The last time I birded in India was thirteen years ago. This year, on an impulse, I asked Beej if he wanted to join me at Thattekkad. I was overjoyed when he accepted, and quickly made the arrangements.
From my early birding days, when I could not afford paid birding trips, Thattekkad carried an allure. A name that always came up in the same breath while speaking of Thattekkad—Eldhose—was a much-loved nature guide, who ran a homestay at the edge of the forest. After Salim Ali, perhaps no other name was as closely associated with Thattekkad as K.V. Eldhose’s. Those who had birded with him often said he shared a telepathic connection with birds, with a talent to find species no one else could. He had even set up a feeder and a hide, drawing birds in abundance.
As we drive up to Thattekkad, Beej tells me the tragic news of Eldhose’s passing. What is even more shocking to hear is that he had taken his own life, burdened by debt.
Our car soon drives up to the quaint Birds Song Homestay.
A tropical birding paradise, Thattekkad is a unique blend of dry and wet landscapes, arid and fertile terrains. The Periyar River flows through it, creating shallow wetlands around which lush green vegetation thrives. But just a few kilometres away, the scenery shifts dramatically to rocky, deciduous terrain, almost devoid of greenery—a jarring contrast.
As we step into the yard of Vinod’s homestay, bird calls fill the air. Even in the rubber plantations, which offer little food to birds, Jungle Babblers (Turdoides striata) and Black-rumped Flamebacks (Dinopium benghalense) chatter noisily. The ever-present Racket-tailed Drongos (Dicrurus paradiseus) unleash such a din that the “tailed” in their name seems redundant. Malabar Giant Squirrels (Ratufa indica) frolic all around, making sonorous clicking noises and feasting on figs and guavas, or chasing each other up and down the trees.
The homestay is simple yet comfortable—no frills, just cozy and clean. Vinod greets us with a warm smile. Beej had been his guest before, and they exchange pleasantries. Vinod shares that he hadn’t slept the previous night due to a death in the community—a young man had taken his life. It was unsettling to hear of another suicide so close to the birding community. Despite its serene exterior, the town hides struggles beneath the surface, much like the Lesser Whistling-ducks (Dendrocygna javanica) paddling furiously in the calm waters of the nearby wetland.
The habitat is so fragmented that the elephants of Thattekkad, boxed in by human settlements, are notoriously ill-tempered. Solar-powered fences restrict their movement, and firecrackers—set off by the forest department—drive them back into the woods, reminding them who is in charge.
As we step into the forest, we become aware of a foreboding presence—that of wild elephants. Piles of dung, in various stages of decomposition, are everywhere. In wetter areas, fungi thrive on them, creating micro-ecosystems. On rocky hills, the dung dries out like sun-bleached hay. The proximity of these droppings of varying ages suggests the frustration and restlessness of these giants in being confined in an area too small for them. The habitat is so fragmented that the elephants of Thattekkad, boxed in by human settlements, are notoriously ill-tempered. Solar-powered fences restrict their movement, and firecrackers—set off by the forest department—drive them back into the woods, reminding them who is in charge.
Vinod, visibly exhausted from lack of sleep and dehydration, still honours his commitment to us, guiding us to Urulanthanni for birding. The name—derived from the Malayalam words “urulan” (rounded) and “thanni” (water)—is fitting: massive, monolithic boulders mark the landscape. A stream runs at its base but it is nearly dry. We ascend the hill and reach a bald hillock bordered by bare trees, where there appears to be some bird activity.
Related Posts:
We soon spot a Heart-spotted Woodpecker (Hemicircus canente), Golden-fronted Leafbirds (Chloropsis aurifrons), Flame-throated Bulbuls (Rubigula gularis), multiple species of flowerpeckers, Malabar and Plum-headed Parakeets (Psittacula columboides and cyanocephala), and a White-rumped Shama (Copsychus malabaricus). Vinod wisely keeps us on the road, within the safety of the fencing, while he ventures into the forest in search of Sri Lankan Frogmouths (Batrachostomus moniliger) and Malabar Trogons (Harpactes fasciatus). The oppressive heat cuts our trip short, and we choose to return to the homestay. Vinod asks to be dropped off at a hospital, feeling severely dehydrated and needing IV fluids. His mother, in the meantime, has prepared a delicious Kerala meal for us. She recounts the tragic story of the man who took his life, leaving behind a young family.
Exhausted from the heat and jet lag, I take a midday nap. By evening, Vinod comes to meet us, now in better spirits. We are joined by Siddharth and Pranoti, a doctor couple who are staying at the homestay. We bond quickly over birding and photography. That night, Vinod leads us deeper into elephant territory, where we spot a juvenile Spot-bellied Eagle-owl (Bubo nipalensis), a few Jerdon’s Nightjars (Caprimulgus atripennis), and Jungle Owlets (Glaucidium radiatum). He tells us that many of the birding spots Beej visited back in 2019 are now off-limits due to increased elephant activity. The herds are growing, but they have nowhere to migrate.
The next morning, we return to Urulanthanni via a different route. Vinod, still sleepless from tending to his mother who had suffered a bout of vertigo, remains upbeat. Our patience is rewarded with excellent birding. The previous day’s trail is now occupied by elephants, forcing us to take a detour. We spot our prize catch—a Dollarbird (Eurystomus orientalis), unconcerned by our presence until more birders arrive. A Crested Serpent Eagle (Spilornis cheela) perches nonchalantly on a dead tree, ignoring dive-bombing Bronzed Drongos (Dicrurus aeneus). The thick leaf litter covering the forest floor reminds us of its significance—Sri Lankan Frogmouths have evolved a camouflage mimicking desiccated leaves. Females appear to mimic the brown upper side of the dead leaves, while males resemble the grey outer part.
As we drag our feet, Vinod warns us to be wary of Russel’s Vipers and Hump-nosed Pit Vipers, more species that have evolved to mimic the leaf litter. His keen eye spots a lone frogmouth in a bush, hidden in plain sight. The guides communicate with one another, ensuring all guests maximise their experience, and we are the beneficiaries of someone spotting a Malabar Trogon. Thanks to Beej’s sharpened birding skills, we also spot a pair of Speckled Piculets (Picumnus innominatus).
In the afternoon, we visit a feeder hide run by Eldhose’s daughter. Vinod tells us this is the only property not attached by the bank after Eldhose’s passing—he had accrued debts when the tourism sector took a hit during the COVID-19 pandemic, which drove him to take his own life.
A migrant worker replenishes the feeders with live mealworms, attracting an array of birds: Malabar Starlings (Sturnia blythii), flycatchers—Tickell’s Blue (Cyornis tickelliae), White-bellied Blue (Cyornis pallipes), Blue-throated (Cyornis rubeculoides) and Brown-breasted (Muscicapa muttui), bullying Indian Pond Herons (Ardeola grayii), Black-throated Munias (Lonchura kelaarti), Rufous Treepies (Dendrocitta vagabunda), Orange-headed Thrushes (Geokichla citrina), and Black-rumped Flamebacks (Dinopium benghalense). Vinod reminds us that this is only a fraction of the birds that once visited the feeder during Eldhose’s time. As we leave, I climb a hill to photograph a White-rumped Munia (Lonchura striata) and a relaxed Dollarbird at eye level. Night birding yields Savanna Nightjars (Caprimulgus affinis), a Brown Hawk-Owl or Boobook (Ninox scutulata), and a Mottled Wood-owl (Strix ocellata).
On our drive back in the dark, we discuss photographer ethics. Beej recalls an incident where photographers shook a tree to get a better shot of a Slender Loris. Vinod shares a harrowing experience—a foreign photographer had stepped out of the vehicle to photograph elephants. A tusker charged, and Vinod managed to shove him into the car in time but suffered an injury to his waist in the process. As he lay in the hospital, the photographer asked him to arrange a replacement guide for the next day. He seems to carry the brunt of that injury still and might need an expensive hip replacement at some point.
Returning to the homestay, Vinod departs quickly—his mother is still unwell, so he must prepare dinner. We marvel at his relentless energy and dedication. After a hearty meal, he arranges a trail walk for us the next day before departing to attend to civil-fire rescue duties in a remote area.
On our final morning, we pay our fees at Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary and enter the forest with an authorised guide. We are stunned when three Shaheen Falcons (Falco peregrinus peregrinator) swoop onto a tree at the trail entrance, possibly migrating. Our raptor luck continues with Oriental Honey-buzzards (Pernis ptilorhynchus) and one of a pair of Besras (Accipiter virgatus), which Beej identifies instantly by call. We also find another pair of Sri Lankan Frogmouths, blending perfectly into the leaf-littered undergrowth.
At breakfast, Vinod’s mother is back, tending to guests despite her vertigo. As we bid farewell to Siddharth and Pranoti at the Kothamangalam bus stand, we reflect on the hardships of bird guides. Vinod endured immense challenges over the past few days but never wavered in ensuring our stay was fulfilling. So did his aging mother. With little backup, they rely on a tight-knit support system, their passion for birds driving them through daily risks—braving elephants, snakes, and a fickle economy that threatens their livelihoods at any moment.
It is easy to be a nature lover when you are not dependent on its temperamental nature for existence. Thattekkad and its people made me confront the hypocrisy of my own love for nature.
Sandy loves to photograph birds and landscapes, and considers photography and writing as his meditation. Now based out of the US, Sandy juggles his time between parental duties, a full time engineering role, writing short fiction in Malayalam, and an occasional birding trip thrown in between. His debut novel in Malayalam hits the bookstalls in January 2025.
Sandy can be found at instagram as @footprintsonlight
- Thattekkad Diary – Lessons In Birding, Guiding, and Tourist Privilege - March 22, 2025
- Cicada Apocalypse – A Survivor’s Account - January 21, 2025
- Costa Rica Diaries – Parting Gifts - May 5, 2024
Sandeep’s article is deeply heartbreaking. I had the privilege of knowing Eldose and was fortunate to have him as a bird guide. It’s devastating to witness such indifference toward those who dedicate their lives to nature.
Sandeep has a rare gift—his words and photographs don’t just tell a story; they forge an emotional bond with the reader, making the loss feel personal and urgent.
This means a lot coming from you Jennifer. I have always idolized you for your way with words