Indians don’t deserve zoos. Elephant Shankar’s life is proof

Shankar the elephant in his enclosure in the National Zoological Park. His loneliness is now a matter of national and international interest | Credit: Shubhobroto Ghosh | By special arrangement

Shankar, the elephant, deserves better. Chained in his enclosure at the National Zoological Park, New Delhi, which he is accused of damaging, this lone African giant has become an unwitting symbol of everything plaguing our zoos.

Last week, Shankar’s plight caused the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums (WAZA) to suspend the zoo’s membership for six months. Gifted to India in 1998, Shankar has lived in solitude since he lost his companion in 2005. Now, his “musth”-induced aggression has led to further confinement, sparking an international outcry.

The suspension is especially shameful, considering that the facility was granted the status of a national zoological park for its stated aim to become a “model zoo” for the rest of the country. In 2020, there were grand plans to introduce a mobile app and a VR to guide visitors—now, a permanent termination of the zoo’s membership looms large. We now have a formulaic scrambling from the zoo authorities, who claim that the process to find Shankar a suitable mate from Botswana and Zimbabwe is already underway.

But the zoo’s troubles are far from over—and Shankar is not the only creature in need of attention. Unlike its counterparts around the world, the National Zoological Park is in desperate need of an overhaul but is extremely hamstrung by funds. According to reports, the budget outlay for such an exercise is around Rs 400 crore, while the zoo’s earnings are not even 10 per cent of that figure, even though it ratchets up footfalls in the lakhs. This, despite the fact that a TERI-Central Zoo Authority report estimated the zoo’s recreational and cultural value to be Rs 324.33 crore and its education and research value at Rs 37.6 crore.

Who is to blame

There’s not a single doubt that the authorities who have landed the National Zoological Park in this soup should be held accountable, but we shouldn’t stop our scrutiny there. How could a facility that touts an “enriched environment for the animals, quality of animal exhibits, conservation education and sustainable management practices” as its primary goals, fall so drastically short? This failure demands explanation and rectification. 

But the blame doesn’t rest solely on the zoo authorities. This crisis is also an opportunity for introspection. What role do we, the visitors and spectators, play in this unfolding drama? I can’t help but wonder how much of Shankar’s behaviour was “inherent”, and how much could be attributed to being gawked at and harassed by the millions of visitors that find their way to the zoo.

According to Section 38 of the Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972, “no person shall tease, molest, injure or feed any animal or cause disturbance to the animals by noise or otherwise, or litter the grounds in a zoo.” Yet, a simple visit to any zoo in the country will put that notion to waste. Spectators, who treat stray dogs with more caution than a hippo, one of the most dangerous animals on the planet, will stand around laughing at wild creatures. They will complain about having to walk too much and leave one-star reviews because they were not able to see animals that were presumably resting.

Sometimes, things can go terribly wrong. In 2014, in a horrifying incident, a white tiger named Vijay killed a man named Maqsood who fell 18 feet into the enclosure. Eyewitnesses reported that the tiger, who had a reputation of being a playful animal, did not harm the man for 15 minutes, and even regarded him with curiosity. It became agitated and attacked only when onlookers began throwing stones at it, in a mistaken bid to rescue the man. The same year, at Gwalior Zoo, a drunk engineering student named Yashonandan Kaushik jumped into a tiger enclosure and danced topless for 45 harrowing minutes before being rescued. His parents later stated that he hadn’t slept in four nights and maybe that had taken a toll on him.

These incidents are part of a pattern of reckless, and frankly, idiotic behaviour, highlighting the disregard some visitors have for their own safety and the callousness with which we think of wild animals. In 2019, Rehan Khan’s intrusion into the enclosure of Sundaram, the lion at the National Zoological Park, ended with the animal tranquilised, despite no signs of aggression from him. A similar incident at Chhatbir Zoo in Mohali ended tragically when a man was mauled to death by two lions after scaling a 25-foot wall. Several of the men who invite this danger upon themselves are characterised as “mentally ill” or “unstable”, but it is the captive animals that pay the price.

It isn’t just these headline-grabbing incidents that are a cause for concern. Daily visitor behaviour also has a profound impact on animal welfare. In 2017, a pair of chimpanzees at the National Zoological Park began exhibiting aggressive behaviour toward each other, stressed by visitors constantly throwing objects and food at them.

Extinction of experience

Even when people aren’t directly interacting with the animals, the mere presence of large crowds can be detrimental to them. Studies at the National Zoological Park have shown that stereotypic behaviours—repetitive, purposeless actions that indicate poor welfare—among tigers and leopards increase significantly with higher visitor density. Tigers spent 22 per cent of their time pacing, while leopards engaged in stereotypic behaviours for 28 per cent of their time, including pacing, skip-pacing, and tail or toe sucking. These behaviours are clear indicators of the psychological toll that constant human presence and interference can take on captive animals.

While zoo authorities inevitably get flak for lax security and inadequate response mechanisms, these recurring incidents force us to confront a more uncomfortable truth: We, the visitors, are the real problem. Why do we need constant policing? Why do we feel compelled to flout rules designed for both our safety and the animals’ well-being? Our actions show a profound lack of respect for these creatures and the sanctity of their spaces. In these encounters, it’s invariably the animals who pay the price for our boorishness—enduring stress, tranquilisation, and sometimes even death.

We carry the same entitled attitude to outdoor safaris and national parks, where I’ve seen people squabbling for refunds from their safari operators because they didn’t get to see a tiger in the wild. While driving through Bandipur National Park a few years ago, I observed a bunch of people clambering off stalled vehicles and running and screaming toward a herd of elephants that was crossing the road. They came away with selfies and not a stray thought about how quickly the whole situation could have gone south.

Do we, as a society, even deserve access to wildlife? Have we earned the privilege of observing these magnificent beings up close? Until we can demonstrate a collective ability to behave responsibly and empathetically, we remain the greatest threat to these animals.

The connection between people and wild animals is profoundly broken. Yet, no matter where you stand on the ethical debates surrounding animal captivity, zoos have the potential to be powerful educational spaces. For so many of us born in the city, zoos were our first introduction to the natural world.

Emma Marris, an environmental writer and author of the book Wild Souls (2021), suggests that we evaluate zoos based on two claims. First, do they help wild animals thrive? Second, do they broaden human attitudes toward conservation? While there may be some evidence supporting the former, especially in the Indian context, the latter presents a critical opportunity we’re squandering.

The concept of the “extinction of experience”, first posited by American lepidopterist Robert M Pyle, becomes painfully relevant here. He argued that the growing alienation of humans from nature isn’t just about losing personal benefits, but can lead to a cycle of disaffection with disastrous consequences. Pyle emphasised that direct, personal contact with natural environments is vital in forging emotional intimacy with nature.

Our zoos were meant to bridge this gap, but the only exhibits they now display are mismanagement and visitor misbehaviour. As we reckon with Shankar’s plight, it’s evident that the crisis extends beyond the confines of animal enclosures. Until we can inculcate respect for the natural world, our zoos will be reminders of our collective failure to coexist harmoniously with the wild, rather than the educational and conservation spaces they aspire to be.

Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, former editor of Arré, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal.

(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)