Wild Tamil Nadu: Kalyan Varma’s stunning documentary captures rare wildlife and ancient Sangam landscapes

The real motivation behind this project is to tell our own stories, in our own way, stories that resonate with Indian viewers. This was about creating something authentic, for us, by us. It is not just sad but frustrating how Indian wildlife stories are often told for Western audiences and how they end up leaning into clichés. For instance, every time monsoon is mentioned in a documentary, a peacock is shown. But peacocks have nothing to do with the arrival of the monsoon, as their mating displays happen in the peak of summer. That’s exactly what I wanted to challenge: this narrow idea of what Indian wildlife is supposed to look like.

One of the key challenges with making an hour-long film is finding something that ties it all together. You can’t just string together beautiful shots of animals or interesting stories. There has to be a unifying thread, a narrative structure that holds everything in place.

When I first began the project, I was aware of Sangam literature as an important part of Tamil history, but I had no idea it contained such rich references to landscapes and nature. It was only through research and conversations with friends of mine who are wildlife scientists that I discovered this layer. They pointed out that Tamil Nadu, in many ways, still reflects the five classical landscapes described in Sangam poetry, even though there's debate around the exact age of those texts, which go back over 3,000 years.

What really struck me was how those ancient landscapes—Kurinji, Mullai, Marutham, Palai, and Neithal—still exist in some form today. That felt extraordinary. How often do you find something written thousands of years ago that still mirrors the real world in the 21st century?

That discovery became the inspiration and the narrative backbone of the film. It gave us a way to explore Tamil Nadu’s wild spaces through a cultural and ecological lens. I wish we had the space to do a three-hour film because Sangam literature also weaves in elements like romance, emotion, flowers, birds, and the human experience in each of these landscapes. There's so much richness there. But even within an hour, using the five landscapes as a structural guide allowed us to present a cohesive journey through Tamil Nadu’s incredible biodiversity.

It’s always a tough process deciding what to feature in a film like this. When you start researching, the big, charismatic species naturally come up first—tigers, elephants, the lion-tailed macaque, the Nilgiri tahr, which is also the state animal of Tamil Nadu, and other Western Ghats endemics. These are iconic and, of course, important. But we wanted to go beyond that.

There were two key principles that guided our selection. First, we wanted to represent a range of landscapes: the Western Ghats, the coast and underwater ecosystems, the dry zones, the croplands, and every major ecological region in Tamil Nadu. And second, we aimed for diversity across taxa, meaning we didn't just want mammals. We included birds, reptiles, insects, and even ants. It was important to showcase the full spectrum of life, from the majestic to the often-overlooked.

But it wasn't just about biological variety. We also wanted emotional and narrative diversity stories that evoke different human feelings. Some were about rivalry, others about love, friendship, or family. That emotional layer was important because, honestly, I find it hard to sit through many documentaries these days. If you're competing with something like Kantara, which blends entertainment and emotion so well, a documentary needs to be engaging as well as informative. It has to connect with people on a deeper level.

One of my personal favourite stories in the film is about ants, those little cone-shaped mounds you see in cities like Chennai or Bangalore. Most people walk right past them, not realising there’s an entire drama playing out beneath the surface. We also included stories from croplands, like the Baya weaver bird and the rock agama. These are animals you might spot in rural Tamil Nadu, and our hope is that, after seeing the film, someone might actually pause to watch, maybe see a male weaver bird building a nest or fighting off a rival.

One of the biggest surprises for me was discovering that Tamil Nadu has deserts. Like most people, when I thought of deserts, I imagined Rajasthan. These striking red sand dunes exist in the southern districts, and it's a completely different kind of arid zone, something you wouldn’t expect in this part of the country.

Also, when people think of wildlife in Tamil Nadu, they immediately point to Mudumalai, the Nilgiris, or the Anamalais, which are all along the state’s western borders. But Tamil Nadu is a vast state, and there's incredible wildlife right in the heartland, in places like Madurai and Thoothukudi, which are better known for temples or industry, but not for biodiversity. So we made a conscious decision to look beyond the usual ‘wildlife map’ and tell stories from the croplands, dry zones, and lesser-known wildernesses in the interior.

We also leaned heavily on a vibrant local community of naturalists, photographers, and filmmakers. A lot of our research came from following people on Instagram and reaching out to them. These are people connected to their landscapes, and many of them contributed footage and story ideas. I wasn’t physically behind the camera for most of it.  I worked more on direction and structure, but these collaborators were crucial in helping us unearth stories from places that rarely get attention.

Tamil Nadu's wildlife differs from the rest of the country in two major ways. First, the sheer diversity of landscapes. No other state in India goes from the towering peaks of the Western Ghats to some of the most productive marine ecosystems in Asia. The Gulf of Mannar, for example, has vast seagrass meadows. We couldn’t cover them in the film, unfortunately, but they’re home to dugongs, and they are among the most productive ecosystems in the world. The stretch between India and Sri Lanka, in the Palk Bay, is also one of the best places in the world to spot blue whales, the largest animals on the planet. So that range, from mountains to sea, is unmatched.

Second, and perhaps even more striking, is how intact the wildlife still is and how closely people live with it. In many rural parts of Tamil Nadu, it’s common to see egrets, ibis, or other birds in the middle of agricultural fields. And what’s remarkable is the tolerance people show toward wildlife. Despite likely suffering crop damage or economic losses, there's a quiet coexistence that I haven’t seen as widely elsewhere in the country. That relationship, not just with iconic species but with everyday wildlife, is something truly special about Tamil Nadu.

We needed someone who could pronounce Tamil Nadu with authenticity, not just phonetically, but with the cultural weight it carries. And Arvind Swami was the perfect fit. What many people might not know is that he’s a passionate wildlife lover. When we approached him, we were thrilled to find that he genuinely cared about the subject.

For us, it was crucial that a trained actor did the narration. Actors know how to pause, where to place emphasis, and how to let silence carry meaning, and Arvind brought all of that. Beyond that, his voice has a certain depth and authority. It reminds me of what makes someone like David Attenborough so compelling—that sense of wisdom and lived experience behind the voice. When Arvind speaks, it feels like someone who truly knows what he’s talking about. That gravitas was exactly what we needed to carry the film's tone.

Arvind ticked all the boxes. He’s not just a celebrated actor; he’s someone with a strong presence and a voice that commands attention. Our producer happens to know him personally and reached out, and I was really glad when he agreed.

Ricky and I have been collaborating for many years, and one of the things that stands out about him is his incredible ear for regional dialects and musical nuances. Languages aren’t just about words; they have dialects, rhythms, and subtle variations, and Ricky understands that deeply. Since we were drawing inspiration from Sangam literature, we wanted the music to reflect that same cultural depth. Carnatic music felt like the perfect choice to set the emotional tone. Given Ricky’s expertise and his status as a three-time Grammy winner, he was the natural person to bring that vision to life. We have worked together before, so when we approached him, he was immediately on board. In fact, Ricky told me, “If I’m not involved, this project isn’t going to happen.”

Absolutely! In fact, most of the cameramen who worked on the film are from Tamil Nadu, and these are people for whom these landscapes are literally their backyard. Take the Madras Hedgehog, for example—it’s such a rare species that probably only a few hundred people in the world have ever seen one. We connected with two young filmmakers from Nagercoil who had been documenting these hedgehogs and regularly went out searching for them at night. When I found their work on Instagram, I reached out and asked if we could film together, and they were excited to collaborate.

Beyond the cameramen, our entire creative and scientific team was rooted in Tamil Nadu. All the music composers, scientific consultants, and researchers involved are locals who understand the natural history and cultural context intimately. You cannot create an authentic wildlife film without working closely with people who live and breathe these landscapes every day.

The Tamil Nadu Forest Department, too, has been supportive throughout the project, not just in terms of permissions but also by sharing invaluable knowledge. Many of the areas we filmed in aren’t accessible to tourists or the general public, so it’s easy to miss what goes on there. The field staff, especially forest guards and rangers, were helpful. They patiently shared their understanding of the animals’ behaviours, which are often tied to specific times and conditions. You can’t just show up and expect wildlife to appear on cue. Their guidance was crucial in shaping the stories we told.

One of the biggest challenges is how unpredictable everything has become, especially with climate change. Ten years ago, you could almost set your calendar by nature—like the monsoon arriving in the first week of June, followed by jackfruit fruiting and lion-tailed macaques showing up. But now, rains can start as early as May, throwing all those natural timelines off.

For example, we filmed at Pulicat Lake over four consecutive winters because the water levels and animal behaviour kept changing. Some years, the flamingos wouldn’t even show up, and in the other years, they would come but without any interesting behaviour to capture. It took a lot of patience. Technology has been a huge help, though. Using drones, we’ve been able to capture behaviours from new angles—like seeing cormorants forming a line to herd fish, something none of us fully understood until we saw it from above. But even technology can fail, especially in the Western Ghats with the constant rain and fungus that wreak havoc on equipment.

 Filming underwater was another major challenge. Unlike places like Goa or the Andamans with established dive centres, Tamil Nadu’s 400 km coastline is less explored. We relied heavily on local fishermen to guide us, but there are no fixed landmarks out in the ocean, making navigation tricky. We sampled every 30–40 kilometers from south Chennai to Kanyakumari to find the best spots and stories. It was a tough, time-consuming process, but essential for the film.

We started discussing this project about five years ago, but the first two years were heavily impacted by COVID. Many places were inaccessible, and it didn’t feel right to proceed with filming during the pandemic. We picked up the pace in 2022, which means we had around two to three years of active filming. After that, it took about a year to weave all the stories together.

 My experience with my documentary, Wild Karnataka, helped, since both projects focus on states with rich wildlife. One big takeaway from Wild Karnataka was realising that we initially portrayed the state almost as if people didn’t exist, like a pristine wilderness untouched by humans. That received some feedback, and for this film, we consciously wanted to include the relationship between people and wildlife, especially since Tamil Nadu is so densely populated and those stories are intertwined.

 Technology has also come a long way in the last five to six years. We had access to the latest high-speed cameras, drones, and low-light cameras, which allowed us to capture moments that would’ve been nearly impossible before, like the mesmerising dance of fireflies, for example. But beyond technology, I think the biggest evolution has been in storytelling itself. As filmmakers, we have a responsibility to be thoughtful about what we include and what we leave out, and how we represent these stories authentically and respectfully.

It’s never worth disturbing animals just to get a shot. Ethically, we set a very high standard; all the animals had to be filmed in the wild without causing them any disturbance. There were many stories we aimed to capture but ultimately didn’t, simply because pursuing them would have disturbed the animals.

 Even with technology like drones, we had to be extremely careful. Some animals, like leopards, are more tolerant, but elephants and bears can get very scared by the drone’s buzzing sound. In fact, for the first few years, we couldn’t film elephants with drones at all because they would get agitated and run away. When animals are disturbed, they don’t behave naturally, so the footage loses its authenticity.

 It was only recently, with the development of zoom lenses on drones, that we could capture close-up shots from as far as half a kilometre away without bothering the animals. Ultimately, if filming a particular story means causing disturbance, we choose to let that story go, respecting that the animals come first. And yes, after making documentaries for quite some time, this ethical approach has become non-negotiable.

I believe India is unique in the world for having so much wildlife thriving outside of designated national parks and sanctuaries, something you rarely see elsewhere. Take the Western Ghats, for example. We filmed lion-tailed macaques, elephants, and leopards not inside protected parks but on private coffee estates. Similarly, many of our cropland and ocean stories were set in areas managed by local fishermen, not official wildlife reserves. Even places like the sand dunes in Thoothukudi aren’t formal sanctuaries but still harbour rich wildlife. This coexistence is a tribute to India’s natural heritage.

What struck me most was the incredible tolerance people show toward wildlife, like the communities living alongside the endangered lion-tailed macaques. There are fewer than 3,000 left in the wild, and these animals sometimes invade people’s homes, causing real economic losses. Yet, these aren’t wealthy communities; they simply tolerate and live with the wildlife. That spirit of coexistence and respect was the biggest lesson I took away from my time filming in the wild.

I have always believed it’s a two-step process. You can’t just jump straight into conservation messages, as people need to be educated first. For example, my mother didn’t know anything about wildlife. If I told her about lion-tailed macaques, she would ask, “What’s that?” So, the first step is helping people discover and fall in love with the diversity of wildlife around them.

Once that connection is made, then the conversation about conservation naturally follows. If you start with conservation issues right away, most people won’t understand or care. With Wild Tamil Nadu, our goal was to show people here that this amazing biodiversity exists right in their own backyard and that it’s worth appreciating.

I hope this film becomes an educational tool. Maybe in five or ten years, if a new power plant is proposed in an ecologically sensitive area, people will stand up and say, “This is where the rare Madras hedgehog lives; we can’t let this happen.”

We’re definitely focused on step one—inspiring love for nature, not preaching what’s right or wrong. I was fortunate to have friends who introduced me to birds and wildlife, but not everyone has that chance. Films like this can bridge that gap.

As for me, I’m actually an IT guy, a software professional. Growing up in Karnataka, I was lucky to be near so many ecotourism spots where naturalists showed me the wonders of nature. At first, I just knew common birds like crows and sparrows. But as I learnt about their behaviours and roles, I couldn’t help but fall in love with them.

That’s why, with Wild Tamil Nadu, we want it to be as entertaining as mainstream Hollywood or Bollywood films so that more people engage with and care about wildlife.