I had heard so much about him and his boyish charm that when it was time for me to finally meet him, I felt jittery. During the jeep ride to his temporary home, my mind kept replaying things people had said about him: his little quirks, his love for food, and his intelligence.

I am talking about Chinna Thambi, the wild elephant that was tranquillised, captured, and tamed to become a camp elephant in Tamil Nadu’s Anamalai Tiger Reserve (ATR) in 2019.

Chinna Thambi was a crop raider during his carefree days in the Thadagam valley in the outskirts of Coimbatore. He would enter human habitation with the innocence and curiosity expected of a young elephant bull — he was 25 when he was caught — and eventually got used to the villages on the fringes of the forest.

I had followed the elephant’s story with interest. After he was caught and sent to the Varagaliyar camp in ATR, I travelled there to meet him. I was writing a piece on the taming of Chinna Thambi.

To me, the best part about being a journalist is gaining access to places that I cannot even dream of visiting otherwise. The Varagaliyar elephant camp for instance, is not open to the public. Once I got the nod from Mr. V. Ganesan, the then Field Director of ATR, I joined him during an official visit to the camp one evening, an hour before dusk set in.

I will never forget the journey. The sturdy Forest Department jeep trundled along narrow trails that barely existed. Those mud roads were so untouched that I felt we were clearing foliage that had bent into our path much like how elephants move around forests.

For another feature on abandoned elephant calves, I got to observe the little ones and their antics from up close. They were taken to the Theppakadu camp in Mudumalai Tiger Reserve after their rescue, kept far from the public eye in an open enclosure. I was allowed to go a little closer to see their mahouts take them for walks and feed them milk through tubes.

The skies opened up when I visited the same camp one afternoon for a story on mahouts and their bond with elephants. It was mealtime and the men were mixing cooked ragi, rice, horse gram, and salt into mammoth balls to be fed to the elephants. From where I stood, I could almost taste those chocolate-coloured balls. Had I been a regular tourist, I would have been standing far away, beyond a long wooden fence.

A journalist’s access to fascinating people and places is a privilege like none other. This access allows us to approach a story with all our five senses.

Sometimes though, this can also lead to discomfort. For, not all of these experiences are those that we would look back on with fondness.

When I neared the camp where Chinna Thambi was kept, my enthusiasm was replaced by a sense of trepidation. I hopped off the jeep to notice the gigantic wooden enclosure in which he stood. I could see his tail from afar — the kraal (enclosed pen) was composed of wooden beams.

In that moment, I wanted nothing but to run away. I didn’t want to meet Chinna Thambi. I was not ready to see him that way. When the Field Director glanced back at me, I knew I had to snap out of it. I didn’t have a choice.

Chinna Thambi’s mahout offered him large balls of ragi from outside. I took a step closer to the enclosure for a better look. It was the first time I was seeing a wild elephant from such close quarters. Then, he put out his trunk for food. I jerked back. The mahout said jokingly, “All he wants is food,” adding, “He’s almost broken; it’s just a matter of a few days.”