Arushi |Slow travel | Zoophile | Ethical wildlife |

You know that feeling when a documentary just gets under your skin? That’s what happened when The Elephant Whisperers won the Oscar in March 2023. Watching Bomman and Bellie care for little Raghu like he was their own child, I knew I had to experience that kind of connection. But life happened. Work got hectic, bills piled up, and my Kerala elephant sanctuary dream got shoved into a folder on my laptop next to fifty other “someday” plans.

Then everything changed. A career pivot gifted me something I’d forgotten existed free time. While cleaning out old files, I stumbled upon my notes: “Kerala elephant sanctuary,” scribbled next to a half-finished itinerary. The longing hit me like a truck.

After days of research and ruling out any place using chains or forced performances, Elephant Junction in Thekkady stood out. According to the Experience Kerala website, it had a 93% rating for being a well-kept home for elephants. It ranked 7th among top 10 things to do in Thekkady and 1st in the elephant ride category. I appreciated how transparent the site was listing activities, durations from 30 minutes to full day, and prices. Their visiting hours ran from 8 AM to 6 PM, which gave me ample flexibility.

That morning, the first sip of black coffee burned my tongue as I watched mist rise over Thekkady’s spice forests. I barely touched my idlis. Today wasn’t about breakfast it was about feeding the soul. The soul I’d left waiting for too long.

By 8 AM sharp, I was at the weathered wooden gates of Elephant Junction. The sun painted golden stripes on the dusty path. The air smelled of hay and something deeper musky, ancient the scent of elephants before you even see them. Lakshmi, a 42-year-old matriarch, greeted me with a slow blink, her trunk curling toward the sugarcane in my hand. Her mahout, skin weathered like hers, chuckled as I fumbled. “She knows first-timers,” he smiled, guiding my palm beneath her trunk. The sensation warm, soft, impossibly strong sent a shiver through me. As she crunched her treat, he told me she’d been rescued from a logging camp 20 years ago. The wisdom in her eyes held stories no one had written.

An hour later, the riverbank became my cathedral. Ganesh, a 28-year-old with a chipped tusk, knelt into the shallows like a monk in prayer. I stepped into the cool water, husk in hand, and began scrubbing his thick, wrinkled back. He rumbled softly a sound I felt more than heard. Then, with no warning, he sprayed me with a trunkful of water. Laughter erupted from the mahouts and me. “He chooses who gets baptized,” one whispered with a wink, handing me another husk.

By 11 AM, under dappled shade, we sat on wooden benches learning to “read” elephants. We discovered how Thekkady’s Asian elephants’ twin-domed heads differ from Africa’s single-domed giants. Their smaller ears flutter like book pages when content. The moment turned tender when the keeper recalled seeing Devi, a female, gently cover her sleeping calf with branches. “We think we teach them,” he said, stroking her trunk, “but really, they remind us of what kindness is.”

The ten-minute walk back to Sterling Thekkady felt dreamlike. My clothes still damp from Ganesh’s blessing, the earthy scent of elephant on my sleeves, I strolled past dew-kissed cardamom plants. I smiled, thinking of Lakshmi’s gaze and Ganesh’s playful strength. The resort wasn’t just a place to stay it was part of the journey.

As I sank into a chair at the resort, the sounds of the forest humming softly beyond the balcony, I realized this wasn’t just a trip. It was a reckoning. A reminder. The kind of journey that changes you not all at once, but slowly and surely. Like a vine reaching for sunlight

Hear the Elephants Whisper at Sterling Thekkady