. Everything around me was green, as if God himself had painted it after absorbing its calm. Then I noticed something moving in the distance, behind the low grass—one step at a time. It blended into the greenish-yellow field, but each step disturbed the leaves.
As the driver started the engine, I patted his shoulder and asked him to wait. I knew what my eyes had found.
Within moments, binoculars were raised everywhere. Most people still couldn’t see it, including my friend.
Then, the tiger emerged from the bushes.
He stood barely fifty metres away. I felt my heart unclench as I took in the sight of him walking in quiet glory—the black stripes, the orange-yellow coat, the steady stride across the road. Cameras clicked. Hearts raced. Minds fell silent. And then he disappeared into the meadows.
I closed my eyes and took it all in. My lungs filled with fresh air. My heart moved to the rhythm of birdsong. I saw the forest as a whole, something I had neither expected nor hoped for.
The animals, the trees, the birds—they don’t have goals. They live each moment without agendas or expectations. Maybe that’s why their short lives feel more meaningful than ours.
When we try to see the world through a narrow lens, we miss what it is quietly offering us.
When we returned, I paid in full for the safari.
But it wasn’t because I had finally spotted the tiger.
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