Into the Wild with Kunwar Singh – Veteran Naturalist, Corbett National Park
Interviewed by Prakriti Parul
If Corbett had a beating human heart, it might well be Kunwar Singh.
Born and raised in the shadow of Corbett National Park, in the forest-flanked town of Ramnagar, Kunwar Singh has spent more than 30 years walking, watching, and whispering to the wild. His first journey into the forest began in 1983, as a schoolboy in Class 7, hopping onto a lone user bus bound for Dhikala. The seed was planted—and by 1993, he was a full-time naturalist, guiding visitors through tiger territory with the instinct of a man who belonged there.
For over a decade, he wandered beyond Corbett—through the dry forests of Central India, across the tiger zones of Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra—before returning home in 2015. Today, he continues to guide, observe, and interpret nature for guests with a quiet wisdom honed by years of on-ground experience.
He’s seen tigers up close, lived through stories most of us wouldn’t believe, and gathered survival skills that go beyond the textbooks. In this conversation, Kunwar Singh shares real tales, raw truths, and the subtle art of coexisting with the wild.
You’ve dealt with tigers, so if you’re face-to-face with one, the ‘official’ advice is ‘stand tall, don’t run’—but what’s the unofficial advice you’d give a terrified tourist (tried and tested)?
I’ve encountered many tigers in my life. Their behaviour varies—some are shy, some bold, and a few very bold.
Tiger behaviour differs from park to park. In places like Corbett, Dudhwa, and the Western Ghats, which are dense and bushy, tigers tend to be more elusive and shy. In contrast, in drier regions like Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, and Maharashtra, tigers are often more accustomed to human presence—jeeps, tourists, noise—so they’re less shy.
My advice? Don’t run. Face the tiger. Try to shout and make noise—louder than the tiger. It’s difficult, but you have to do it.
What’s your most unexpected wildlife encounter—something that sounds fake but 100% happened?
There are two incidents that stand out.
First one—May 3rd, 1993:
We were doing a tiger census on foot, as was the norm back then. The process started in early May. Forest compartments were assigned, and the first day involved sweeping the area to erase pugmarks. The next morning, we’d return to record fresh pugmarks on butter paper.
We began our patrol from Dhikala at around 5:30 AM. Within 15 minutes, we reached Shotakhal Road—about 100 metres from a waterhole. Suddenly, we heard an alarm call from a barking deer.
Our seniors, including a mahout and forest guard, dismissed it as unreliable. But we knew—barking deer call only when they’ve seen something, and in that open patch, it could likely see a tiger approaching.
Three trails led to that waterhole. Instinctively, two of my friends and I ran toward it, trying to reach before the tiger did.
As we reached, two tigers leapt out—one ran in the opposite direction, but the other charged toward us. That waterhole had steps on one side and a wall on the other. The tiger took the steps and was suddenly just 5 feet away from me. That was my closest on-foot encounter with a tiger.
Second one—Summer 2011:
We were escorting two guests and a park guide to Bandhavgarh Fort on foot. At that time, the fort trail was open. We started from the lodge around 8 AM, entered the park, and parked our jeep near Shesh Shaiya. From there, the trail to the fort is narrow—around 3 feet wide in some patches.
While descending near Shesh Shaiya, on a narrow trail with a steep slope and dense bushes on one side and a hill on the other, we suddenly found ourselves face-to-face with a growling tiger.
It jumped to its right, onto a big rock, growling furiously, tail swinging anti-clockwise. My first concern was the safety of the guests. I started shouting loudly and instructed them to slowly move back.
We were only about 10–12 feet away. After around 15 seconds of tension, the tiger calmed down and walked away.
We waited a few minutes before carefully walking down. The guests were shaken, but safe—and we had a new story to tell.
You’ve survived the wild for years—what’s the most random skill you’ve picked up?
To be still. To be quiet. To become part of nature.
With the expanding tourism industry, what changes have you observed in tourist behaviour on the ground? Have they become more responsible?
There’s been a big shift. Guests today are more aware of wildlife. But many are also more greedy—they want to see more, capture more, and expect more from each safari.
If you could make every person understand one often-overlooked truth about Indian wildlife, what would it be—and why would it change how we see nature?
We tell our guests: “What you’re seeing today, you might not see tomorrow.”
Please enjoy it and contribute to its conservation. Do it not just for yourself, but for your children—so they too can see forests like these in the future.
