There is a moment early in our call when Dr K. Ullas Karanth wants to know if this is a podcast. “No, sir, it is a written interview,” I clarify. “Oh, written interview,” he says, visibly relieved, and both his daughter, Dr Krithi K. Karanth, and I laugh. Here is a man who has stared down poachers and mining lobbies for fifty years—and won a Padma Shri for it—and the thing that gives him pause is a video interview.
It’s a fitting start to a conversation between two of India’s most consequential conservationists. Dr Ullas, 77, is a tiger biologist who pioneered the use of camera traps in Indian wildlife science and, in one of conservation’s great David-and-Goliath stories, led the fight which shut down an iron ore mine in Kudremukh and relocated over 2,000 families from a protected tiger habitat in Karnataka. His latest book Tiger Memories, which traces his enduring love affair with the natural world, was published in August.
In 1984, Dr Ullas founded the Centre for Wildlife Studies (CWS), an internationally recognised organisation based out of Bengaluru that revolutionised how animals are tracked and how communities can and should coexist with large predators. His daughter, Dr Krithi, 47, who led and rebuilt CWS in an executive capacity since November 2018 before being appointed CEO in 2024, has helmed pioneering programmes like Wild Seve (a cellular technology–based program that assists families and rural communities living near wildlife reserves), Wild Shaale (a conservation education program for children aged 10 to 13 living near forest boundaries), Wild Surakshe (an initiative focused on public health and safety training in high-conflict, remote communities) and Wild Saakshi (a dedicated anti-poaching programme). Dr Krithi has also mentored over 300 young scientists and, in May this year, became the first South Asian to be named Rolex National Geographic Explorer of the Year.
A shared passion for the conservation of wildlife in India elides the 30 years between father and daughter, but where there is common ground, there is also the looming threat of it becoming a battleground. The Karanths’ mutual love for the natural world brings them together, even though their differing perspectives, shaped by their individual experiences and generations, can create friction. It is only while speaking to them that I realise their shared commitment to conservation offers a way forward, reminding them that while they may not always agree on the path, they remain connected by their goal.
Vogue India: Dr Ullas, you grew up in Puttur, a rural town in Karnataka, surrounded by the wilderness landscapes of the Western Ghats. What was that like?
Dr K. Ullas Karanth (UK): I think I was born with a love for wildlife; I remember drawing tigers at the age of three. I was an outlier in my generation. Nobody was watching birds; everyone was hunting. A family friend gave me a book by Sálim Ali, the Birdman of India, and I became very attuned to the fauna around me. I’d be riding my motorcycle, witnessing men on their way to slaughter tigers, not knowing if I would ever see one in the wild. Then Indira Gandhi’s outlawed commercial hunting and declared the Royal Bengal Tiger as India’s national animal. Things changed overnight.
Vogue India: Dr Krithi, did you choose the forest or was it chosen for you?
Dr Krithi K. Karanth (KK): It did not come to me by choice. My mother had her own career, so from the age of one, I accompanied my dad to work in a Jeep. No fussing about food, no devices, just binoculars, and sitting in a watchtower for four to six hours at a stretch. I don’t know many children who’ve had that. My happiest moments today are still just being out in the jungle watching animals.
UK: She was very observant even then. Once she spotted a leopard at about 250 metres in Nagarhole before I did. I knew then that she had the instinct for this.
Vogue India: Your work overlaps constantly, but your approaches feel different. How would you describe each other?
KK: We definitely agree on the fundamentals. My dad is very clear: science, evidence, data. There’s no room for vague thinking. Everything has to be measured, tested, proven.
UK: And she’s not very different, despite what she might say. Her work is rigorous—published, peer-reviewed, grounded in evidence. That’s what matters. Conservation cannot run on emotion alone.
Vogue India: And when you don’t agree?
KK: We disagree often, actually. But we don’t internalise it. We say what we think and move on. There’s no point carrying resentment—it does not help the work or the relationship.
UK: Disagreement is essential. If you’re doing science properly, you should expect to be challenged. That’s how ideas improve.
Vogue India: You’ve both worked extensively with tigers. How has that shaped your larger view of conservation?
UK: The tiger became a kind of flagship. When we shut down the iron ore mine in Kudremukh or relocated over 2,000 families from protected areas, it was framed as ‘saving the tiger.’ But in reality, we were preserving entire ecosystems: forests, water systems, biodiversity, even humans. The tiger gives you a way to communicate urgency, but the impact is much broader.
KK: For my generation, the work has expanded. We still work on large mammals, but also on bats, vultures, frogs—species that don’t get the same attention.
Vogue India: Dr Krithi, what has changed for women in a field your father entered when it was almost entirely male?
KK: It has completely transformed on the science side. In my dad’s generation, it was 90 per cent men. Today, our master’s programme is a 50-50 split and our PhD programme at CWS is 60 per cent women. If a young woman is capable enough and can get past the barriers at home, she can go as far as any man, or further. On-ground fieldwork still skews male because of the physical logistics, but even that is slowly shifting.
Vogue India: What feels more difficult now than when you started?
KK: The speed of change. Technology, for one: mobile phones have made wildlife trade faster and more accessible. What was once local is now global. At the same time, infrastructure remains a huge issue: roads, dams, highways cutting through habitats. These create barriers that aren’t always visible, but they are incredibly disruptive for wildlife movement.
UK: I would add that sometimes the problem isn’t lack of resources, but misuse of them. Conservation funding has increased dramatically (10 to 13 times in some cases), but without proper scientific direction, it does not always translate into better outcomes.
Vogue India: Could you put the scale of what you’re up against into numbers for us?
KK: India has 1.4 billion people, roughly 100-200 million living within 20 to 50 kilometres of our 700 wildlife parks. No other country has anything close to that density next to wild habitat. Protected areas are only 4 per cent of India’s landmass, and within that, we’ve secured perhaps a quarter for tigers and wildlife in India to thrive.
UK: And there’s a deeper number I think about. When Homo sapiens evolved 150,000 years ago, human biomass versus wild species was roughly 3 per cent to 97. Today, between our domesticated animals and us, we occupy 97 per cent; wild species are left with 3. That inversion tells you the scale of the problem.
Vogue India: Dr Krithi, you’ve seen your father’s work up close for decades. What surprised you while reading his memoir, Tiger Memories?
KK: What struck me was how much of his life I thought I knew but did not fully understand. The risks he took, his persistence, the way he navigated systems that weren’t always supportive of science—it felt different seeing it all laid out. There’s also a certain honesty in the book about failures and frustrations, which you don’t always hear growing up. For me, it was a reminder of how much of conservation in India was built through individual grit before it became institutional.
Vogue India: Turning the question to you, Dr Ullas. Krithi’s work has reached scale and recognition, including the Rolex Award. What does that moment represent to you?
UK: Awards are useful—they bring visibility, credibility, sometimes funding. But what matters is the work behind them. In Krithi’s case, it’s the ability to take science and apply it at scale—across dozens of parks, tens of thousands of people, real outcomes. It’s not easy.
Vogue India: Does the bulk of your conversation revolve around conservation?
KK: We have to consciously stop talking about work sometimes. Otherwise, we can just keep going.
UK: I have to make an appointment to meet her now.
KK: That’s not true.
UK: You know it is.
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