(December 18, 2024) By Anshita Das The evening was quiet, except for the faint drizzle tapping on leaves and the soft, persistent chirping of crickets and occasional bird calls. The damp air clung to us as we trudged through the tea estate, navigating rows of lush, green bushes still glistening from a heavy rain earlier that day. Shadows stretched across the path, and the light was fading fast. We’d been out since morning, checking and retrieving camera traps around Valparai’s dumpsites to monitor wi...

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