The world is full of wonders—hidden beneath canopies, scattered across mountainsides and fluttering through the air.
Nature has a way of captivating you, whether it's the song of birds at dawn, the silence of the forest, or the grace of animals moving through their habitats. Travel lets you witness these moments up close, offering glimpses of beauty that most people miss. But I didn’t always see it that way.
I was once a caged soul—locked within four walls, controlled by my fears. Growing up in Tirunelveli, I lived by the boundaries set for me, shrieking at lizards and staying within my prescribed role. But by the time I turned 30, I was ready to break free. I took charge of our family business, earning recognition through my work in life skills development. But even as I gained strength, I knew that my journey couldn’t end there.
I started to travel into the wild. In the beginning, I had no clear direction, photographing people, birds and tigers. But everything changed when I encountered a green vine snake in Munnar. It was calm, poised and beautiful. In that moment, I realised: this is where I belong.
Macro photography became my escape—a way to slow down and immerse myself in the unnoticed, the tiny wonders hidden in the world around me. I began chasing that thrill of discovering what others miss.
Macro photography is more than getting close—it’s about being present. It means crouching in damp forests at midnight, waiting patiently for a frog to blink or a pit viper’s eye to catch the perfect light. It’s a quiet, demanding world, one that reveals itself only to those who stay still long enough.
That night in Coorg felt like a fairytale written in shadows and silver light. But the true highlight came later, when I spotted her—Rhacophorus lateralis, the elusive green tree frog, guarding her freshly laid eggs in a soft nest of leaves. Only her gleaming eyes were visible, peeking through the foliage.
I held my breath and clicked, knowing I was witnessing something few ever get to see. That frame would go on to win recognition, but more than that, it became a personal milestone. In that still moment, I felt trusted by the forest. It was as if she had allowed me a brief glimpse into her secret world. And in return, I promised to carry her story gently—with reverence, not conquest. Even now, when I look at that photograph, I remember the hush of the forest, the weight of the air, and the quiet pulse of life beneath the leaves. It reminds me why I do this—why I choose the unknown, the uncomfortable and the wild.
Nestled inside a neatly folded leaf, in a forest shaded jade green, a female Rhacophorus lateralis rested silently, guarding her freshly laid eggs. She was almost invisible—only her eyes revealed her presence to those who looked closely.
This species follows a fascinating process. The female releases her eggs in a sticky gel, and the male adds his sperm. Using their hind legs, they whip these secretions into a protective foam. After fertilisation, the male leaves, and the female carefully folds another leaf over the nest, forming a secure cone. I was fortunate to witness this quiet moment of motherhood—a tiny guardian hidden in plain sight, protecting the next generation.
The property in Coorg where we stayed seemed to stretch endlessly—full of life and brimming with creatures of every shape and form. Insects, frogs, spiders, snails, and, of course, snakes. We were prepared for it all, wearing heavy boots, leech socks (the most essential piece of gear), mosquito repellents, and of course, our trusty head torches.
One afternoon, after spending hours immersed in the rainforest, we decided to take a short walk to the thatched-roof café for some tea. Our tutor had always warned us to stay vigilant and be ready with our gear, and though the constant awareness was exhausting at first, after a few hours in the jungle, I started to lose that initial fear—the itch of being surrounded by snakes and the sting of leeches. It became just another part of the adventure.
As we made our way toward the café, something caught my eye—there it was, a Malabar pit viper, coiled elegantly on a banana tree. Its stunning colours seemed to almost glow against the dense greenery. The contrast of its vibrant skin against the rich green of the banana leaves was mesmerising. I paused, heart racing, my camera clicking at the perfect moment. This was nature at its most captivating—both terrifying and beautiful.
Bathed in the hushed glow of the forest night, a tiny male Raorchestes glandulosus—the glandular bush frog—took centre stage in a performance few ever witness. Perched delicately on a dewy green leaf above a quiet water body, he swelled his translucent vocal sac, a glimmering globe that seemed to hold stardust within. With each rhythmic inflation, his melodic call rippled through the dense canopy, echoing into the wilderness like a love note on the wind.
But finding him wasn’t easy.
The area was teeming with leeches, and most of us had already fallen victim to their silent crawl, not to mention the stings and welts from unknown insect bites. This little frog wasn’t anywhere near the path—he was hidden deep inside a thick bush, nestled far from view, almost teasingly out of reach. It took no small amount of courage to push through the dense, damp foliage, above the dark water and into the unknown, just to get a glimpse of him.
Yet it was worth every step.
Native to the Western Ghats, this elusive amphibian is more than just a frog—he’s a symphony in miniature, a jewel of the rainforest both heard and seen. And when you peer closer, his vocal sac reveals its magic: speckled with delicate patterns that shimmer like stars in a bubble, pulsing with life and longing.
In Coorg, one quiet afternoon, we were all feeling lazy. Overcome by boredom, I set off for a leisurely stroll across the vast, silent fields, where the earthy aroma of soil mingled with the faint scent of blooming flora. As I wandered, I encountered an eight-year-old local boy, his curious eyes absorbing every nuance of the terrain. Together, we noticed a slender green vine snake gliding slowly through the grass. With a calm certainty beyond his years, the boy predicted that the snake was preparing to hunt.
Trusting his intuition, I carefully crouched into an uneasy position, my heart racing as I awaited the snake’s move. Time seemed to slow as the stillness deepened; the gentle rustle of leaves and distant hum of nature created a quiet symphony. Then, in a sudden flash of movement, the snake struck—a powerful reminder of nature’s unpredictable dance.
This fleeting moment filled me with both awe and a newfound respect for the delicate balance of life in Coorg. It was a vivid lesson in the harmony and raw energy that reside in even the quietest corners of the natural world.
The lush undergrowth revealed more secrets than I could have ever anticipated. As we walked, our guide pointed out a small stone nestled in the damp earth, and there, behind it, was a treasure I hadn’t expected—a tiny Indrella ampulla snail. Its vibrant, translucent shell glistened in the soft light, almost as if it were made of delicate glass. The creature itself, no larger than a thumb, was tucked away behind the stone, hidden from sight, like a secret waiting to be discovered.
Determined to capture the perfect shot, I carefully knelt down, adjusting my heavy lens to get closer. I moved slowly, trying to minimise any noise, knowing that even the slightest rustle could startle it into retreat. As I steadied myself, the snail, sensing something was amiss, cautiously peeked its tiny head from behind the stone. Its eyes, perched delicately on long stalks, fixed on me, seemingly curious about the strange figure in front of it—someone dressed in an odd, almost alien way with the weight of camera gear and clothing adapted to the wild environment. The snail’s expression, almost like a bemused inquiry, was as if it was silently questioning what kind of creature had come to observe it.
Without a hint of fear, the snail began to move. Slowly, it climbed from behind the stone and, with a graceful glide, made its way onto a nearby red flower. Its movements were deliberate, almost as if it knew I was watching, and as it settled onto the flower, the contrast between the bright red petals and the snail’s delicate form created a stunning backdrop. The flower’s rich colour illuminated the scene perfectly, and the snail, now framed by the vivid petals, seemed to be posing just for me.
It was a brief moment of calm—just the snail, the flower and me, each of us aware of the other, connected by the shared stillness of the forest. With the perfect background now in place, I clicked the shutter, capturing not just the image but the peaceful dance of nature at its finest. In that instant, the world outside of that quiet corner of Coorg faded away, and all that mattered was the quiet beauty unfolding in front of me.
When the monsoon rains sweep across the land, the air becomes thick with the buzz of insects. Among the most visible of these during the season are the mating green grasshoppers—vibrant and full of life, hopping between the tall grasses like tiny acrobats. What’s striking, however, is the common behaviour during their courtship. In these grasshoppers, the smaller partner is always the male, a fact that never fails to captivate anyone who watches them.
I remember one particular evening during a monsoon trek in Coorg. The air was heavy with humidity, and the earth beneath us was soft from the rains. As I moved slowly along the trail, camera in hand, I spotted a pair of green grasshoppers engaged in a classic display of courtship. The male, much smaller than his female counterpart, was perched on the back of the larger female. His delicate green body contrasted with her bulkier form, creating a striking visual in the dense undergrowth. As I crouched down to get a better view, I noticed how the male seemed to be offering something to the female, a gentle vibration of his body, possibly signalling his readiness and fitness as a mate. She, in turn, remained still, her large legs curled slightly beneath her as if weighing his offer.
It was a delicate dance, one that took patience and time. The male, undeterred by the size difference, remained firmly perched as the female occasionally flicked her antennae, seemingly indifferent but nonetheless accepting the male’s persistence. It was fascinating to observe this reversal of expectations—while in many species it’s the larger and stronger male that dominates, here, the smaller male, despite his size, had to rely on skill, persistence, and patience to win her attention. The scene unfolded slowly, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the natural balance that had evolved between these two creatures.
After a while, the male made his move, aligning himself perfectly for mating. As I captured the moment, I felt a quiet sense of awe—the intimate, almost sacred nature of wildlife courtship laid bare in front of me. With the rains falling softly around us, the two grasshoppers remained focused on each other, oblivious to my presence. It was a simple, fleeting moment, yet so full of the raw beauty and resilience of life in the wild.
Our guide led us on long, thrilling walks into the heart of the forest—each step taking us deeper into the unknown. There was one night when he took an unexpected turn, leading us away from the main group and guiding us through a shallow river in complete darkness. The sound of the water rushing over stones was the only thing I could hear besides the rapid beat of my own heart. Every step was a mixture of excitement and fear, a sense of adventure laced with the uncertainty of what might be lurking just beyond the beam of our torches. I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a snake coiling behind me or some other forest creature silently following our trail.
We trudged on for nearly a kilometre, the darkness so thick that our torches seemed barely to cut through it. The trees around us felt like silent giants, their branches creaking as they swayed in the cool night breeze. The air was thick with moisture, the kind of humid stillness that makes every sound feel amplified. It was a nerve-wracking journey, but also one that carried the thrill of not knowing what we might encounter next.
And then, just as I thought my nerves might get the best of me, we arrived at the clearing where the magic unfolded. The night revealed something so beautiful and unexpected—damselflies, glowing in the dark, engaged in their delicate courtship dance. They flitted through the air, their bodies aglow with a soft, ethereal light, like floating jewels casting a spell over the entire scene. In the quiet wilderness, beneath the canopy of stars, I stood mesmerised, completely caught up in the serenity and raw beauty of that moment. It felt like the forest itself was holding its breath, and for that brief time, I was completely in tune with its pulse. I felt more alive than ever, like a tiny part of the vast, untamed world around me.
