<p>Wildlife photography requires patience, discipline and an understanding of animal behaviour. It also requires getting out of bed at 4.30 in the morning. At Taj Banjaar Tola, in Kanha, departure for the morning safari is at 5.45. Your columnist had therefore instructed that coffee be delivered to his room with the wakeup call. At the departure area, guests were eating the Banjaar Tola speciality porridge with a dash of rum. This is an inspired invention because it combines breakfast with the possibility of forgetting that you woke up at 4.30. Your columnist, displaying restraint, had only coffee and a biscuit. He had, admittedly, filled a flask with more coffee and slipped two chocolate cookies for good measure. Breakfast in the park can be delayed. Before you eat it, you must spend several hours being tossed around in a safari vehicle on roads that appear to have been designed to test the structural integrity of the human backside. </p><p>Your columnist was, naturally, dressed correctly. Khaki trousers, green shirt and an Akubra hat completed the ensemble. He looked less like a tourist and more like a man who might abruptly be requisitioned by the Forest Department to take charge. Sadly, others had not shown similar professionalism. A couple allocated to his vehicle had failed to appear. Anxiety spread, watches were consulted and lodge staff scurried about. Eventually, the two emerged, apparently unaware that they had disrupted an operation involving several vehicles, guides, permits and a man in an Akubra hat. We rushed to the park entrance and discovered that everybody else had rushed there first. The queue seemed a mile long and we were right at the back. This meant every vehicle ahead would shower us with dust. </p><p>The queue itself offered entertainment. Kanha attracts people from across India and the world, many of whom have apparently been told that animals appreciate bright colours. Forest etiquette requires browns, greens and khakis. You are meant to merge into the landscape. Yet here were jackets in shocking pink, luminous trainers and pom-pom hats. One lady was dressed in a shade of red that could probably be detected by satellites. A gentleman wore gleaming white shoes. He appeared less ready for a jungle than for cocktails at the Oberoi. Your columnist surveyed all this from beneath his Akubra with the tolerant sadness of Sir David Attenborough watching an invasive species. At six, the gates opened and the great tiger hunt began. </p><p>Jeeps shot forward. Guests gripped cameras worth more than small cars. Within minutes, everybody was jaunting about Kanha with the manic determination of bargain hunters on the first morning of a sale. Our driver prepared to join them but your columnist suggested we wait. Waiting, in modern management, is suspicious. If everybody else is racing somewhere, the instinct is to race after them. Nobody knows exactly why. But movement looks like progress and activity look like achievement. There was also an enormous cloud of dust ahead of us. We could either follow twenty vehicles into it or sit quietly until it cleared. So we sat. Finally, at around 6.20, we entered the park. By now the others were miles ahead, studying pugmarks and listening to sambar calls. We had travelled perhaps 300 yards. </p><p>And there he was in all his glory. A magnificent tiger, walking calmly towards us. No frantic search. No racing across the Kanha meadows. The tiger simply appeared while everyone else was somewhere else looking for him. For once, even your columnist stopped talking. There is a management lesson here and it is not that CEOs should wear Akubra hats. Businesses often confuse activity with achievement. When competitors rush somewhere, everyone follows. When one company launches an app, twelve others commission one. The corporate jeep accelerates, the dust rises and nobody can see very much. Sometimes the cleverest decision is to resist the herd, stop the vehicle and allow the dust to settle. And, if you have planned properly, you will still have coffee and two chocolate cookies, as you watch the tiger. </p>
<p>Wildlife photography requires patience, discipline and an understanding of animal behaviour. It also requires getting out of bed at 4.30 in the morning. At Taj Banjaar Tola, in Kanha, departure for the morning safari is at 5.45. Your columnist had therefore instructed that coffee be delivered to his room with the wakeup call. At the departure area, guests were eating the Banjaar Tola speciality porridge with a dash of rum. This is an inspired invention because it combines breakfast with the possibility of forgetting that you woke up at 4.30. Your columnist, displaying restraint, had only coffee and a biscuit. He had, admittedly, filled a flask with more coffee and slipped two chocolate cookies for good measure. Breakfast in the park can be delayed. Before you eat it, you must spend several hours being tossed around in a safari vehicle on roads that appear to have been designed to test the structural integrity of the human backside. </p><p>Your columnist was, naturally, dressed correctly. Khaki trousers, green shirt and an Akubra hat completed the ensemble. He looked less like a tourist and more like a man who might abruptly be requisitioned by the Forest Department to take charge. Sadly, others had not shown similar professionalism. A couple allocated to his vehicle had failed to appear. Anxiety spread, watches were consulted and lodge staff scurried about. Eventually, the two emerged, apparently unaware that they had disrupted an operation involving several vehicles, guides, permits and a man in an Akubra hat. We rushed to the park entrance and discovered that everybody else had rushed there first. The queue seemed a mile long and we were right at the back. This meant every vehicle ahead would shower us with dust. </p><p>The queue itself offered entertainment. Kanha attracts people from across India and the world, many of whom have apparently been told that animals appreciate bright colours. Forest etiquette requires browns, greens and khakis. You are meant to merge into the landscape. Yet here were jackets in shocking pink, luminous trainers and pom-pom hats. One lady was dressed in a shade of red that could probably be detected by satellites. A gentleman wore gleaming white shoes. He appeared less ready for a jungle than for cocktails at the Oberoi. Your columnist surveyed all this from beneath his Akubra with the tolerant sadness of Sir David Attenborough watching an invasive species. At six, the gates opened and the great tiger hunt began. </p><p>Jeeps shot forward. Guests gripped cameras worth more than small cars. Within minutes, everybody was jaunting about Kanha with the manic determination of bargain hunters on the first morning of a sale. Our driver prepared to join them but your columnist suggested we wait. Waiting, in modern management, is suspicious. If everybody else is racing somewhere, the instinct is to race after them. Nobody knows exactly why. But movement looks like progress and activity look like achievement. There was also an enormous cloud of dust ahead of us. We could either follow twenty vehicles into it or sit quietly until it cleared. So we sat. Finally, at around 6.20, we entered the park. By now the others were miles ahead, studying pugmarks and listening to sambar calls. We had travelled perhaps 300 yards. </p><p>And there he was in all his glory. A magnificent tiger, walking calmly towards us. No frantic search. No racing across the Kanha meadows. The tiger simply appeared while everyone else was somewhere else looking for him. For once, even your columnist stopped talking. There is a management lesson here and it is not that CEOs should wear Akubra hats. Businesses often confuse activity with achievement. When competitors rush somewhere, everyone follows. When one company launches an app, twelve others commission one. The corporate jeep accelerates, the dust rises and nobody can see very much. Sometimes the cleverest decision is to resist the herd, stop the vehicle and allow the dust to settle. And, if you have planned properly, you will still have coffee and two chocolate cookies, as you watch the tiger. </p>
