It’s Valentine’s Day! A day of love, hearts, and soppy love songs. And here I am, deep in the heart of the forest, being chased by a rhino.
Oh man! We were gingerly driving down a peaceful jungle track when she literally exploded out of nowhere. My driver floored it and not a second too soon. I see my life flash before her horn. I look back and that’s when I notice the baby with her, and suddenly it all makes sense. Maybe she just doesn’t want visitors. And honestly, I get it. All that pregnancy weight, still feeling a little moody, and all you want is quiet time with your baby without random, annoying guests popping in unannounced, cameras in hand and big goofy smiles. But she’s chased us into a denser part of the jungle, and today I had fully intended to stay in the grasslands where a gorgeous male tiger, Dabangg, is usually on the prowl. Just as my mood begins to sink, a familiar whoosh-whoosh-whoosh forces me to look up and instantly lifts my spirits.
The beautiful Great Hornbill flies over my head and settles onto a branch on a nearby tree. My driver says, “Ma’am chale kya?” (Ma’am, shall we go?) Honestly, sometimes it just annoys me. Forests are so full of magic, but unless there is a tiger involved somehow, everyone seems to lose interest pretty quickly.
The Great Hornbill is one of the most spectacular birds you can encounter in an Indian forest. Massive, unmistakable and somehow both prehistoric and elegant at the same time, it moves through the canopy with a deep, rhythmic whoosh that you hear before you see it. With its enormous curved bill and striking casque, it looks almost unreal, like something imagined rather than evolved. But beyond its dramatic appearance, what makes the Great Hornbill truly fascinating is its behaviour, especially the extraordinary partnership between male and female.
This one’s clearly male. You can tell by the large casque and the reddish eyes. The way he’s sitting on the branch, holding what looks like a fruit in that enormous beak, tells me there must be a nest nearby.
We wait. My driver is looking at Instagram. The hornbill is looking at me, possibly doing a threat analysis. And I am scanning the canopy above, looking for a tiny hole in one of the trees. And then I see it. A round cavity in the trunk, dark and quiet, almost easy to miss. Somewhere inside, hidden from view, the female waits.
I have always been fascinated with hornbill relationships. To me, they symbolise true love in its purest form. Firstly, hornbills are known to form long-term monogamous bonds, which in today’s day and age feels almost rare. But what fascinates me even more is their partnership and the way they show up for each other.
During nesting season, their relationship takes on an extraordinary dimension. The female chooses a cavity in a tree and then seals herself inside, using mud, fruit pulp and debris to close off the entrance, leaving only a small opening. From that moment on, she cannot leave. She sheds her flight feathers, becomes completely vulnerable and depends entirely on the male to bring her food day after day. He returns repeatedly, carrying food in his enormous beak, feeding her through that small opening while she incubates the eggs and protects the nest from within.
What a fascinating relationship! Ironically, today is Valentine’s Day. A day when the whole city and every mall is bathed in red. A day of grand gestures and outward displays of passion, red roses and love. But here I am, in the middle of the forest, witnessing perhaps the greatest display of love there is. And yet it is not loud, not showy, not dramatic.
Because what I am witnessing here is not about spectacle. There are no roses, no declarations, no audience. Just a male hornbill returning again and again, carrying food, showing up with quiet consistency while the female remains hidden inside the nest, trusting completely in his reliability. It is not dramatic love. It is dependable love. The kind that is built slowly through repetition, through presence, through small actions that do not look grand from the outside but mean everything to the one waiting within.
I wonder how she chose him. Long before they begin nesting together, the male brings her food, consistently and patiently. She assesses his reliability, his sense of responsibility. She watches who he is through his actions. She gauges how he will be when she is at her most vulnerable. Will he take off? Will he come back? Will he search for greener pastures, a different mate, something more entertaining? If he does, she simply leaves and finds a partner more reliable.
I wonder if, during their courtship period, the male is also asking his own questions. Is this a bond he will honour even when life becomes heavy?
Apparently this one will. He has finally decided that I am harmless and has flown to the hole in the tree, carefully passing his fruit to the waiting beak inside.
Honestly, there are few things more beautiful than the hornbill relationship. The fact that she trusts him blindly to come back for her. The fact that he knows she’s doing her best inside. The fact that even though there exists a big, beautiful world out there for him to explore, he chooses to remain here, wrapped in his duties as a mate, as a father. The fact that she has sealed herself inside her nest, with no easy way out. If he didn’t return, she cannot simply leave. Sealed inside, she depends entirely on his return. Even if she were to eventually break free, the cost is sometimes more than just the loss of the chicks.
And it makes me think about us. About how often we talk about love as excitement, as chemistry, as grand gestures meant to be seen and admired. But real love, the kind that sustains life, looks quieter. It looks like consistency. Like showing up even when no one is watching. Like choosing responsibility over distraction, presence over novelty. In a world that constantly encourages us to look for something better, something newer, something more entertaining, perhaps the real question is not who makes our heart race the fastest, but who keeps coming back when it truly matters.
As I’m writing this, I can already hear many women getting annoyed at the stereotype of gender roles. But the hornbill story isn’t really about that. It’s not about which partner stayed to hold things together and who went out to bring in what was needed. This story is about showing up fully and fiercely in the role you chose to play. Showing up for the one you claim to love. It’s about finding gratitude not only in being the one who stays with the nest while your mate goes out to find what you need, but also in being the one who carries the responsibility of returning, again and again, grateful for the one who holds the fort and makes that return meaningful. If we could take even a single page from the hornbill’s love story and apply it to our own lives… what a fascinating love story that would be.
So today, as the world celebrates with roses and red hearts, maybe it’s time to look for the hornbills among us. Maybe it is time we learn to differentiate between the hornbills and the peacocks because most will meet peacocks in their lifetime. Beautiful in display, mesmerising to watch, appearing when the conditions are just right, but never meant to stay with just one and definitely gone when the season changes.
Because once the day is over, once the flowers fade and the love songs settle, what remains is who stays. Who returns. And who chooses you again and again… and again.
This Valentine’s, I hope you find your hornbill.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
About the writer
Ritika Furtado Sharma is a Mindset Coach, Director of Aikya The One, and a passionate wildlife photographer. Having helped many people through some of life’s most challenging moments, she incorporates nature therapy and powerful mindset shifts into her work. Her approach is rooted in authenticity and self-discovery, guiding individuals to break free from limiting beliefs, navigate difficult relationships and step into their true power.
