Gawking, Not Guiding: At the Delhi Zoo, a Mirror to a Larger Malaise

SHUBHADEEP MUKHERJEE

What is the true purpose of a zoo in an age when every animal can be seen virtually in documentaries, in classrooms, on YouTube,  long before one steps into the wild? Zoos were once envisioned as centres of learning, conservation, and wonder. But do they still serve that role, or have they become holding grounds for spectacle, stripped of context and care? As I walked through the Delhi Zoo recently, I couldn’t help but wonder — where had that childhood sense of awe disappeared? And it left me with more questions than photographs.

Spread across 176 acres in the heart of the capital, the National Zoological Park should, in principle, serve as a space for conservation, education, and public awareness. Instead, what I witnessed was a quiet erosion of those ideals.

Let’s begin with the enclosures. The white tiger, one of the zoo’s star attractions, was seen anxiously pacing up and down a narrow strip near its feeding hatch, letting out a low, frustrated growl — one that sounded more like distress than dominance. Nearby, a Bengal tiger grazed on grass, a behaviour atypical and often linked to digestive discomfort or stress.

The jaguar, an exotic species not native to India but still part of the zoo’s collection, lay panting heavily in the heat. Its presence also raises a broader question: what role should exotic species play in Indian zoos in 2025? The Central Zoo Authority (CZA) had once called for a 90% indigenous species mandate, later revised to allow 25% exotic species — but are these changes meaningful if basic habitat needs aren’t met?

Even more concerning was the palm civet, visibly unwell and its body covered in red patches and scratch marks, continuously licking and rubbing itself, while visitors stood silently, perhaps unsure of what they were seeing. An elephant stood chewing listlessly, unmoved and seemingly disinterested in its surroundings. The lioness sat far away from the crowd, clearly disturbed at the with the heat and the noise around. However, the zoo authorities had a sprinkler installed to cool the enclosure down but the sweltering heat seemed to clearly defeat the purpose. The water bodies that were meant to cool, refresh, and simulate a natural habitat, were stagnant, algae-choked, and in some corners, visibly dirty.

Compounding the issue was the visible lack of supervision and basic crowd control. There were barely any safety checks. Several parents were seen hoisting children onto their shoulders to help them see better — a tender gesture, no doubt, but one that poses real danger. At certain enclosures a single misstep could lead to a fatal fall. In a space hosting wild animals and thousands of visitors, this absence of preventive oversight is worrying.

And yet, in the same space, one finds hopeful interventions: panels on biodiversity, structures for interactive learning, and a handful of volunteers managing footfall. But when a butterfly-shaped cutout becomes just a photo prop, and a “Say No to Plastic” board hangs above a snack stall selling packaged goods, the symbolism begins to crack.

To their credit, some officials acknowledge that the zoo is in transition — limited by funds, stretched staff, and aging infrastructure. But it’s also true that the public's role has changed: zoos are no longer just Sunday destinations for family outings. They are, and must be, places that educate, sensitise, and provoke responsibility, not simply showcase captive wildlife.

In its current state, Delhi Zoo risks becoming a shadow of its intended self. The animals deserve better and so do the people.