I had always heard about Jim Corbett for what everyone knows it for—the safari, tiger sightings, and the bragging rights of spotting a tiger before the vehicle in front of you. But somewhere between a five-and-a-half-hour drive from Delhi, a pitstop for chai on an empty stretch of highway, and arriving at Taj Corbett Resort & Spa just as the resonant sound of a Ransingh—a traditional S-shaped wind instrument from the Kumaon hills—cut through the morning air in greeting, I began to understand that Corbett had been quietly holding much more than most of us had bothered to notice.
I entered the lobby and was welcomed with a tika on my forehead, a small pressed dot of vermillion between my eyebrows, the kind of mark that in Kumaon signals auspiciousness, a blessing before you've even begun. Before I had even seen my room, I knew this place wasn't going to be just about the jungle.