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Hindustan Times
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Valmik Thapar: Cousin, critic, and wise counsel
I have to admit I was surprised. I knew he was a celebrity. On the subject of tigers, he was a world authority. His 40 books and his BBC series, Land of the Tiger, were clear testimony. But the newspaper coverage of his death suggested a level of admiration and respect I had not anticipated. It proved he was considered a truly special person — in many ways, an icon. Thus, Valmik Thapar's death revealed a legacy and a reputation his family had probably not appreciated. Perhaps even understood. Now, belatedly, we have realised the enormous impact he had as a conservationist and as an authority on tigers. He was the star of the present generation of our family. In many ways, Valu, as we knew him, was like the tigers he loved. He was powerful and gruff. He was a man of few words but capable of large warm gestures. And his appearance was striking. Big and broad, with a most beguiling smile and large twinkling eyes. Valu's laugh could bring everything to a sudden halt before the room spontaneously laughed with him. Though I have known him all my life, I really got to know him in my 20s. I was of the age when you think you know more than you do. On a holiday in India with a dear friend, Claire Winterschladen, Valu suggested we visit Ranthambore. 'If you haven't seen a tiger, you haven't lived', he teased and taunted us. 'I'll take you there and you'll have the time of your lives.' But what I didn't realise — although clearly Valu knew — is what those days in Ranthambore would mean. It was my first holiday in a jungle. The first time I'd vacationed with a girlfriend. The first time there was no parental authority or guardian to watch over and ensure I didn't step out of line. But Valu knew this would be the case. That's why he was so keen we visit Ranthambore. He was doing his bit to help a cousin grow up! In later years, when I was a journalist, he would often invite me to dinner and open my eyes to hidden aspects of stories I was following or to interpretations I had not thought about. Whenever he began a sentence with the words 'have you thought of this', I knew I had not. At first, I didn't realise that he was gently but cleverly guiding me. He did it unobtrusively. Sometimes, he would invite people to educate me. On other occasions, he would call to comment on an interview I'd done. Once or twice, he would alert me to a story in a newspaper he thought I may have overlooked. On each occasion, his advice was invaluable. He wasn't a politician, but he had an unerring feel for what would attract attention. He instinctively knew what would excite curiosity and could easily distinguish it from what was of interest only to the elites of Delhi's drawing rooms. But Valu was also my fairest critic. Others may have chafed at his comments, but I knew he had watched what I'd done and thought carefully before speaking. The one lesson I immediately accepted — but never fully mastered — was his advice not to let my voice rise when I'm speaking. 'There's no need to let your excitement show', he said. 'The content of what you say should be sufficient to capture the audience's attention. Keep your voice at an even pitch.' I rarely did. Now, every time I can't control my vocal chords and my voice rises up the register, I will remember Valu's sage advice. And that means I will be remembering him a lot! Karan Thapar is the author of Devil's Advocate: The Untold Story. The views expressed are personal
News18
03-06-2025
- Politics
- News18
Remembering Valmik Thapar: Friend, Fighter, Force Of Nature
Last Updated: The tiger has lost its most passionate guardian. But the trail Valmik blazed still runs deep. And we must follow 'I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free." In the quiet sanctuary of Wendell Berry's lines from 'The Peace of Wild Things", I often find solace. Today, those words return with a new weight, because the man who taught so many of us to seek that peace in the wild is no more. Valmik Thapar, India's most passionate advocate for the tiger and the soul of Ranthambore itself, has passed away. The news hit hard. For me, it's not just the loss of a conservation icon—it's the loss of a friend of Ranthambore, a place I hold closest to my heart. A fierce voice gone quiet. A presence impossible to replace. Valmik wasn't just India's tiger man. He was Ranthambore. Not just in a symbolic way—he lived, breathed, and fought for it every single day. Through the awe he inspired in forest guards and guides, in villagers and visitors. Through the stories that clung to the park like mist—of Machli, Noor, Genghis—and of the man who gave us a reason to care. Valmik started young, in the 1970s. Back then, Ranthambore was a fragile wilderness on the brink. What Valmik saw wasn't just a threat—it was a possibility. He immersed himself in the jungle, studying tigers not just as a researcher but as someone who understood their soul. He watched, he listened, and he wrote it all down—articles, books, and documentaries that brought India's tigers into living rooms and policy rooms alike. Over the span of four decades, he authored a score of books on wildlife and conservation, including Tiger: The Ultimate Guide and Tiger Fire—the latter an anthology of India's long and layered relationship with the big cat. He presented and co-produced several acclaimed documentaries for the BBC and National Geographic, such as Land of the Tiger, which aired internationally and educated millions on India's wildlife. He was appointed to India's National Wildlife Board and served on countless conservation committees. In 1987, he founded the Ranthambhore Foundation, an NGO that pioneered community-led conservation and integrated livelihood support with environmental protection—a model that has since been emulated across protected areas in India. Thapar wasn't just documenting wildlife—he was shaping the national conversation around it. His work bridged the gap between field science, policy, and public imagination in a way few had before him. And Valmik didn't stop there. He challenged the system. Took on poachers, confronted politicians, and questioned bureaucrats. He wasn't afraid to make enemies if it meant protecting the wild. His roar often echoed louder in Delhi's corridors than in the jungle itself. Valmik saw conservation not as a job or a science but as a moral calling. A duty. 'I sighted my first tiger at the age of nine in Corbett Park. At 23, it became my obsession, as watching it in the magical setting of Ranthambore mesmerised me like nothing else… Since then, I have served the tiger and will do so till I die," Valmik once told my friend Ina Puri during a rare interview. That devotion shaped everything he did. When I began working on Ranthambore Diary: 9 Days, 9 Cubs, it was Valmik's shadow that loomed large. His way of seeing—of telling stories that made the wild feel personal—shaped my own journey. The very fact that I could witness and write about nine cubs in nine days is a tribute to what he helped build: a park where tigers still thrive because someone had the vision to fight for them. In many ways, Ranthambore Diary is rooted in Valmik's legacy. Every photograph I used, every moment I paused to observe rather than chase spectacle, carried echoes of his voice—that insistence on respect, patience, and deep listening. His writings taught me to see not just the beauty of a tiger but also its context: the rustle of the grass, the alarm call of the langur, the tension in the air before a cub emerges from the thicket. Valmik had shown us that documenting wildlife is about intimacy, ethics, and stewardship. For his part, Valmik never stopped being astonished. In his book, Living with Tigers, he writes, 'I had never seen a tiger chasing a deer in the water. Genghis didn't falter and charged in as sheets of water splashed skywards from the flight of the sambar and the tiger's pursuit of the deer. He missed, but what a spectacle he had created… What I had seen was so intense that it was like being witness to a theatrical extravaganza." That sense of wonder never left Valmik. Nor did his conviction that to conserve tigers was to conserve something deeper—a shared inheritance. Ranthambore, to me, has never been just a park. It is a living narrative stitched together by decades of watchfulness, with Valmik as its most committed chronicler. Without his tireless advocacy, his fight against poachers and policy lapses, and his insistence on science and storytelling going hand in hand, the park would never have become what it is today. But Valmik wasn't just about Ranthambore. He advised prime ministers, served on key wildlife boards, and helped shape Project Tiger into what it became, both through his recommendations and his critiques. He wanted better protection but also smarter tourism. He called out the glorified safari culture and pushed for regulation, always keeping the tiger at the centre. Valmik didn't romanticise the jungle. He talked of vanishing forests, of bureaucratic apathy, of conservation losing its soul to selfies and soundbites. And yet, he kept fighting. Kept believing. I remember conversations where his eyes would light up while describing a tigress teaching her cubs to hunt. And others where his voice would drop, heavy with grief, recounting lost forests or failed policies. He was never detached. That was his greatest strength— and, sometimes, his burden. Valmik's passing leaves behind more than silence. It leaves a legacy—of truth-telling, of fierce love, of action. The best way to honour him isn't through grand words. It's by listening to the jungle, and acting when it calls. I had no shortage of stories and anecdotes about him, thanks to another Tiger Man—Dharmendra Khandal — who kept his spirit alive in every tale he told. The tiger has lost its most passionate guardian. But the trail Valmik blazed still runs deep. And we must follow. My last email exchange with him was in September. I had invited him to a small gathering in Ranthambhore. He graciously replied, saying he would be out of India, visiting his son, who was studying in London. Even in that brief exchange, his warmth came through. That will stay with me—as will his legacy. A columnist and author, Sundeep Bhutoria is passionate about the environment, education, and wildlife conservation. Views expressed in the above piece are personal and solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect News18's views. tags : conservation tiger Valmik Thapar Wildlife Location : New Delhi, India, India First Published: June 03, 2025, 22:55 IST News opinion Remembering Valmik Thapar: Friend, Fighter, Force Of Nature
Time of India
31-05-2025
- General
- Time of India
Valmik Thapar walked with tigers, now he rests
JAIPUR: Valmik Thapar was 24 - fresh out of St Stephen's with a gold medal in sociology and an old boy from The Doon School. He stood at a crossroads. Life had questions, but no answers. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now Then the jungle found him. In Ranthambhore, 1976, he met Fateh Singh Rathore - the national park's legendary field director. "Once you've looked into the eyes of a wild tiger," Thapar would later write, "you're never the same." That encounter didn't just chart a career spanning 50 years, it ignited a cause that would redefine tiger conservation in India. On Saturday morning, a pall of silence fell across Ranthambhore's forests. Thapar, 73, died at his Delhi home after a prolonged battle with cancer. More than just a conservationist, Thapar was a man who walked with tigers - and also an author, documentarian, policy adviser and activist. Valmik Thapar was tiger's most tireless advocate But to many, Valmik Thapar was the tiger's most tireless advocate. His relationship with Rathore, bloomed into a decades-long partnership that not only saved Ranthambhore's tigers from vanishing but also seeded a national movement for big cat protection. "I met Valmik as a 10-year-old in 1976," said Goverdhan Singh Rathore, son of Fateh Singh. "He was going through a difficult time and came to Ranthambhore seeking peace." "That meeting with my father led to a friendship that lasted a lifetime. Both led a long-running crusade to save Ranthambhore and its tigers," he added. In 1987, Thapar founded Ranthambhore Foundation - one of the first efforts in India to integrate conservation with community uplift. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now Villages ringing the park became part of the mission. Healthcare, education, women's employment and traditional crafts were woven into a model that linked forest protection to human well-being. NGOs like Dastkar joined the effort, showing conservation didn't need to be a choice between people and animals. Dharmendra Khandal, a close associate and conservation biologist, recalled time in the field with reverence. "With Valmik sir, it was not just a safari; it was a masterclass in the wild. His energy at 70 was unmatched. Even between safaris, he wouldn't rest - he would invite me home for long, intense conversations about Ranthambhore's future." Thapar authored nearly 50 books, narrated documentaries including Land of the Tiger for BBC, and served on over 150 committees, including National Board for Wildlife. He was unafraid to call out missteps in govt policy, yet managed to win trust across political and bureaucratic divides. "He was fearless. Today, he has laid down his armour and gone to eternal rest," said Balendu Singh, former honorary warden of Ranthambhore. To those who worked with him, Thapar was a visionary mentor - sharp, driven, and unyielding. "His booming voice will echo through the valleys of Ranthambhore forever," said Goverdhan Singh. Even in his final days, Thapar was deep into writing a two-volume chronicle marking 50 years of Ranthambhore. Wildlife filmmaker Subbiah Nallamuthu, who chronicled India's tigers for global audiences, perhaps captured Thapar's impact best. "He was the voice through which India's tigers first spoke to the world. Long before streaming platforms and social media, he gave the tiger a language that was poetic, political and proudly Indian. The tiger may have lost a voice, but for those who read his words, watched his films, and walked the trails he once did, that voice still echoes. " Thapar leaves behind his wife Sanjana Kapoor, daughter of actor Shashi Kapoor, and a life spent tracking pawprints through history.
New Indian Express
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Valmik Thapar: Tiger Man who gave his everything to wildlife
Tigers burned bright for Valmik Thapar, who passed away after losing his fight against cancer at the age of 73 on Saturday. For many people of a certain vintage, Thapar arrived in their drawing rooms near the end of the 20th century with his infectious energy and a rich drawl promising a "journey you will never forget". Mellifluous Ta da ri na played as the title rolled up — Land of the Tiger. The six-part BBC series would go on to transmit his passion for these "superb animals" to the world. It was a passion that had been ignited in the 1970s at the Ranthambore Tiger Reserve. Thapar had gone there, on a whim, at the age of "23-24". But when the "romantic" chanced upon tigers in that setting, the flames of love were lit. Fateh Singh Rathore, the legendary former field director of the reserve, played a big role in nursing the affair along in the early days. Such was the magic that young Thapar, who had no experience with tigers or wildlife, never really came back from the place he would call "home" later. In fact, on my frequent visits to the place, I used to encounter him — either alone or in the company of Fateh Singh Rathore. Thapar would go on to succeed magnificently where it mattered: he made tigers popular among the masses. Through numerous books and films on wildlife, he helped the big cat to regain its lost glory. In a way, through them, he mobilised public support for the tigers. Even the titles of Thapar's books reflect his undying love for tigers. The Secret Life of Tigers, The Tiger's Destiny, Living With Tigers, and many more. In all, he wrote over twenty-five books — Tiger Fire: 500 Years of the Tigers in India was another — and made many documentary films, all of which will remain as vivid testaments. Famous dissenter The 'Tiger Man' of India, as he was often hailed, never shied away from taking pointed, non-conformist stands on issues concerning India's wildlife management. It did not matter whether the final analysis proved him right or wrong, he would not budge from his stated position. Recently, Thapar was among the first to put his foot down on the Central Government's ambitious programme to bring African cheetahs to India. "The project is doomed to fail; take it from me, cheetahs will not survive on Indian soil," he stressed repeatedly. Till the end, he remained a man of strong beliefs and did not mind crossing swords with authorities and fellow wildlife experts. Another interesting case in point was the Tiger Task Force, set up by the UPA Government in 2005, in the aftermath of Sariska Tiger Reserve losing all of its tigers to poachers. It was the first national park in India to attain this dubious distinction. One of the briefs of the taskforce was to suggest effective wildlife management in India's reserves to prevent a Sariska-like fiasco. Chaired by well-known environmentalist Sunita Narain, the committee in its final report suggested forging a stronger rapport between humans and wildlife in the forest areas. Thapar famously struck a dissenting note, scoffing at the taskforce's suggestion and dismissing it as "too optimistic". He instead advocated making certain areas of the forest sacrosanct for tigers and other wildlife, with no human interference. Be that as it may, even the most strident critics of Valmik Thapar swore by his undying passion for the Tigers. In that respect, he reminds me of another Tiger Man, and one no less important: Billy Arjan Singh. Billy's legendary association with Uttar Pradesh's Dudhwa Tiger Reserve finds an echo in Thapar's fascination with Ranthambore. The two of them had several things in common. Neither had any field experience, nor scientific training of any kind. Both courted controversies gleefully, but their imagination was fired by their passion for forests and wildlife. Both gave their everything to wildlife. It will always remain their abiding legacy. (Ajay Suri is a writer, photographer, documentary film-maker. He is also a journalist who won the Ramnath Goenka award for excellence in environment reporting.)
Indian Express
31-05-2025
- General
- Indian Express
The one-man army who secured the tiger — with love and awe: Valmik Thapar (1952-2025)
Conservationist and tiger chronicler Valmik Thapar passed away early this morning after a brave and tough fight with cancer at his Kautilya Marg residence in New Delhi, his family said. He was diagnosed with cancer in his digestive tract. Considered one of the world's foremost authorities on tigers, Valmik Thapar inspired generations to rally for the cause of wildlife conservation. A veritable one-man army, he authored over two dozen books mostly on big cats, presented several wildlife documentaries, including the seminal BBC series Land of the Tiger (1997), and remained the loudest – and most articulate – voice for conservation in India since the 1990s. With no formal training in wildlife biology or conservation, Thapar developed a deep understanding of tiger behaviour, as he put it, by watching wild tigers in Ranthambhore over five decades. In 1976, it was a chance encounter with Fateh Singh Rathore, then director of Ranthambhore tiger reserve, that had him hooked for life. Both outspoken and often contrarian, Rathore and Thapar formed an indefatigable partnership — until Rathore's demise in 2011 — that influenced and, often, shaped India's conservation efforts and policies over the decades. Thapar served in multiple apex bodies of the government, including the National Board for Wildlife and the Central Empowered Committee of the Supreme Court. He was also a member of the Tiger Task Force set up to prescribe reforms in the aftermath of the disappearance of tigers from Rajasthan's Sariska in 2005. That was also the year I started learning the mercurial ways of India's Tigerman. Thapar was warmly supportive of my work in The Indian Express from the day I first reported the total loss of tigers in Rajasthan's Sariska tiger reserve in January 2005. He offered me encouragement, insights and contacts, as the investigative series took me to parks across the country: Ranthambhore (Rajasthan), Panna, Kanha (Madhya Pradesh), Indrawati (Chhattisgarh), Valmiki (Bihar) and Palamu (Jharkhand) over the next three months. In May 2005, I reported how Ranthambhore was in shambles despite attracting more money than all other tiger reserves combined. Non-profits, including Thapar's NGO Ranthambhore Foundation, had received a sizeable chunk of those funds. The report appeared in the morning then Prime Minister Manmohan Singh visited Ranthambhore. Thapar was livid over what he said would be his last phone call to me. It was a we-told-you-so moment for a couple of young conservationists who had flagged how often Thapar used to grandly bemoan how he failed to save 'his' tigers. 'Valmik is in love with his ego,' his critics would carp. Two months later, it was Thapar himself, back at what he loved doing, who would alert me to what he perceived as a 'pro-people bias' in the Tiger Task Force report which observed that the tiger 'issue is not about the tiger per se… but about rebuilding forest economies.'' Thapar's legendary stubbornness – a key shield for his activism – did not come in the way of changing his mind. Inviolate areas are often impractical, he would eventually concede, and 'conservation is impossible without community support.' Thapar had set up his Ranthambhore Foundation back in 1987 to work towards integrating local communities into conservation efforts, and also partnered with another non-profit, Dastkar, to create livelihoods for displaced villagers. But Thapar's fight, as he wrote in his 2012 book Tiger My Life, Ranthambhore and Beyond, 'was always for inviolate spaces—where the tiger could live free, away from noise, away from humans.' Post-Sariska, though, reform was in the air and prompted him to look beyond the model of exclusionary conservation. Around 2006, Thapar's 'tiger guru' Fateh Singh Rathore was also warming up to 'soft strategies' — such as educating children from traditional hunter communities — pushed by biologist Dharmendra Khandal, who had recently joined Rathore's non-profit TigerWatch. From mostly-stick, the Rathore-Thapar conservation scale started leaning decisively towards mostly-carrot in a matter of years. What did not change was Thapar's inbuilt distrust of the government system, even though he remained an insider most of his life. Perhaps that intimate knowledge led him to observe that 'bureaucracy killed more tigers than bullets ever did.' Yet, even Rajesh Gopal, who took heavy flak as then head of Project Tiger from Thapar during the Sariska years, is quick to assert that his adversary was not self-serving. 'All said and done, Valmik really helped the tiger's cause,' Gopal told The Indian Express. Until his last days, Thapar was involved in conservation work, guiding Khandal on various TigerWatch projects, and curating a defining collection of photos of Ranthambhore. Thapar was born in 1952 in Mumbai to Romesh and Raj Thapar, journalists and co-founders of the political journal Seminar. He is survived by his wife, actor and director Sanjana Kapoor, and son Hamir Thapar. Days before his death, I had called Thapar for a comment about a story I was working on related to the use of live bait to lure tigers. He never mentioned he was admitted to a hospital, but readily agreed to weigh in on the 'stupid thing they are doing, feeding tigers and risking lives.' The promised quote arrived on WhatsApp within minutes. Later, I learnt he was in considerable discomfort and 'fussed all day in an irritable mood.' On his first tiger sighting, Thapar once wrote: 'It was like shedding one layer of skin and putting on another… The transformation was total.' Until his last days, the mere mention of tigers would have the same impact on the man. Not always William Blake's tiger with its 'fearful symmetry' but something softer, more magical.
