One of the park’s great tuskers, he was photographed under dramatic skies in Amboseli—at a time when the bulls begin to return, drawn back from the peripheries to interact with the matriarchal herds.

There’s a rhythm to this seasonal shift, a slow and deliberate convergence that has shaped elephant society for generations. Bulls like Barsaloi may travel alone for much of the year, but their reappearance signals more than just proximity—it is a return to lineage, to legacy.

When I first encountered Barsaloi, he was wary—nervous even—his body language alert, his movements cautious. But over time, as our paths crossed again, something shifted. By the second or third meeting, his demeanour had softened; he held his space with calm confidence. It’s a reminder of how time and patience deepen not only photographs, but understanding. Barsaloi has his own rhythms too—an ear shake when you get close, a habit of wrapping his trunk around his tusks, especially when other bulls are nearby. These small gestures, repeated over time, become part of his signature.