The trip where the tiger didn’t show up until it did, but then I realised the bigger… |

I’d been writing travel stories, and about national parks for months, fact-checking, going through data, and obsessing over deadlines. At some point, I realised I was talking more about parks than actually being in them. That’s when the irresistible idea struck: I needed a personal wildlife break, free from targets, timelines, and editors’ red circles.November felt perfect, crisp, dry, and full of that pre-winter excitement. I didn’t want anything complicated or far-flung; I wanted something I could slip into quietly, like a secret escape (without feeling the need to ask for more leaves). Ranthambore ticked every box. Easy trains from Delhi, minimal planning, and crucially something I could do with just two days of leave. A travel writer’s version of a quick weekend getaway, minus the guilt.

The travel gods were kind. I managed to get confirmed tickets, which in itself felt like an omen. Boarding at the ever-chaotic New Delhi Railway Station, with vendors yelling and engines humming, gave me that old-school travel rush. Since I booked a coupe, the train experience was also new and awesome. A coupe! My first time ever. For a moment, I forgot that i had to wake up so early to catch the train. There I was, feeling mildly elite in my tiny two-seater cabin, watching the dry landscape through the window as I and my husband headed towards Sawai Madhopur.By morning, the train slowed into the station, and Ranthambore’s dusty, warm air greeted me like an old friend. The hotel I’d booked sat in the middle of nature, wide gardens, tall trees, and that faint, comforting smell of earth. The kind of place where you can hear your own thoughts or the distant call of a lapwing, whichever comes first. I dropped my bags, inhaled deeply, and instantly felt that this getaway had been the right call.

The next morning, our safari jeep rolled in right on time. Gate 6 was our entry point, everything new for me, the sight of thick vegetation and endless possibilities. The moment we drove in, the world shifted: the soundscape changed, the air cooled, and suddenly everything felt wilder, sharper, more alive. We saw sambars posing dramatically in clearings, langurs, deer not even bothered about tourists, and peacocks absolutely convinced they were the main characters.But no tiger.

Our guide, ever optimistic, kept pointing at pugmarks and whispering, “Bas thodi der mein dikhega… tracks fresh hain.” I nodded, assuring myself that time will come, who is definitely not emotionally attached to the idea of spotting a big cat. Spoiler: I absolutely do. But that day, luck didn’t side with us. We exited the park tiger-less but strangely satisfied. There’s something calming about a forest that refuses to perform on cue.Still, the stubborn part of me wasn’t done. If the jeep didn’t deliver, maybe another strategy would. So the next morning, before the sky had even decided what colour it wanted to be, I signed myself up for a camper-van style safari. Half-asleep, wrapped in layers, I climbed in, hoping that maybe the wildlife universe appreciated persistence. Our camper van had school children (the chaos can’t be explained).The air was cold enough to bite, and the forest was still waking up, birds stretching their wings, deer stepping cautiously, sunlight filtering in like a shy guest. It felt like the jungle was telling me: slow down, breathe, you’re here for more than just a tiger.Read more: Which country is called the Land of White Elephants? And honestly, I was. This trip wasn’t about a checklist. It was about reclaiming the simple joys of life. The forests reminded me of how tiny and temporary deadlines really are. And as luck would have it, we saw the tiger, but from a long distance. She was playing with her cubs, but tall grasses didn’t offer us that clear sight. We waited quietly, while the children around us whispered excitedly, trying their best to follow instructions to stay silent.Read more: 10 countries with the highest quality of life in 2025, and what makes them stand out This continued for more than half an hour, after which the driver said we should move ahead, as our allotted time was almost up. On the way back, I reminded myself to be grateful for the experience—after all, I had almost seen a tiger, and that in itself felt special. She wasn’t obliged to give us that perfect ‘cheese’ moment either; we were in her home, and I wouldn’t pose for strangers if they turned up uninvited at mine. It was that trip where the tiger didn’t show up until it did, and only then did I realise this bigger picture.Tiger or no tiger, Ranthambore did what I needed it to do—it brought me back to myself, and made me realise that taking a break is necessary to pause, reset, and appreciate nature once in a while.