Wildlife Parks in India: A Story of Ignorance, Superstition, and Politics

India is often described as a natural treasure chest when it comes to wildlife. From snow leopards in the Himalayas to elephants in Kerala, from the dense tiger habitats of central India to the vibrant birdlife of the Sundarbans, our country’s biodiversity is nothing short of magical. This “wild universe” is a stunning testament to adaptation, survival, and sustainability — if only we cared enough to protect it.

And yet, after 20 years of experience in the media industry and frequent visits to wildlife parks in India, one thing I have learnt for certain is that, despite being a land historically tied to forests, rivers, and agriculture, the majority of Indians lack even the most basic wildlife knowledge. Empathy comes much later, if at all. I’ve met highly educated people — corporate CEOs, well-travelled entrepreneurs — who cannot tell a tiger from a lion, confuse leopards with cheetahs, and believe antelopes are just another kind of deer. 

This ignorance isn’t harmless; it erodes respect, distorts reality, and ultimately weakens conservation efforts.

It Begins in the Classroom

The problem starts young. Our schools fail to teach children about wildlife in any meaningful way. Rather than introducing them to the ecology of the forests, the interconnectedness of species, or the importance of conservation, we serve them wildlife as mere entertainment. The zoo trip becomes an animal-poking excursion. Viral videos of monkeys and tigers behaving like pets, elephants doing stunts, or parrots mimicking humans are consumed without context.  

Fairy tales take precedence over real stories of our forests and their heroes — both human and animal. In this way, forests and their inhabitants stay largely invisible in our moral and cultural education.

On the Ground: Noise and Neglect

Years of taxpayer-funded projects, initiatives and staff training in the forest departments have not ensured basic discipline among forest staff in many areas. I have seen national parks erupt in chaos at the sight of a tiger or elephant. Ironically, it’s often the forest guides and drivers who shout the loudest, pushing guests too close to the animals for that extra tip. These moments reveal a dangerous truth: the respect nature demands is missing from our frontline protectors. For many years, we have been searching for various excuses (from local empowerment to a lack of infrastructure, etc.), but I believe it is high time we call a spade a spade.

The deeper issue is systemic.  

Politics in the Wild

India’s forests are full of passionate, talented young IFS officers who enter the service with dreams of saving species and ecosystems. Yet, many end up tired, frustrated, and disillusioned — tangled in the messy web of corruption, politics, and bureaucratic apathy. Meanwhile, decisions that should be guided by science are instead driven by votes, superstition, and profit.

This failure of policy and leadership becomes painfully clear when we look at how we treat indigenous communities. Tribal populations living in and around forests are, in many ways, the best stewards of the land. Their knowledge of the terrain, animal behaviour, and sustainable living could be the foundation for lasting conservation. 

Some NGOs and forest departments have harnessed this potential, turning former poachers into protectors. But too often, these communities are exploited for political gain or social media optics — used in photo ops, turned into “vote banks,” or kept in core forest zones under the guise of “community support,” even as man-animal conflict rises sharply.

These days, there seems to be a well‑intentioned but misguided effort to encourage forest‑dwelling communities to continue living inside protected areas—providing them with electricity and other facilities—rather than supporting their resettlement outside core and buffer zones.  

I recall an incident in Maharashtra that left me stunned. We were filming a tigress with her three cubs deep inside the forest. The moment was serene, almost magical… until, to our shock, a group of villagers—men, women, and children—came rushing on foot to see the cubs up close.  This isn’t coexistence—it’s recklessness. It’s a glaring failure of administration. One wrong move from the tigress, a simple instinct to protect her young, and she would immediately be branded a “man‑eater” or “dangerous.” Her fate, then, would be a cage in a zoo or even death.  

The tragedy is that it’s entirely preventable—if only we respected the boundaries between human and wild. 

Temples in the Middle of the Wild

Almost every major national park in India seems to have a temple in its core area. This brings thousands of visitors across delicate wildlife paths every week/ month. They carry plastics, cigarettes, and noise into habitats meant for silence and balance. The result? Disrupted animal movement, altered behaviour, and a cycle of litter and clean-up that leaves little time for real conservation work.

Yet authorities and self-proclaimed influencers, instead of moving these sites or enforcing restrictions, tolerate and sometimes even encourage the traffic, citing “culture” and “coexistence.” We forget that coexistence without scientific planning is just a slow form of destruction.

I still remember a conversation with a junior forest staff member from a famous forest near Delhi. His tone was heavy as he spoke.  

“Hundreds of people come to visit the temple inside the forest once every week,” he said. “Some walk, others drive in… but almost everyone brings something—plastic water bottles, gutka packets, chewing gums—things that don’t belong here.”  

Despite clear rules, the forest floor ends up dotted with litter. And for the next three or four days, the team isn’t protecting wildlife or restoring habitats—they’re picking up trash, bag after bag.  

But the problem goes far beyond waste. The noise and constant human presence push creatures—including tigers—out of their home ranges. Displaced and stressed, these big cats often wander into another tiger’s territory, sparking fierce battles. The harmony of the forest shatters; the delicate web of life gets torn apart.  

And yet… no one seems to notice. No one seems to care.

Faith Vs Conservation: India Today

An Ostrich Approach to Conservation

Rather than facing these hard truths, we often pretend they don’t exist. We bristle when foreign researchers or a wildlife photographer criticise our system, but rarely ask why our problems persist decade after decade. We cling to unscientific and harmful practices in the name of tradition, instead of channelling knowledge and resources toward logical, science-driven conservation.

True coexistence means fostering respect for wildlife, understanding ecosystems, and teaching the next generation not just to see nature, but to value it. It means empowering local communities, reforming forest policy, and addressing corruption head-on.

If we continue on our current path, the future of free wildlife in India looks worryingly bleak. We stand at a crossroads right now — one way leads to a vibrant living landscape, and the other to silent forests where the magic has faded.  

For the sake of those wild beauties who cant not speak for themselves and indeed ourselves, I hope we choose wisely.