You can't see me

It was a homecoming of sorts for the fellow. A city-worn soul returning to the land of monsoons and maternal scoldings. The scent of rain on hot mud hit his nostrils like nostalgia served on a banana leaf. It roused something primal in him. Maybe it was childhood, maybe indigestion, but the urge was unmistakable: I must chase tigers.

Most people chase dreams, women, or government jobs. Narayanan? Booked a lavish safari package.

Yep, he actually believed the jungle owed him a glimpse of its most elusive bachelor. A foolish optimism, as misplaced as expecting some honesty in an indian election campaign.

Bandipur Tiger Reserve was the destination. The jungle .. dense, mysterious, and full of creatures who, unlike your boss.. have some dignity. Our fellow arrived armed with enthusiasm, a camera lenses the size of guilt and a diet of YouTube vlogs that promised tiger sightings if he just manifested this hard enough.

He picked Zone B, of course. That sacred tract every hotel manager, half-baked tourist, and even the chaiwala swore by. “Zone B mein pakka tiger milega!”(You will see the Tiger in Zone B, Guarenteed!) was the gospel.

The first day, The guide whispering, leaning in with dramatic flair and muttered, “Pug marks.” Our man’s eyes widened, scanning the earth for proof of royalty. What he saw looked more like a lazy smudge made by some bored cow. Still, he clicked photos like he was with National Geographic. A deer pranced by, probably laughing. A wild boar sauntered past, snorting like it knew it was the climax of this safari. The tiger, of course, remained on his Do Not Disturb mode.

Later, the guide, with all the pride of a scholar discovering Ancient Dravidian script on a tissue, announced, “Fresh tiger dung!” The party leaned in, hopeful. They sniffed. Regretted it immediately. Even the monkeys started to look at them, amused.

The next day, they arrived hopeful again, like a man proposing to the same woman twice. The forest officials greeted him with that bureaucratic grin .. half parts pity and suppressed laughter.

“Dekha?”(Did you see?) they asked.

“No,” he replied, his tone that of a man who's been ghosted by an entire species.

“Oh, but others saw four tigers yesterday! Mating!” they added cheerfully, as if informing him of a party he wasn’t invited to. Even a bunch of school children from Goa managed to see five tigers .. and one of those majestic beasts had the audacity to pose like a Bollywood debutante. Meanwhile, our poor man’s camera roll was filled with deer, rocks, and something that might have been a bird if you zoomed in hard enough and squinted.

By the third day, desperation had set in. He shifted to Zone A, unstrategically .. out of betrayal. The jungle, sensing his optimism, responded with a rainstorm so violent it felt like God had spilled a bucket meant for another continent. Soaked, shivering, and sitting in a jeep that offered all the protection of a plastic bag in a typhoon, our fellow experienced what some philosophers call true insignificance.

And then came the final insult.

Bhima .. the Sultan of Bandipur, the Shahenshah of the Shrubs, had made an appearance. Not in Zone A. Not in Zone B. But on the main road, like a bored rockstar doing an impromptu concert outside a dhaba. There were videos. The driver had seen him. A fruit vendor had seen him. Even a stray dog had apparently caught a glimpse. But not our hero.

As he squelched back into the hotel, dripping with defeat, even the hotel manager offered him a philosophical pat on the back. “You won’t see the tiger when you are ready. You’ll see it when he is.”

Narayanan nodded. Philosophical pain is still pain.

The jungle didn’t reject Narayanan. It simply judged him unworthy.

He learnt that life often gives you dung instead of dreams, and expects you to thank it for the experience.

He never saw Bhima. Somewhere in the undergrowth, Bhima and his buddies probably sipped on rainwater and chuckled, “There goes another tourist who thinks he’s the main character.”

So next time life withholds your tiger, do what Narayanan did.

Mope, sulk, swear softly at the skies… then write about it.

Because not seeing the tiger? That’s still a hell of a story.

And unlike the tiger, it won’t ghost you. Emm?