The Malabar whistling thrush is never a moment late. At 5:53, a peculiar, human-like whistle cuts through the still, pre-dawn air, jaunty and cocksure. He sits somewhere hidden in the huge tree in the courtyard at Hulikanu, staking his territory and doubling up as my morning alarm. But I am already awake and pad outside,…
Monsoon Mountains: Field Notes from a Tiger Forest