Asir Jawahar Thomas Johnsingh (1945-2024): Farewell Friend, Guide, and Compatriot

Asir Jawahar Thomas Johnsingh, also known as AJT Johnsingh, was a wildlife biologist and conservation activist who initiated pioneering field research on free-ranging large mammals in India by studying dholes in Bandipur Tiger Reserve in 1976-78. He spent a lifetime working in conservation in India under the aegis of institutions like the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC, the Wildlife Institute of India, the Bombay Natural History Society and WWF India. After 20 years of service, he retired as Dean, Faculty of Wildlife Sciences at the Wildlife Institute of India in 2005.

Inspired by Jim Corbett, who walked and wrote with passion about Indian jungles, AJT Johnsingh dedicated his entire life to the defence of wild India. He completed his Masters in Zoology from the Madras Christian College and went on to teach the subject at the Ayya Nadar Janaki Ammal College, Sivakasi. His parents were teachers with an affinity for nature, which they gifted to him. A field man to the core, his fascination for wild India found expression through a lifetime of tramping the jungles he loved. It was JC Daniel, Curator of the Bombay Natural History Society, he told me, who suggested to him that there would be great value in his writing down his personal wildlife observations for the benefit of science and for those who might be inspired by his stories.

“Ka ka khroo... ka ka khroo... A troop of common langurs, on their early morning foraging trip, mistook me, seated eight metres up in a tree, for a leopard and raised an alarm. A dhole bitch shot out from a rock shelter on a nearby hillock. I froze. Although it stood hardly 15 metres away, the dhole failed to notice me as there was no wind to carry my scent. Having verified that no potential danger lurked around the den site, and that the members of the pack had not returned from their hunt, she went back to the den and her new litter of eight pups. I relaxed. My fear stemmed not from any possibility of aggressiveness on the part of the dholes, but from the fact that they, being extremely shy, would move their pups to another den at the first sign of any disturbance.”

That was how Johnsingh started his Sanctuary Asia article way back in 1984. I can hardly believe he has gone. Everything he wrote was from personal experience.

Johnsingh was my friend for over half my life. He was among those who stood by my side over four decades ago when I was audacious enough to believe I could produce a popular wildlife and ecology magazine, Sanctuary Asia, that was credible, comprehensible, readable and aesthetic. Soon after Sanctuary was launched in October 1981, he said to me: “Your expertise has more to do with communication than natural history, but that is not a bad thing. There are lots of people who know the science of natural history, Bittu, but all too few who can package science for those who take decisions and form public opinion. That is your job!” Without pausing, he bluntly added that he was not there to “help me” but would always be available so that my enthusiasm and lack of scientific training did not result in Sanctuary’s early demise from ignorance and error.

He put me at ease. When he found me defensive, even about glaring errors in the first issue we published, he made it clear that critique should not be mistaken as criticism, nor should criticism be taken for antagonism. “Too many people in the conservation world are oversensitive to criticism, and if you are one of those, you will have a rough time,” he said to me over a cup of tea at the Members’ Room at Hornbill House, the headquarters of the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) in the early 1980s.

Like many other knowledgeable stalwarts who helped chaperone Sanctuary magazine to safe harbour, he read every issue I religiously sent to him and would generously point out the nuances of natural history; also, how words like “believed to be”, “possibly”, and “most likely” were shields for an editor. From the time I met him, one piece of advice that has become part of my DNA is to acknowledge, respect and value the experience of those who have spent lifetimes protecting and studying what Sanctuary writes about between its covers. This has been the cornerstone of Sanctuary’s credibility and the secret of its decades-long survival.

I will miss Johnsingh. As much for his transparent love of nature and affection for me as for his ability to disagree without being disagreeable. I remember a major argument we once had at The Ministry of Environment and Forests’ Paryavaran Bhavan office on the dangers of the Turial Hydroelectric Project, which NEEPCO was aggressively promoting. It was then still in the planning stage, and I felt it was far too valuable to drown. After much argument, he ended our discussion with a one-line response: “Bittu, do you think I do not agree with you? The fact is that even if you live ten lives, you will never be able to stop everything!” In the event, many years later, the dam was built and eventually damaged the Dampa Tiger Reserve.”

He was never one to shy away from direct answers. For instance, this was his response to another direct question I asked him about the lion translocation project from Gir in Saurashtra to Kuno in Madhya Pradesh: “The less said, the better. We must translocate a pride, but before that, we must ensure that the meticulous plan to restore Palpur Kuno in Madhya Pradesh is implemented. Gujarat does not want ‘Gujarati’ lions to leave the state. The villagers in Palpur Kuno who have expressed their willingness to move are not seeing the kind of support they expected from the MP government. It appears that the tiger crisis in the country has made the authorities forget about the lion translocation programme. A Sariska-type situation could strike Gir, but instead of poachers, it could be disease that wipes out all the lions. For the sake of saving ‘Gujarati lions’, we need to urgently establish a second population far away from Gir.”

I spoke with Johnsingh shortly before he passed, and while his voice sounded feeble, his spirit and upfront views remained undiminished. He was particularly distressed that decades of work to restore the elephant corridor between Chilla and Motichur along the Ganges bank had still not been prioritised. He was clearly dismissive of the chances of wild cheetahs surviving in Palpur Kuno. In his personal conversations with me, he worried that many young people entering the world of wildlife conservation seemed so distracted by technology (which he added was very vital to conservation) that they forgot that only field observations undertaken on foot in the wild could truly add accurate information to base sensible decisions about the future of our wildernesses.

Photo sources: with golden mahseer, lioness in Gir, dhole in Bandipur