THE STORY

The first time I photographed him was in March 2012. A pair of golden brown eyes between the trees, a long beard with head held high, a dominant male walking head-on towards my jeep.

That was Tiger No. 24.

And I didn’t know it then, but I had just met the tiger who would go on to define not only how I saw the wild but how I saw life.

Most of us who travelled to the jungles back then were lucky to spot a tigress. The males? They were ghosts. Elusive. Shy. As if they knew too much of the world to trust it. But T~24 was different. He rather enjoyed the attention. With a beard styled naturally by the breeze, yellow-sapphire-like eyes, muscled build and the frequent sightings, he soon became the star attraction of Ranthambhore.

He didn’t walk around the jeeps. He walked straight through them, making the forest roads feel like marble corridors in his private palace. We reversed. He advanced. It was never a question of who had the right of way.

He ruled the best part of Ranthambhore: a territory rich with water, prey, and history. And in a time when tiger tourism was still a niche passion, Ustad, as the locals began to call him, brought the world to the forest. He wasn’t just sighted, he performed. Sometimes he would drag his kill to the main road, drawing all the eyeballs. Surely a treat for any wildlife photographer.

For a while, it felt like the story would stay that way forever.

In October 2012, two locals lost their lives inside the forest. T~24 was identified as the killer.

Officials would later declare it an act of self-defence as he hadn’t eaten the bodies. A tiger only becomes a threat once it has tasted human flesh. And anyone who knows tigers knows they don’t kill humans unless they feel cornered. But, the whispers had already spread: “What if he’s dangerous?”

It wasn’t simple, though. Every Wednesday, pilgrims walked barefoot to a temple deep inside his territory. They crossed paths, even locked eyes. And nothing ever happened. Not once. That tiger knew restraint better than most men I’ve met. Still, the fear had now been planted amongst the visitors.

May 8th, 2015

A forest guard, Rampal Saini, was found dead. Only this time, Half-eaten.

A tourist jeep reported a tiger was seen at the body. The forest officials rushed to the scene. But the tiger they found wasn’t eating.

He was sniffing. Searching. Almost... confused.

It was T~24.

T~24 clearly didn’t know where the body was. Had he killed, he would’ve known. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

While his son, T-72 a.k.a Sultan—young, strong, aggressive, and sharing the same territory as his father—had vanished. The forest department knew. But the locals outside the gates didn’t care.

“Ustad has killed again.” The cries grew louder.

And they took him.

No trial. No clear evidence. Just fear and Pressure. A decision was made to move T-24 to a lifetime of captivity, relocated to a biological reserve in Udaipur, while Sultan, who was now a threat, was quietly shifted to a non-tourism zone.

It was a compromise.

And yet, something remarkable happened..

For the first time in history, a PIL was filed for a tiger. Candlelight vigils were held. Posters read: “Bring Ustad Back.” People marched. Spoke. Fought.

It wasn’t just about a tiger anymore. It was about what he represented.

Dignity. Grace. Resilience. And injustice.

Even in captivity, initially refusing the dead meat from the caretakers, he proved his resilience by hunting and feasting upon livestock. Still regal.

Still a tiger. Still the Ustad.

December 22nd, 2022—when bone cancer took what bureaucracy couldn’t. He died in confinement. But not in vain.

Inspired by the life story of Ustad,

Our brand stands as an ever-lit candle to honour his spirit.

  • Tiger 24

    (2006 - 2022)

His life story is divided into 3 chapters

CHAPTER I: UNEARTHED

His prime. When the forest bowed and the sun burned amber on his coat.

This chapter lives in earthy hues—greens, browns, yellows—like the forest floor after rain. The palette of power, grounded and full of life.

CHAPTER II: UNDERWATER

The turbulence. The years of accusation. The weight of doubt. And yet—he kept walking, proud and still. This chapter is told in blues—deep, moody, reflective. The color of truth submerged, waiting to rise.

CHAPTER III: AFTERLIFE

The exile. The silence. The grace of a warrior in chains. A chapter of mourning, but also of memory. In greys, blacks, and whites. Because grief is not forgetting—it’s remembering deeply.